No matter what I throw at her, she’s just so damn…nice.
No, better than nice. She’s kind. She’s not putting on a show for anyone’s benefit. She’s choosing to minimize suffering whenever possible, which is a lot more than I can say about most of the people I know. Not to mention my own sorry self.
Unable to bear her understanding another second, I shake my head and turn to her, determined to play this off and get out of here as quickly as possible. “Sorry. Did I pass out?”
She blinks faster but seems relieved. “Yes. Are you sick? Did you hit your head? Should we—”
“Oh no, I’m fine.” I force a tight laugh. “It’s just something that happens every once and a while. Usually when I’m tired. Nothing to worry about.” I stand, brushing the pebble dust off my jeans before I offer her my hand. “But I should probably get to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“It has.” She rises without touching my hand, clearly unconvinced that I’m fit for duty. “But are you sure we shouldn’t talk to someone when we get back? Maybe your mother? Or a physician? Greta mentioned there’s always a doctor on call in the infirmary.”
“No, I’m fine. It’s all fine.” I take her hand, tucking it into the crook of my arm as I lead the way back through the maze. “I’ve been doing it for years. The doctors say it’s nothing to worry about as long as it doesn’t happen while I’m operating heavy machinery. But that’s why I have a driver. Guess I’m lucky I can afford one of those, huh?” I finish with a strained laugh.
Fuck me, could this get any worse?
“Yes, you are,” she murmurs, putting on a brave face.
But I can tell she’s still concerned. And troubled. And wondering what the hell she’s gotten herself into, being engaged to marry a man with some sort of rare Goat-Fainting-and-Baby-Napkin-Shouting condition.
I can feel her pity oozing around us as we leave the maze and make our way back to the castle under a sky full of stars that would be romantic if we were any other couple. But we aren’t. We’re two people who were forced together by our families, who are better off apart—no matter who she is.
I’m no longer certain she’s Sabrina, but I’m positive that we don’t belong anywhere near an altar saying our “I dos.”
Still, I hate the pity in her eyes. I hate it almost as much as I hate saying goodbye at her door with a cringe-worthy wave instead of a kiss.
“Good night, Lizzy,” I say, flapping my hand like an idiot. “Sleep well.”
“You, too. See you tomorrow,” she says, worry lingering in her eyes as she closes the door between us.
Cursing beneath my breath, I turn and walk away.
Well, that was a nightmare. I try to convince myself it will all work out for the best, but after my shower, I lie in bed for hours staring at the ceiling, wondering why this allegedly logical, necessary thing I’m doing is making me feel like such absolute shit.
I tell myself the world will look brighter in the morning.
But in the morning, Lizzy seems thrilled to be dragged out of bed at six a.m. for a five-mile run before breakfast and endures another meal with Prince Charmless, the Oatmeal Bomber, with the patience of a saint.
Afterward, I drag her on a whirlwind tour of every hospital and care home in the capital in hopes that having to engage with hundreds of sickly strangers will erode her goodwill, but she is gracious and lovely to every patient we meet.
She’s quiet—she compensates for the stutter by being a woman of few words—but always kind, and in the car on the way home from our final stop, she has energy leftover to debate the merits of moving the veteran’s home to a suburb outside the capital.
“But most of the residents have lived in the city their entire lives.” She shifts in her seat, facing me as she crosses one long, toned leg over the other, making my fingers itch to curl around her thigh. The urge to touch her has been constant and unrelenting, so intense that not even spending the day with the ill and infirm could mute my awareness of how beautiful she looks in her simple navy sundress.
In fact, the suffering we witnessed only made my condition worse, reminding me that life is short and pain inevitable, and that we had all best make hay and love while the sun still shines.
But I can’t make love to Lizzy. I can’t lay a finger on her. It’s the only way to make sure I don’t end up kissing her again.
“Exactly,” I say, forcing my hands to stay fisted in my lap. “The head of the project thinks they’ll enjoy the fresh air and views. And we can build a much larger facility with bigger rooms and more recreational space if we relocate to a place with cheaper land on offer.”