I leaned into my grandfather. “Do you mind if I go poke around the museum a bit?” I asked quietly.
“Yes, sweetie. I imagine you must be bored to death. I’ll text you when we’re done.”
Gratitude flooded through me, and I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
I pushed my chair back and excused myself with a hurried murmur, careful not to make eye contact with Ash as I did. Even so, I could feel his eyes on my back as I left, and I wanted to look back so badly, I wanted to see for sure if he was watching me leave, if he was watching my legs or my hips or my hair, but I didn’t. I strode quickly out of the restaurant, only breathing once I was out the doors and on my way to the museum proper. There was something inside my body that kicked and struggled at being separated from Ash, just as there was something that kicked and struggled while in his unbearable presence.
As I paid for a museum ticket and took a small folded brochure with a gallery map, I ran back through everything I had done and said. Had I humiliated myself in any way? Had I looked too much at him? Spoken too breathlessly? I couldn’t bear anyone at that table thinking I was ridiculous—especially Merlin, who already seemed to dislike me for some unaccountable reason—but I didn’t want Ash in particular to think I was besotted. No doubt he would find it as ridiculous as I found it myself.
I saw nothing as I walked through the galleries, absorbed nothing, thinking only of Ash. I didn’t even bother glancing at the map in my hand, and so I had no idea where I was when I found myself in an enclosed courtyard surrounded by statues. I was alone and the sunlight on the stone gave the room a holy glow, like a church. The silence was so profound that I could almost hear the statues themselves, marble so lifelike you watched for it to breathe, collecting dust, their creators long dead.
My mind quieted.
I stopped in front of one statue, arrested by the delicate stonework—a young woman veiled and dressed in robes—a tambourine hanging limply from one hand. There was something about her face—downcast and a little stunned—or maybe it was the instrument dangling listlessly from her fingertips, that made it look like she’d forgotten how to be inside her own body. Like she’d fall apart if she tried to stand or speak.
I could empathize.
“That’s Jephthah’s daughter,” came Ash’s voice from behind me. I’d been so absorbed in the sculpture that I hadn’t heard his footsteps, and I spun around to hide my surprise.
“What?” I asked, hoping I sounded normal and not the strange version of panic-excited I felt like.
“Jephthah,” he said, nodding toward the statue as he took a step toward me. The light glinted off the face of the large watch on his wrist as he put his hands in his pockets. “He was a judge in ancient Israel, a war leader who fought against the Ammonites, and he made a vow to God. If he won his fight against his enemies, he would offer the first thing that came out of his house when he returned home…he’d make it a sacrifice, a burnt offering. I’ll give you one guess what he found coming to meet him.”
“His daughter,” I said, sadness and disgust sticking heavy on my tongue.
“His daughter,” Ash confirmed. “She came out dancing, ready to make music with her instruments. When he saw her, he despaired and tore his clothes, but when he told her what he had vowed, she refused to let him renege on his word to the Lord. She asked for two months in the mountains with her women so that she could ‘bewail her virginity.’”
“So she could bewail her virginity,” I repeated. “I know how that feels.”
His mouth twitched at that, but I couldn’t tell if it was with a smile or a frown. “And then she returned to her father. The Bible only says that he made good on his vow…it doesn’t go into detail—almost as if the priests writing it knew how awful it was even then. And after she was sacrificed, there was a festival of women every year, who gathered together for four days to lament her death.”
“And that’s it?” I asked incredulously. “He was allowed to murder his own daughter and burn her corpse? Just because of some promise he made about a battle she had no part in?”
Ash nodded. “Awful, isn’t it? You can see why she seems so shocked. So sad.”
He stepped closer again, this time standing next to me and looking up into the downturned face of the statue. “Some people say that it was a rash vow, a vow made in haste without much thought, and that may be true. But I think some people haven’t ever been in a war. You don’t know what you’ll promise yourself or God until you’re facing down that moment yourself. Until the lives of countless others rest on your shoulders and yours alone.”
