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A ll Ollie could do was watch her disappear into the night.

He knew he would never see her again. He knew this was final. Evelyn was gone from his life. She had run away, and it had been her choice to do so. And it was his choice to refuse to run after her.

But too many times he had done it. Too many times he had made a fool of himself running after a woman who didn’t want him to follow.

And now, come to discover, they weren’t actually married.

It had all been a farce. Intellect may not have been one of his strengths, but he should have known better than to trust a thief for anything.

He also should have been relieved. He was now free to go about his life as he pleased.

Free to go back to the way things had been.

He could go back to his pub, go back to being a scoundrel, go back to normal.

This also made it possible for him to marry someone else and have a family.

Yet despite this revelation, everything felt gray and watery.

There was no light, there was no hope. Evelyn had taken it all with her.

“Ollie, lad.” A hand patted at Ollie’s cheek. “You still in there?”

Ollie blinked and focused on the person standing in front of him.

His uncle.

And next to Eamon was Evelyn’s sister, Signora Orsini, frowning up at him.

“She’s gone.” Ollie stated the obvious.

“Aye,” Eamon responded and held out the flask to Ollie. Though angry with his uncle, Ollie took a swig, relished the burn of the liquid, and handed it back.

“Do you often run around nursing a flask?” Signora Orsini directed the question to Eamon.

Eamon twisted the cap back on. “Have to keep warm somehow.”

The dowager contessa wrinkled her nose, evidently disgusted. But Ollie understood. This was how Eamon had watched him during cold days and nights.

“All right. Mr. McNab.” Signora Orsini put her full attention on him. “Please explain everything to me, as I’m not fully understanding.”

Ollie glanced back at the house and realized their families were still somewhere inside, probably having a similar discussion to the one they were having outside. He shut the front door, glad to be away from them for the moment.

And then, he told the contessa everything.

It began when he met Evelyn upon her assignment to the art restoration, to the Gustave Courbet painting being stolen, to the surprise wedding they’d thought until now had been real. All the way up to the current moment.

It took a good while and she listened patiently, though a few times, she shot some unamused looks in Eamon’s direction.

Finally, once the story was over, Signora Orsini knit her hands behind her back. “Well. That is quite the adventure. Thank you for telling me.”

Ollie waited for her to say more. But she didn’t.

“All right, so…?” He trailed off.

“So…what?” she replied.

“I don’t know. Do you have any kind of response at all?”

Signora Orsini considered this. “There’s not much to say, Mr. McNab.

You didn’t really get married. She’s still at risk.

The earl is going to make her life hell, actually, once he hears about this.

You heard our father in there. There was a contract.

And soon, he will learn it remains active.

And he will be quite pleased with that turn. ”

Ollie looked at the ground.

“Let me ask you this. Do you love my sister?”

A bit of a personal question. One he didn’t care to answer. “Does that matter?”

“Of course it does.”

Ollie glanced at his uncle, who watched the scene unfold with evident mild amusement, before letting out a lovesick sigh. “As much as it pains me to admit how pitiful I am, yes. I suppose I do love her.” Then he turned to his uncle and mumbled, “Happy now?” to which his uncle grinned.

“That’s rather unfortunate for you, isn’t it?” Signora Orsini said. “You’re truly set on not running after her? You can still get married, if that’s what you both want.”

“Now there’s a brilliant idea!” Eamon replied, his voice full of glee.

Ollie ignored him. “Of course I’m set on it. Why should I chase after a woman who always runs from me? I do have some self-respect.”

“And she always will run, Mr. McNab.” The contessa gave him a small, regretful smile. “She’s been doing that her whole life.”

“Why?”

“Why does she run away? I don’t know.”

Ollie shook his head. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

Faint voices carried through the closed front door.

“I need to get out of here,” Ollie said to no one in particular. He couldn’t face the family and tell them what had happened. Not right now.

“Come on, then.” Eamon dropped a heavy arm around Ollie’s shoulders. “There’s somewhere I’d like to show you.”

“Why should I go anywhere with you?” Ollie tried to bite back, but he was too grief-stricken to put any weight behind it.

“Because you’re going to want to see it.”

Ollie hesitated but nodded, too distraught to wonder too deeply about their destination.

