She throws me a touched smile. “You make a beautiful couple,” she says as we reach the end of the staircase.
“That’s nice of you to say.”
“I’m not trying to flatter you,” she says. “I mean it.”
“I know.”
She chuckles a little and I notice that she has a slight limp in her right leg. She notices my gaze.
“Twenty-five years ago, I fell off one of the horses when I was out riding with Thomas,” she tells me. “Broke my leg and fractured my foot. It took two surgeries, weeks of bedrest, and months of physical therapy before I could walk properly again. But I could never get rid of the limp.”
“Did you get back on another horse again?”
Her eyes twinkle. “Of course. Funnily enough, when I think back to that time, I think of it fondly.”
“Is that so?”
She nods. “Mostly because of Thomas. He took such good care of me. I think that was the moment I realized just how much he loved me.” She chuckles. “We’d been married almost twenty years by then, already had the kids and the farm and a whole life we’d built. But when you realize that nothing on earth can change how you feel about a person, that’s when you know you’ve got the real deal. And that’s when it hit me. That’s when I knew.”
I’m silent as her words sink in.
“Anyhow! Enough rambling from a batty old lady. The room we’ve given you is the Austen Suite,” Margaret informs. “It has a breathtaking view. You’ll see once the sun’s up. Have a wonderful rest, Anton. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Margaret.”
She whisks down the hall, singing softly to herself. I slide through the bedroom door on silent feet.
She wasn’t lying—the room is spectacular. Like stepping back in time with how beautifully it’s been preserved and restored. The fire in the corner crackles happily inside of a red brick hearth. The hardwood floors are refinished and glossy enough to see my own reflection.
Just in front of the fireplace is a cushy sofa. A grand, four-poster bed reclines in the back corner. Silks hang from all four sides, draped romantically around the mattress.
The only thing missing is… Jessa.
Then the bathroom door to the right opens and she walks out. She’s still fully dressed, but her eyes are puffy enough for me to realize the obvious: she’s been crying.
“Jessa—”
“I think you should go and ask for your own room,” she says flatly.
I raise my eyebrows. “Do you think that’s something I’m likely to do?”
“Fine,” she snaps. “Then I’ll go ask for another room.”
She tries to walk past me, but I grab her arm and pull her gently against me. Her chest hits mine and she pulls away almost immediately.
“Don’t touch me.”
I ignore her. “What you heard out there… You don’t have the context to understand it.”
“Please,” she scoffs. “How stupid do you think I am? You clearly meant what you said. Don’t you always?”
“You have no idea what I meant.”
She tosses her head and huffs. She’s not coming down from this horse anytime soon. So I stand there calmly and wait for her to rage and storm and drain all the excess adrenaline out of her body.
“I don’t want to share a room with you,” she spits.
“Too damn bad.”