I turned to look at him, meaning to examine his face, to question him, but it took me a second to regain my train of thought because fuck, he was good-looking. Hot wasn’t the right word, neither really was handsome. They didn’t capture the raw masculinity that barely seemed contained in his wide, lean frame. They didn’t capture the potency of his muscular body, the keen flash of his eyes, the unexpectedly generous lines of his mouth. “So are you saying you approve of him sacrificing his daughter?”
“Fuck no,” Ash said, and something about seeing a man so in command of himself use a word like fuck was undeniably erotic. “Even taking into account the fact that human sacrifice was a norm in the Levant, it wasn’t supposed to be a norm for the Israelites, certainly not during the period of the Judges. Rabbis from as far back as a thousand years ago have contended that Jephthah never actually murdered his daughter, that he instead ‘sacrificed’ her to a life of religious servitude. Some people think it never happened at all, but it was a story retrofitted to explain the ritual of women gathering to lament a maiden’s death.”
“What do you think?”
Ash’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the statue, as if he could persuade her to spill her secrets. After a beat or two, he shrugged and sighed. “I think what actually happened is less important than the story we want it to be. Is this a morality tale, cautioning against impudent vows? A different morality tale, showing the righteousness of upholding a vow even when it’s hard? Is this a narrative showing where a pagan tradition was shoehorned into the well-ordered history of the Levite authors? The first step to understanding anything—whether it’s the Bible or Fifty Shades of Grey—is acknowledging that we come to it with agendas of our own. We want it to mean something, we are biased whether we know it or not, and usually what we walk away with is what we want to walk away with.”
“What do you want to walk away with from her? What do you want it to mean?”
For the first time, he looked down at the floor, and for a moment, just for a moment, I could see the weight of every death, every battle, every cold night spent in the fens of Eastern Europe pulling on him. And then he turned to me and it all vanished, leaving only a regretful smile. “I guess I want it to mean that the Lord forgives soldiers for unacceptable sacrifices. For decisions made in the heat of the moment, when there was no good choice, there was only what would save the most people, even if it meant leaving someone to burn.” A deep breath. “Metaphorically, I mean.”
I pulled him into a hug.
I don’t know why I did it, how I overcame that twisting, awkward agony that came with being near him, but he sounded so pained, so burdened and haunted, and my heart had known no other way to tell him it’s okay. I’m here and I know and it’s okay.
So I wrapped my arms around his waist, turned my face against his broad chest, and pulled him close. There was a moment, an exhale that sounded like a breathless groan, and then his arms were around me too. I felt his lips against the crown of my head, lips and then his nose and his cheeks, as if he were rubbing his entire face against my hair. As if he was marking himself on me or I was marking myself on him, as if he wanted to make a life for himself in the tousled waves.
“It seems you are always meant to be comforting me somehow,” he said, lips moving against the golden tresses.
“I like making you feel good,” I whispered. Better, some d
istant part of my mind said, you meant to say that you like making him feel better. But that wasn’t entirely true, maybe not at all true, because making Ash feel good conjured all sorts of lip-biting images in my mind. And whatever images it conjured for Ash seemed to be lip-biting as well, because I could feel a thick erection beginning to press into my lower belly.
I pushed against it, eliciting a real groan from Ash this time, and then his hand was in my hair, fisting at the nape and yanking my head back, just like I’d imagined at the restaurant. He didn’t say anything, simply stared down at my parted lips and exposed neck, breathing hard, his erection now like steel against me.
He didn’t ask me anything, didn’t say a word, but his whole face seemed like a question, his whole body, his hard cock and his rough hands. Do you like this? his face seemed to ask. Do you want more? Would you crawl for me? Bleed for me?
He didn’t say the question out loud, but I said the answer out loud.
“Yes, please.”
