Page 33 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

T he dining room was still and quiet, save for the faint clink of silver on china and the occasional muted crackle from the fire behind her.

Georgie kept her eyes on her plate, though she’d already given up any pretense of eating.

Jason sat opposite her, his posture perfect as always, his expression unreadable in the soft glow of the candles. He cut into his lamb methodically, chewing in silence.

It was intolerable.

The words she’d been swallowing all evening pressed harder against the back of her throat until she thought she might choke on them.

She wanted to ask him about his mother. About what she’d said this morning in the shop, her sharp voice and sharper smile still echoing in Georgie’s mind.

It’s not about you, you know. It’s about his sister. He never got over not being able to save her. Now he saves any poor creature he can find to make up for it.

Her stomach turned as she replayed it. She hadn’t even known he had a sister.

She’d given him the chance to explain…that night on the balcony when she’d asked him why he’d married her. She’d asked him if he did it to be a hero and he’d denied it. And she believed him. Yet somehow, she could not get his mother’s words out of her mind.

Because if he had married her out of obligation, or worse, pity, she never would have known it if she hadn’t met his mother.

Georgie laid her fork down carefully, smoothing her napkin in her lap just to have something to do with her hands. This was untenable. She had to give him a chance…to tell him herself. She owed him that much.

She drew in a quiet breath and ventured, “I…I don’t know much about…your family.”

Jason’s knife paused just briefly before continuing its steady work. When he looked up, his expression was as inscrutable as ever. “There’s not much to tell,” he said evenly, his voice low.

Her pulse ticked higher. “Are you an…” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, “…only child?”

This time he did stop. His fingers tightened subtly on the hilt of his knife, and she thought she saw the muscle in his jaw flex. His throat worked as he swallowed, and for the first time since she’d met him, his composure faltered.

“No,” he said at last, the word quiet but heavy.

“I have…” He exhaled, and for the first time, she saw it, the flicker of pain behind his eyes, the way his gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the walls of the room. “…had a sister.”

Georgie’s heart thudded dully against her ribs.

The silence stretched, heavy and thick, as he stared at some invisible point on the tablecloth.

“She…” He stopped, running his thumb over the edge of his knife as though steadying himself.

“Her name was Evelyn,” he said finally, his voice softer now, and she could hear it…the grief buried deep, the kind that never really left a person.

“She died,” he added, his eyes darkening.

Georgie’s breath caught. There it was. Confirmation.

Her chest felt tight, her throat dry, but she couldn’t look away from him, from the faint shadow of anguish on his face, the way his gaze stayed fixed on some distant memory.

“What happened to her?” she finally ventured.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” His voice was sharp.

Georgie swallowed. But she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t trust her voice not to betray her.

And now, more than ever, she was worried that his mother may have been right.

Was she was nothing more than another stray he’d taken in to atone for the sister he couldn’t save?