Signora Orsini took a few steps toward the front door before pausing. “Mr. McNab, one last thing.” She turned back around. “I’m returning home tomorrow. Paris. I’ve told Evelyn she’s welcome to come with me if she wants.”

Ollie felt the blood drain from his face. “She’s leaving,” he said. The finality of everything was beginning to press down hard on him. And it was the most horrible feeling.

The contessa hesitated. “I don’t know for certain, as she hasn’t told me definitively.” She then shared the time and place the ship would depart. “I thought I’d let you know, just in case.” And she turned and went through the door before he could reply.

“Just in case of what?” Ollie asked as she disappeared. But she didn’t provide a response.

*

Sometime later, Ollie found himself on another late-night tram sitting beside Eamon.

Eamon didn’t say a word about their destination and Ollie didn’t much care, either.

He was numb and seemed to simply exist as a bag of bones with the ability to move itself around.

Because surely, he wasn’t the one making himself move.

His brain was in too much of a fog. It felt automatic, as if he were simply existing, not living.

The realization he loved Evelyn had come too late. Though, the strange part was, he couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened.

Surely, it had only occurred over the past few days.

No, silly.

Ollie cursed inwardly to himself. Go away. I’m not in the mood right now. That was it, he was mad. He was telling himself to go away! I don’t need any self-reflection.

But naturally, the voice ignored him. You’ve loved her much longer than that.

Even if I did, it doesn’t matter anymore, now does it?

Maybe, maybe not.

The voice seemed to be gone, to Ollie’s abject relief.

But as the tram stopped to let one of the two other riders off, the voice started up again. Are you sad she’s gone?

He scowled to himself and Eamon gave him a funny look before returning his attention out the window. What in the blazes is that question? Ollie asked himself.

Can you answer it to yourself, though?

Of course I’m sad she’s gone! I’m sad, furious, regretful—all kinds of awful things. And to make it all worse, we were never really married, so thanks for bringing it up.

The voice seemed to be amused by this response, which was strange. Why didn’t you run after her tonight?

Because she wouldn’t run away from me if she didn’t want to. I’ve run after her plenty of times and it’s embarrassing now. Anyway, she wants her own life, separate from me.

And you know that for sure?

Why was he arguing with himself? She’s said it as much.

The voice volleyed back. She’s never said she wanted to be away from you, specifically.

Ollie furrowed his brow. Was this true?

The voice continued. Your wife knows what she wants. What do you want?

She’s not my wife. And I want to go back to the pub. But that response didn’t feel quite right.

The voice was silent a long moment. And then, You hesitated.

If I chased after Evelyn tonight, what would it accomplish? Our wedding was a farce. She only agreed to it to get out of marrying the earl. And now, her sister has given her a chance to go back to Paris. She can still escape the earl that way.

But her parents won’t be able to escape the earl and the courts.

Ollie had nothing to say to that.

So you want to go back to the pub? That’s what you want most of all? the voice asked.

Annoyance sparked inside him. He wanted to argue back—but he had no argument.

I don’t know what I want , he finally admitted to himself.

But the voice offered no further comment.

The tram came to a stop again and his uncle stood, Ollie followed, and they climbed out onto a desolate, smelly street.

Horse dung was everywhere. It looked like it had been weeks since it had been cleaned. The street The Harp & Thistle was on was far from opulent, and it looked weary and worn in its own right, but this street was downright derelict.

“Where are we?” Ollie asked after they’d passed a man asleep in the gutter.

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” Eamon responded.

As they continued walking, Ollie said, “Do you ever hear voices?”

Eamon was so thrown off by this question that he stopped walking. “You hear voices?”

Ollie shrugged.

“Don’t be going around telling people that, Ollie boy.” Eamon clapped him on the shoulder.

They continued walking again until Eamon stopped and angled his head back to peer up at a building. A woman in filthy, ragged clothing was leaning against it and watched them while smoking a cigarette.

“You looking to throw up some skirts?” she asked. It was said so casually, Ollie was sure he’d misheard her.

Ollie half-expected Eamon to laugh, but the man just shook his head. “No, lass.”

The woman took another drag from her cigarette before snuffing it out against the wall and going inside. Ollie almost expected it to collapse. It looked like it was rotting out from the inside, and as if the woman had been holding it up.