His hand tightened in my hair, his pupils widened, and for one perfect moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. I thought he was going to toss me to my hands and knees in the middle of the sculpture courtyard and give me a reason to stop bewailing my virginity. I thought he was going to drag me by the hair back to his hotel room and show me every single shadow that flickered in those forest eyes.
And then the moment crested and broke, like a wave. The energy dissipated; his hand loosened in my hair and then was gone, he stepped back and ran a shaking hand over his face.
“That was inappropriate,” he said unsteadily, his thumb moving to rub against his forehead. “That was wrong. I’m so sorry.”
I stepped forward, my heart in my hands. “It wasn’t wrong, I said yes, Ash—”
But what I would have said next—what he would have done—became nothing more than a barely legible entry in the diary of what might have been, because at that moment my grandfather strolled into the courtyard, beaming at us both, totally oblivious to what had just happened between Ash and me mere moments before.
“Major Colchester! I wondered if you’d vanished to take in the art too. A shame to come here and eat in a place meant for looking.”
I let my grandfather pull me in a side hug and give me a whiskery kiss on the temple. “Ash—I mean, the major—was explaining this statue to me. It’s a very sad story.”
Ash stopped rubbing his forehead, and it seemed to take great effort for him to pull himself together. “It’s a story from the Hebrew Bible,” he said, almost absently.
“Ah, say no more,” Grandpa said. “All those Old Testament stories are too grisly for my tired bones. That’s the part of Mass when I usually dart off to use the bathroom.”
“Oh, Grandpa, you do not,” I said.
“But wouldn’t it be funny if I did?” he asked, eyes crinkling. “Anyway, I am stealing Greer away for the time being, but I won’t apologize, because you’ll have her back tonight for more Old Testament horror stories.”
“Tonight?” Ash and I both asked at the same time.
“Merlin’s fortieth birthday party, of course,” Grandpa boomed. “I’m bringing my granddaughters, and I know you’re coming and bringing that excellent Captain Moore with you. You’ll have even more time to talk then.”
Ash’s lips parted and pressed together. And then parted again. “Yes. Greer and I need to talk.”
The look he gave me was nothing less than urging, pleading almost, and I could feel the ghost of his fingers in my hair. God, I wanted him to urge me to do anything, plead with me for anything, and I wanted it so much that I almost felt ready to make my own rash vows.
“I’m looking forward to talking,” I said, somewhat pointlessly.
But Ash didn’t look satisfied at that. He looked miserable.
“Goodbye, son,” my grandfather said, and I gave Ash a wave as Grandpa and I started for the doors. Ash waved back, once again wrapped in his unreadable stillness, and I gave a little shiver as I turned around and walked out of the courtyard.
What exactly had just happened?
Chapter Twelve
Five Years Ago
Abilene squealed and threw her arms around my neck, strangling me into a hug. “A party with Maxen Colchester!”
I had just told her about Merlin’s party tonight and how Grandpa wanted us both to go. Her dark blue eyes had simmered with excitement, had taken all of three seconds to boil over, and then she was shrieking and hugging me, jumping up and down as she did.
“Oh my God, just you wait and see how fantastic this going to be!” she exclaimed. “This is so perfect, it’s too perfect. Maxen Colchester. I’ve been dying to meet him for so long.” And then she added, as if realizing that I was still there with her, “And maybe he’ll bring his cute friend, the one they have on the news all the time.”
“Embry Moore,” I supplied, the sudden rush of adrenaline making my head spin. I felt outside of myself, like I was floating, like I was drifting backwards in time, back to Ash and our kiss four years ago. Back to the courtyard this afternoon, his hand in my hair and his eyes on my throat, like a hungry vampire. God, I couldn’t stop seeing his face in that moment, couldn’t stop feeling his body pressed against mine.
“Right,” Abilene said, letting go of me and clapping her hands together, “Embry Moore. And then you can meet Embry and I’ll meet Maxen, and everybody will fall in love and live happily ever after.” She said it with a laugh that could have been self-deprecating, as if she understood how ridiculous the whole idea was, but all the same, her eyes shone with the kind of dangerous Abilene energy that meant she was about to get her way. I’d seen that energy before every lacrosse game, before every meeting with the headmaster, every night before she’d swung her leg out of the dorm room window to sneak out.
