“You look different,” she said.
I feel different.
“People have been mistaking me for you all night.” She grabbed the cloth hand towel without taking her eyes off me. “They keep trying to get me to speak out of turn.”
She arched a brow, noting that I hadn’t spoken a word.
“You’re wearing silver velvet and I’m in green silk but—” She threw up her hands.
Moments passed in silence. I think Lottie was feeling better, yet she didn’t move to stand, and neither did I.
“Why did you do it?” she asked softly, eyes slowly lifting to mine.
I had a feeling she wasn’t referring to me holding her hair back.
I worked my lips to the side. Which part? Our history was tangled in bad choices…bad, inevitable choices.
“You were supposed to leave after a month.”
I blinked, not sure what to say, because this was news to me.
“You were supposed to leave and then…he would learn to love me again. I was okay waiting for that. That…I could handle.”
She played with the soft fabric of her dress. She wasn’t angry, just resigned, as if reciting a sad part of history long forgotten.
Slowly her eyes wandered back to me. “He was going to give up everything for you. You won.”
I know I should stay quiet, but I couldn’t.
Not about this.
“And he would have been so miserable.”
Her brows caved at that, tears filled her eyes, and her ministrations froze in the fabric.
“I hate you.” She sounded like she was saying it more to affirm it to herself.
I didn’t do anything, I don’t think she wanted me to do anything. I think in a weird way, we were the only people who understood. We’d both murdered all the decent things inside us for love.
The same jagged shard had pierced both of us.
“I hate you,” she said again, with more emphasis, staring at me.
Waiting.
“I hate you too,” I said.
She exhaled a deep sigh, like good.
“Does Grayson know you’re this sick?”
“Hopefully I’ll lose it.” She shook her head and whispered so low I barely heard it. “It’s the least I deserve.”
Before I could say anything to that, she stood. I followed suit, as outside the sound of Christmas got closer—bells and giggles and orchestral music. She lingered, holding the handkerchief, a look in her eyes I recognized too well.
From Grayson.
It felt like she wanted to tell me something, but kept stopping herself.