“Be quiet,” I begged.
His arms loosened.
“I speak truth,” he whispered.
“You’re killing me,” I mumbled.
“No, darling, finally, we both are living.”
Oh my gods.
Yes.
He was killing me.
* * * *
In his rooms, Loren had two window seats.
They faced the park.
And once he was asleep, his breath evening out, his arms not holding me quite so close (but they didn’t let go), I gave it time, and then more, to make sure he was out.
Then I slipped away from him, pulled on his dressing gown, and padded to one of those seats.
I curled into it and stared at the park.
I was a lie.
I wasn’t a virgin.
I wasn’t a count’s daughter.
I didn’t have a sister.
I didn’t know but considering what a big deal it was and how much havoc and heartbreak it caused over centuries in my world, evidence suggested that in some situations, a dude having a bride who was a virgin was a big deal.
I could fake it, of course. Not everyone had an intact hymen when the time came. Shit happened to break it along the way. I could talk my way around that.
But it’d be a lie.
And he’d think, all of our lives together, he was the only one. The only man I sucked. The only body I took.
I’d settled into Satrine. New world, new outlook, new name. And Maxie needed our name.
I’d settled into knowing I didn’t come here by choice, but I was staying there because of it.
But this…
This sucked.
I jumped when hands fell on me, and then Loren’s big body shifted around mine so he could sit behind me, and surrounding me, in the seat.
He’d pulled on his evening breeches, but I could tell his gorgeous chest was bare.
He also pulled me back against that chest.
“Why are you so far away, staring with such pensiveness at the park?” he asked quietly.
Because I just had the best date anyone in my world could even imagine having, and probably most anybody in this world too.
Because Maxine calls you Lorie.
Because you’re so respected, you walk into a massive restaurant with your new fiancée, and the entire place stands to toast your future.
Because you laugh at my hats, and Mom’s right, you look at me like I keep the world spinning.
Because I can never tell you who I am. I can never tell you stories about growing up. I can’t tell you about my friends. I can’t tell you the real deal about why Mom is so awesome. I can never tell you all that made me before I came to you.
Because I can never even share how I came to you. I can’t tell you about how scary it was. I can’t tell you how, if it hadn’t been you, this could have gone really fucking badly. So you saved me, my mom, my sister, and you made this a glorious adventure, not a terrifying tragedy.
Because you will never know precisely how deep I’m in it for you, because when myself and the one being I love more than my own life were thrown into the unknown, in the end, you made it so that we were both, in our own ways, blissfully happy.
And because I’m not a virgin, and you might figure that out, and all that will go to shit if you do.
“Dearest,” he prompted, wrapping his arms closer around me.
I twisted in them and caught his head in my hands.
He stilled at my movements.
“No matter what, know this, Loren. Know it down to your fucking bones,” I demanded, my voice ugly, rasping, even scary.
His arms got tighter. “Satrine.”
“What I came from, who I am, no matter what, I am who you think I am. I am who you believe me to be. I am that woman. For you.”
Something passed his face.
Understanding.
“Sweeting, calm yourself—”
I pressed in at his head. “No. You don’t…you’ll never get it and…and…”—my voice was breaking—“…and I can’t tell you. I’ll never be able to tell you. I’ll never be able to share it with you. I can’t. I just can’t.”
He pulled me deep into him, and his voice was low and flinty when he said, “You don’t need to, Satrine. I don’t need that. I have what I need right here.”
He was mistaking me, as he would.
And I couldn’t correct him.
“You don’t get it!” I sobbed. “And you never will.”
With a hand behind my head, he shoved my face in his neck. “Hush. Do not let this upset you. It doesn’t matter. It’s done. Behind you.”
“You don’t understand,” I wailed, pushing deeper into him, pressing my face to his skin.
He turned his head and kissed my hair, one hand stroking my back, his body rocking mine, and urged, “Hush, my love. Hush. You’re here. Not there. You’re safe.”
Oh gods!
He’d never understand!
My body wracked with a sob.
“Hush, my love,” he whispered.
It wracked again.
“I wanna tell you, I just can’t.” I yanked my face out of his neck and stared at his blurry head. “I promise. I swear, Loren. I want to tell you so bad.”