And for the first time in four years, my little lie of omission suddenly seemed a lot less little.
I almost opened my mouth to tell her—well, I don’t know what exactly I planned on saying—but she interrupted me by shoving my purse into my hands.
“We’re going shopping,” she declared. “And we aren’t stopping until we find the perfect outfit.”
And as usual, I let myself get swept up in her plans. Who knew what the night might bring? Ash might change his mind about going, or he might change his mind about talking to me at all. Dread soured my stomach, even as a part of me realized it might be for the best. It would hurt awfully, but it wouldn’t hurt as much as losing Abilene’s friendship.
Would it?
* * *
Merlin’s party was on the rooftop of an upscale hotel overlooking the Chicago River, and by the time Abilene and I arrived, it was well underway. While Grandpa went early because he planned on leaving early to catch a late meeting, Abilene had insisted we get there an hour after the party’s start time, so that we didn’t look desperate or worse—get forced into making small talk with inconsequential people. I rolled my eyes at that, but I didn’t argue. I was still twisted up in knots about going—about Ash—and it didn’t take much to convince me to hide in my room for another hour.
But when we got there, I had to agree that Abilene had made the right decision. It was so much easier to step off the elevator and melt into a crowd of boozy chatter than it was to stand around awkwardly and stare at the newcomers walking in. I offered to get Abilene and I each a drink and slipped away from her, tugging self-consciously at the short hem of the raspberry mini-dress Abilene had somehow talked me into buying.
“Miss Galloway,” came a voice from behind me.
Startled, I turned to see Merlin himself standing behind me in line, elegant as always in a three-piece suit. Even the strong breeze ruffling his black hair looked refined. But all that elegance couldn’t hide the dislike that glittered in his onyx eyes or the displeasure pulling at the corners of his thin mouth.
“Mr. Rhys,” I said politely, making to turn back around, my chest thudding with nervousness.
He caught my arm before I c
ould turn away and steered me away from the line, towards the far corner of the patio. “I know you are here because of your grandfather,” he said once no one could hear us, “and because of the love I bear him, I won’t ask you to leave. But you should.”
“You want me to leave?” I asked, stunned. Of all the things to worry about tonight, that had never occurred to me. That I actually wouldn’t be welcome.
“Of course.”
“Of course?” I repeated. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong? Do you…hate me…or something?”
“Hate is a word used by the young,” he said, looking at me with an exasperated, chastising look. “I have no reason to hate you. Surely it must occur to you that I don’t act or speak without a good reason to do so.”
“And there’s a good reason why you don’t want me here tonight?”
At that, Merlin’s face softened, and when it did, I saw that underneath his sharp, predatory gaze, he was a handsome man. Handsome and tired, like Ash had been when I met him. “There is a good reason. And it’s that I don’t want to see you or someone else I care about hurt. But I suppose it might be too late for that.” He sighed and stretched his neck. “Do you remember that night in London, when you kissed Maxen?”
Heat rose to my cheeks. “Yes. Not that it’s any of your business.”
Another sigh. “It is my business. I don’t like that it is, but I can’t help a lot of things I don’t like. You see, I care a lot about Maxen. I believe someday very soon, he’s going to be more than a hero. I think he’s going to be a leader. But a leader is only as powerful as the people around him, and it matters which people he surrounds himself with.”
I bristled at that. “I’m not a bad person, Mr. Rhys. And I’m not a weak or stupid person either.”
“Oh, no,” Merlin said, shaking his head, “you misunderstand me. You are absolutely none of those things. You are too much of the opposite.”
I had no idea whether that was a compliment or a warning, but I did know that I wasn’t willing to let go of Ash, not for Merlin. “I’m not convinced.”
Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance Page 31