After several long, breathless moments, Owen finally withdrew with apparent effort to resume our castle building, his movements sloppier than they’d been before. What had once been a comfortable silence now felt both awkward and laden with meaning. I felt acutely aware of his presence, his every movement, even his every breath.
Owen eventually cleared his throat. “Almost finished. All it needs now are some decorations to make it a proper castle.”
I scanned the shoreline until my gaze settled on some scattered seashells not too far off, many of which had been broken by the waves. I hesitated. I hadn’t collected seashells since Mother’s death, but Owen brightened when his gaze followed mine.
“Seashells would be just the thing.”
I obediently stood to gather them, taking longer than I normally would so that I had a chance to reground myself, for the longer I’d remained near Owen, the more light-headed I’d begun to feel. I didn’t hear him follow me, so after I’d collected a handful of shells, I turned around and collided with him.
I gave a startled peep, a sound likely only possible with my returned voice. The shells fell onto the sand, but I scarcely noticed, not with the feel of Owen’s tingly touch on my waist where he’d grabbed me to keep me from falling. Even after he’d assured himself I was steady, he didn’t let go.
“Are you alright?” he murmured.
I was too breathless to manage words; I could barely nod. My heart pounded wildly as I stared up at him, transfixed by his rather intense blue gaze, somehow softer than usual.
My breath caught as his hands shifted to curl his fingers around mine, a heated touch that reminded me of the accidental ones we’d shared earlier…and like before, he made no move to pull away.
I didn’t understand what any of these touches and emotions filling the spaces between us meant when there was no one standing on the beach except for us and Owen’s guard. I only knew that in this moment, whatever charade we were performing no longer felt like a game.
Although his touch lingered, confusion furrowed his brow as he glanced down at our connected hands before his gaze took in the beach, empty save for his guard standing at a discrete distance. The sight seemed to remind him there was no need for us to be touching, for all at once he released me and stepped back, severing the alluring connection we’d just shared.
He lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
My heart ached, both at the apology and the boundary it created. No matter the strange but beautiful feelings steadily growing between us, our relationship could never go beyond friendship, not when my past mistake made me fear I didn’t deserve happiness. Every word, every touch, was all for a specific purpose: to free Owen from an unwanted marriage and allow me to obtain my lighthouse.
But as important as my lighthouse had always been, in this moment, it no longer mattered the way it once had. Even if I got it back, I’d still want to continue…whateverthiswas, even as my heart wrenched at the thought that we’d be continuing something that was only pretend.
I no longer wanted to pretend; I wanted it to be real.
CHAPTER24
My breaths came short and fast, each one sharp and painful, even as the parlor around me spun, making it difficult to focus on the blurred form in front of me. But despite being unable to see his features, I recognized Owen’s soothing voice as well as the comfort brought by his presence.
He grazed my knee, a gentle touch that managed to calm my shuddering breaths enough for me to focus on him crouching in front of me, his expression wrought with worry, all while his family looked on with concern. Owen had left his seat during the formal tea the moment he’d noticed my distress, a gesture I’d have better appreciated without the pain wrenching my heart.
I squeezed my eyes shut in an effort to suppress the memory of the words spoken moments before…yet they still swam to the surface to haunt me: news of a shipwreck that had been discovered upon the rocks this morning, no survivors…
The dark thoughts that always accompanied such devastating news returned, sharper than ever…followed by the familiar all-consuming guilt. If I’d been tending the lighthouse rather than living at the palace, could such a disaster have been prevented? I had no way of knowing, and not knowing was enough to drive me mad.
My thoughts were so occupied that I barely noticed Owen help me stand and escort me from the parlor. I followed numbly, my mind consumed with storms, rough seas, and lost ships, all of which overwhelmed my thoughts until I feared I’d go mad.
Owen led me to the nearest sitting room and eased me into a settee. “What’s wrong, Marisa?”
His worried tone finally penetrated my thoughts, as frantic as a stormy sea. Naturally, I didn’t speak, but even without any form of communication, Owen remained by my side, holding my hand between his. His soothing touch helped calm my shuddering breaths.
When it seemed that he couldn’t bear my silence a moment longer, Owen left my side only to retrieve a slate and chalk from the nearby desk. But when he tried to hand it to me, I frantically shook my head; the last thing I wanted was to express the source of my anguish. He tried to force the writing instruments into my hands, but I only tossed them aside with another sharp shake of my head, this one accompanied with a glare.
He sighed. “Please talk to me, Marisa. I can’t help you otherwise.”
Him knowing the source of my distress would do nothing to change the shipwreck’s outcome or ease my guilt that if I’d have been there…
And then there were the other more confusing emotions that would be impossible to explain, especially when I didn’t understand them myself—the confusing relief that Ihadn’tbeen there so that no more lives would stain my conscience. These conflicting emotions raged within me—wishing I could have helped while being fiercely glad I hadn’t had to…which only made me feel more horrible.
“Marisa?”
I ignored Owen as I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. I sat there for a long time, taking several deep, shaky breaths. And while my thoughts continued to rage, I managed to still them enough so that when I opened my eyes, the world was more stable than it’d been before.
I risked a glance towards the window overlooking the lighthouse, which stood erect in the early morning light. It never ceased to amaze me how the day following each dark and devastating night could be so bright.