Page 9 of Wicked Salvation

He leads me down a sandy path.

The sun sets in the distance, painting the sky in muted colors. There’s a picnic blanket spread out, a golden tray filled with imported cheeses, grapes and caviar. Bottles of wine and champagne in a cooler. And at the center, sits a large gift-wrapped box. This is the most romantic thing he’s ever done for me.

My eyes start getting wet.

He helps me sit, then pours me a glass of wine.

Even though it’s legal for me to drink, I don’t do it often. But the week I’ve had warrants a drink—or two. I take the glass from him, taking a deep sip. It’s a rich, dry red wine that warms all the cold spots of my body.

“I figured you’re really stressed.”

I take another gulp. Stress and grief are two different things—but I don’t have the energy to argue with Silas. She might have been in a relationship with his best friend’s sister, but that hardly changes the fact he didn’t like Vivienne very much. He attacked her when he thought she was interfering in our relationship. I can’t expect him to understand how I feel—everyday I wake up with a hole in my chest that only seems to get bigger as the days pass.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “This helps.”

It isn’t a lie.

We watch the sunset together—he feeds me grapes, and caviar on paper-thin wafers. I let him do most of the talking fora while. He says I shouldn’t bring up anything from before we agreed to turn over a new leaf, and he doesn’t want to talk about Vivienne, so…

“It was nice meeting your father,” I say. “You’re the spitting image of him.”

There’s a soft chuckle. “You say that because you’ve never seen my mother.”

“You look more like her?”

He nods. “If I wasn’t their firstborn, she probably would have named me Alexander.” He looks off into the distance. “Her name was Alexandra.”

“She must have been beautiful,” I murmur.

He nods. “I want to name one of our daughters that,” he says. “Our firstborn son will be Silas Peregrine Ashford V, of course—but we can get creative with the others. Would you name any of our children after your parents?”

I stop mid-gulp.

Oh, right. Silas has only ever seen therightside of my parents. Their perfectly curated image. I shake my head. “I don’t like the name Evelyn for my daughter,” I say, hoping my disdain isn’t evident. “And my younger brother is already named William Lockhart, so naming my son after my father would be pointless.”

“Younger brother?”

“Yes. I have two younger brothers. Twins. William and Andrew.” I look down into the glass of dark red in my hands. “They’re eleven.”

Silas sets his glass down, leans back on his palms.

“What is having siblings like?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

The silence stretches between us. I know Silas doesn’t understand my explanation and I don’t care to answer—in factthe whole conversation about what we’ll name our children makes me upset. This is one of the reasons I dislike being sad.

My emotionsalwaysmorph into different things. Sadness turns to anger, which turns to more sadness, which turns to self-hatred until my head is spinning and I can barely keep up. I can’t afford for that to happen—not in front of Silas, at least.

“This wasn’t the entire surprise.” He breaks the silence, thankfully changing the topic.

I give him a curious glance.

“Then what was?”

He reaches into the pocket of his uniform jacket, handing me something that glints in the fading light, delicate and gold. I take it. It’s my golden cross necklace.

The one I lost.