―Why?"
―Why?" he echoed.
―Yes. Why do you have trouble sleeping? Do you know?"
Sebastian sat down next to her, staring out over the water, where a few stone-skipped ripples still slid along the surface. He thought for a moment, then opened his mouth as if he might say something.
But he didn‘t.
―I find I have to close my eyes," she said.
That caught his attention.
―When I‘m trying to sleep," she clarified. ―I have to close my eyes. If I lie there, staring at the ceiling, I might as well admit defeat. I‘m not going to fall asleep with my eyes open, after all."
Sebastian considered this for a moment, smiling wryly. ―I stare at the ceiling," he admitted.
―Well, there‘s your problem."
He turned. She was looking at him, her expression open, her eyes clear. And while he was sitting there, thinking that he wished that were the problem, he suddenly thought—well, maybe it is. Maybe some of the most convoluted questions had simple answers.
Maybe she was his simple answer.
He wanted to kiss her. It hit him suddenly, overwhelmingly. Except he just wanted to touch his lips to hers. Nothing more. Just a simple kiss of gratitude, of friendship, maybe even of love.
But he wasn‘t going to kiss her. Not yet. She‘d tilted her head to the side, and the way she was looking at him—he wanted to know what she was thinking. He wanted to know her. He wanted to know her thoughts and her hopes and her fears. He wanted to know what she was thinking about on the nights when she couldn‘t sleep, and then he wanted to know what it was she dreamed when she finally drifted off.
―I think about the war," he said softly. He‘d never told anyone.
She nodded. Softly, a tiny movement he could barely see. ―It must have been terrible."
―Not all of it. But the parts I think about at night…" He closed his eyes for a moment, unable to banish the acrid smell of gunpowder, the blood, and worst of all, the noise.
She put her hand on his. ―I‘m sorry."
―It‘s not as bad as it used to be."
―That‘s good." She smiled encouragingly. ―What changed, do you think?"
―I—" But he didn‘t say it. He couldn‘t tell her. Not yet. How could he tell her about his writing when he didn‘t even know if she liked it? It had never bothered him that Harry and Olivia thought the Gorely books were so dreadful—well, not very much, at least—but if Annabel hated them…
It was almost too much to bear.
―I think it‘s only time," he said. ―Heals all wounds, they say."
She nodded again, that tiny little motion he liked to think only he could detect. She looked at him curiously, her head tilting to the side.
―What is it?" he asked, watching her brow furrow.
―I think your eyes might be the exact same color as mine," she said wonderingly.
―What fine gray-eyed babies we shall have," he said, before he thought the better of it.
The lighthearted look fell from her eyes, and she looked away. Damn. He hadn‘t meant to push her. Not yet, anyway. Right now he was so simply happy . Perfectly and utterly comfortable.
He‘d told another human being one of his secrets and the heavens had not crashed to the ground.
It was stunning how wonderful that felt.
No, that wasn‘t the right word. It was frustrating, that. He was in the business of finding the right words, and he didn‘t know how to explain it. He felt…
Lifted.
Weightless.
Rested. And at the same time, like he wanted to close his eyes, set his head on a pillow next to hers, and sleep. He‘d never felt anything like it.
And now he‘d gone and ruined it. She was staring at the ground, her cheeks pinched, and it was as if the color had gone out of her. She looked exactly the same, not pale, not flushed, and yet she was colorless.
It was coming from the inside. It broke his heart.
He could see it now—her life as his uncle‘s wife. It wouldn‘t break her, it would just slowly suck her dry.
He couldn‘t allow it. He simply could not allow it.
―I asked you to marry me yesterday," he said.
She looked away. Not down at her feet this time, but away.
She didn‘t have an answer. He was stunned at how much this stung. She wasn‘t even refusing him; she was just begging for more time.
Silently begging, he corrected. Perhaps it would be more accurately described as avoiding the question altogether.
Still, he‘d asked her to marry him. Did she think he made such offers lightly? He‘d always thought that when he finally proposed marriage, the woman in question would burst into happy tears, beside herself with bliss and joy. A rainbow would break out of the sky, butterflies would dance overhead, and all the world would join hands in song.
Or at the very least, she‘d say yes. He hadn‘t thought himself the type of man to propose marriage to a woman who might say no.
He stood. He was too restless to sit now. All that peace, all that lovely weightlessness—gone.
What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Chapter Twenty
Annabel watched as Sebastian walked toward the water. He stood near the edge, almost close enough to get his shoes wet. He looked out toward the opposite shore, his posture stiff and unyielding.
It was so unlike him. It was so…wrong.
Sebastian was loose limbed, graceful. His every movement was a secret dance, every smile a silent poem. This was not right. It was not him.
When had she come to know him so well, that she could tell by the line of his back that he was not himself? And why did it hurt so much, to know that she knew this? That she knewhim .