Page 44 of Lessons in Heartbreak

“What does that mean?” I whispered. “Why are they freaking out over these two guys?”

She tilted the popcorn bowl toward me. “Because the most important thing back then, especially for young women in a home with no male heir, was to secure a decent marriage. These two men are rich and unmarried, and that means every single woman in the area will be hoping for an engagement.”

I snorted. “Damn. These guys don’t have to do anything but show up and flash their bank accounts.”

“Basically.”

Over the next hour, I learned a lot about the precarious reputation of women. The disparity between Mr. Darcy (who didn’t seem like such a bad guy to me; I wouldn’t want to show up at a party with everyone staring at me like that either) and Lizzie (who was hot in a smart, mouthy kind of way).

“Fuck me,” I whispered when he asked her a question about pride. “That’s a big deal, right?”

Ruby gave me a thoughtful look. “Yes. First time he’s letting down the mask with her. He wouldn’t be engaging like this if he wasn’t a little bit interested. Even if he didn’t want to be yet, he can’t seem to help it.”

We reached for a bite of popcorn at the same time, our fingers brushing. Hers yanked back more quickly than mine, and I risked a glance out of the corner of my eye.

It felt like middle school, when you’re sitting next to your crush in a movie theater, holding your hand out at an awkward angle and hoping they’d take the bait—butterflies exploding in your stomach when they did.

Ruby had fully relaxed by this point, her arm up against mine and her knee completely resting on my thigh. The scene ended, and we both sat, raptly watching as Darcy reached out and helped her intothe carriage. Lizzie’s stunned look had me glancing over at Ruby for a moment, and fuck if she didn’t have the sweetest smile on her face.

Then Darcy pulled back, flexed his hand, and Ruby sighed decadently.

I grabbed the remote and hit pause. “Hang on a second.”

“What?”

I gestured to the TV. “What the fuck was that?”

“The hand flex,” she answered seriously. “He grabbed her hand. They weren’t wearing gloves.”

For a moment, I did nothing but stare. “They weren’t wearing gloves?”

She edged forward in her seat, face more animated than I’d ever seen. God, was she always this fucking cute? I did a quick mental tally of concussions, because repetitive head injuries were the only plausible reason I hadn’t noticed right away.

“Back then, skin-to-skin touching almost never happened outside of a dance, courting, or an engagement, and even then, it would’ve been considered scandalous.” Her eyes were glittering in the darkened room, and I found myself with a dry throat again, slightly desperate to know what she was going to say next. “Him touching her like that would’ve felt ...” Her voice lowered to a throaty whisper. “Electric.” Then she smiled, biting down on her bottom lip as she did. It took everything in me to tear my gaze away from her mouth. “Just from holding her hand. Can you imagine?”

No. But fuck if I didn’t want to.

“Show me,” I told her in a rough, quiet voice, shifting the popcorn from her lap and easing my hand onto my thigh, just next to where her knee rested against it. My pulse hammered in my ears as she stared down at my hand. “If I were your date, a real one, and you were watching this—what would you do? Would you show me?”

The graceful line of her throat worked on a swallow, but she didn’t shut down. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve never had a man here for a movie date. Are we renegotiating to account for hand-holding?”

Yes. Please, dear God, yes.

“If you want.” My chin rose in a slight dare, and she saw it. Ruby tightened her jaw and stared down at my hand, where the pinkie was a fraction of an inch from the soft cashmere covering her legs.

“For practice,” she said. “Right?”

I nodded, because fuck, I would’ve agreed to anything. I didn’t know what power this movie had, but I wanted her to hold my hand more than anything in the entire fucking world. My heartbeat hammered in my chest when she slid her hand over the top of mine, just a whisper of a touch at first.

Scared to move too quickly, I let her drag her nails over my knuckles, over and back, before I turned my hand over, my palm facing hers now. The hair on my arms lifted at her gentle, curious exploration, and I clenched my jaw while I watched. Her hand was so much smaller. If she stretched her fingers out over mine, I would’ve been able to bend at the top knuckle easily, without her needing to remove her hand.

The skin on her fingers was impossibly soft when she danced her fingertips over the calluses on my palms. “This is from playing?” she asked.

I managed a nod. “Mostly from lifting, but ... yeah.”

She blinked slowly, staring down at our hands as she continued the delicate, torturous touches, and she eased her fingers in between mine. “And men would like something like this?” she asked. “It wouldn’t seem ... stupid? Too innocent?”

God, I couldn’t even answer, because I felt like my voice might crack over the screaming sexual tension locking down my entire body. I shook my head and cleared my throat. “No. It’s not stupid.”

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