Page 49

Her temper got the best of her. She could have asked another question to allow him to open up to her, but instead, she spat, “I know what I’m saying. How dare you tell me I am ignorant of fighting because of a struggling life you clearly have never lived?”

“It’s not about that.” He looked up at her. His fist bounced on his thigh as if he debated the unsaid.

“Then what is it?” She stepped closer, catching the slight tremble in his hands and the way his gaze darted away.

What was he so afraid of? Maybe he wanted to tell her his secrets.

Maybe she just had to ask again. “I deserve the truth, Rollant, don’t I?

Who are you, and why do you care what I do if you’re never here? ”

“Because, élise, I . . .” His voice wavered, his hands flexing at his sides. A flicker of pain crossed his eyes—hesitation, fear. “Some truths,” he finally murmured, gaze dropping to his hands as though they carried the weight of centuries, “are crueler than silence.”

He wasn’t making any sense.

“I don’t care if it’s cruel; give me the truth.” She jabbed a soft finger into his chest.

Rollant scoffed and shook his head. “Everything I love about you is frustrating me in this moment.”

She blinked a few times to process what he said. “You love me, or you love qualities about me?” She tightened her arms across her chest in case he again rejected her.

His shoulders lowered. “Always direct; I would expect nothing less.”

“Then tell me the answer so I don’t have to guess.”

He brushed her upper arm with his fingers, stroking the shirt sleeve. “I’ve told myself countless times I should not love you,” he whispered. His gaze traced her face longer than propriety allowed. Her chest tightened as she saw the flicker of a battle in his eyes—one he seemed to be losing.

The intensity in his expression faltered, so despite her anger, she stepped closer. Her fingers brushed his stomach—tentative, testing—as if daring him to deny what they both felt. His sharp intake of breath beneath her touch told her enough.

“That does not make any sense,” she whispered, tilting her head to meet his gaze. “Do you, or do you not?”

A battle raged behind his eyes, the struggle between restraint and longing etched into every tense line of his face. “I . . . Do,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with surrender as his gaze dipped to her lips and lingered.

Her eyes smiled as she rose to her toes and pressed her lips to his, granting his unspoken wish.

For a moment, she hesitated, afraid she’d gone too far with the proper Rollant.

But instead of retreating, he leaned into her, cradling her cheek as his lips crushed hers in a kiss that revealed the raw, unguarded truth—she belonged with him, and he with her.

His restraint gave way. Both hands, rough and strong, cradled her face, pulling her closer.

Her heart thundered as his touch melted the space between them and ignited a fire that spread to the tips of her toes.

His lips were hungry, and she fed them with a willing offering.

They spoke a language his words had never dared.

The faint bitterness of mint tingled her tongue.

His hand slipped to her waist, gathering the fabric of her shirt and pulling her against his contours as he deepened the kiss.

The world faded until there was only him.

It was her first kiss born of love, and she knew she wanted him by her side for all time.

The truths he so desperately tried to hide would come forth eventually, but they wouldn’t matter.

They belonged together. His hand on her cheek slipped into her hair, gently tugging her head back so his lips could kiss where bruises once lived on her neck.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, relishing every moment.

The flat of his hand slid and pressed against her lower back, his fingers gently dug into her flesh as if never to let her go. A tightness bloomed in her chest, forcing her breath to hitch. It was as if someone reached down her throat and pulled the air from her lungs.

“Rollant—” she gasped in broken speech, her voice barely audible as her hands clutched the fabric of his shirt. Darkness rimmed her vision. Her heart beat fast in panic. Her knees went weak.

He froze, his eyes darting to hers as panic flared in their depths.

“élise?” he said, his voice a rasp. His hands yanked away, and he stepped back as though the moment had broken him.

His breathing turned ragged as did hers.

Fear shadowed his gaze. “Can you—” His voice broke.

“Can you breathe?” His eyes gleamed with tears ready to fall.

Her hands gripped her throat and chest. Finally, fresh air swept through her lungs.

Her body heaved as the pressure lifted, leaving behind a coughing fit.

She bent over to settle herself. Her lungs burned.

Her body shook. Her throat pulsed. Her head throbbed.

She sank to her knees to preempt a fall.

Rollant stepped closer to her, his hands hovering but daring not to touch.

After a moment, she stood and adjusted the collar of her shirt. The burn in her chest loitered, but her breath was finally her own again. “I’m fine,” she managed and glanced at Rollant with a sheepish gaze. The stain of embarrassment rose on her cheeks. She ruined a perfectly good moment.

“I just—” Her words faltered as she met Rollant’s eyes, which were full of horror and shame. But it wasn’t for her.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a thick voice. “I shouldn’t have—” He shook his head, backing away again. “I must . . . go,” he stammered, his chest heaving. He ran a hand through his thick, curly locks. His eyes darted to the door as if it were the only lifeline he had left. “I—I must.”

He quickly threw on his coat and turned to the door.

Her brow knitted in confusion as she watched the man stagger as if intoxicated. She forced a rebuttal through her aching chest. “Why, why must you go? Why?”

But his response was scattered. “Why did you—I lost . . . control—Now I must—” He stopped, his breath hitching as panic darkened his features. “I—I’m sorry, élise, for—for everything.” For an instant, his mask slipped with guilt laid bare before he turned and strode to the door.

“Rollant, wait—” she started.

“Forgive me,” he whispered as he yanked the door open. He hesitated for a moment, pulling his shoulders taut as his eyes traced her figure as if committing her to memory before he disappeared, leaving the door swinging closed in his wake.

élise stood in silence, wrapped in his shirt, unable to follow—not for lack of will, but for fear of what the neighbors might think. She stared at the door, her nails digging into her palms.

Rollant was a man of secrets, of burdens she couldn’t yet fathom. She pressed a flat hand to her heart, thudding against her ribs as if she had chased after him, and took a sweeping, shuddering breath. The tightness was gone, but it left a strange bitterness on her tongue.

She collapsed on the sofa, letting Rollant’s faint scent of old wood lingering in the fabric envelop her. It was a cruel reminder of his absence.

Her fingers brushed her lips, where the spark of his kiss still burned.

A fleeting moment of honesty—the taste of truth she’d begged for—left her aching for more.

He had kissed her like a man drowning in love, desperate for her touch, yet he had fled as if she were the tempest, a danger meant to kill him.

Her mind reeled as she replayed the moments. Something had stolen the air from her lungs, or perhaps her heart had dared to beat too fast.

Rollant remained in her mind: his eyes wide with fear and his touch retreating as though she were poison. Maybe there was more to his words that he should not love her. But every touch, glance, whisper, and trembling breath told her otherwise.

So why did he run? Because of her or something he feared within himself? Whatever it was, the truth was in his kiss—he loved her. He had told her as much. But it seemed love wasn’t enough to stop him from running, telling her any more truths, and soothing the fear in his eyes.

“Why Rollant?” she whispered to the empty room. “Why are you cursing me?”

The golden light streaming through the window appeared cruelly serene, as if mocking the storm raging in her mind. The house felt impossibly still, as though the walls themselves held their breath, unwilling to answer her question.