Page 33 of Forever & Again
He blinked. “Whose name?”
“Come now, Oliver.” She pressed on. “I think we are far past pretending.”
Oliver kept his eyes locked on hers, every breath felt painfully measured. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he spoke of her loss—he knew the pain she felt, because he had felt it too.
Oliver finally broke the silence with a heavy sigh. “If I tell you her name, will you put down the glass?”
Grace nodded, refusing to break her gaze from his. If it were not for seeing his lips move, she might have missed his soft whisper.
“Odette.”
The name landed like a stone on the surface of a glassy pond.
“She died?”
His eyes darkened, the warmth draining from his face. Though the study was sweltering, a shiver stole down Grace’s spine.
“I do not talk about her.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the emotion that filled it was unmistakable.
If Grace had been of sound mind, she would have allowed him to hold onto the secrets he was so obviously trying to keep. But unfortunately for Oliver, her mind was far from sound. “Says the man who devoted his entire summer to getting me to speak of Benjamin.”
To her relief, his shoulders eased, and a soft laugh escaped him. “It seems advice is far easier to give than to live.”
“It is such a shame,” Grace whispered. If the taste of the brandy wasn’t punishment enough, her tongue was ensuring she would regret every sip. “What is the point of being loved at all, if no one is going to keep our memory alive?”
Oliver’s eyes closed briefly, pain flashing across his face. The air felt thin and fragile, and Grace feared if she even breathed too loudly, it would shatter.
“She loved horses.” Oliver’s voice came thick, as a single tear trailed down his cheek. “She could outride any man in England or France.”
Grace soaked in his words, the small details giving human breath to the shadows of his grief. “She was French?”
“She was.”
“What happened to her?”
Oliver opened his eyes slowly. His gaze met hers, and the room seemed to shrink around them nearly suffocating.
Grace waited for him to answer, though she was unsure she even wanted to hear it. But if speaking the words out loud would give him even a portion of the peace he had offered her these past few weeks, she would take on whatever weight he was willing to give her.
“Either give me the glass,” he said, shaking off the vulnerability he wore so well a moment ago, “or I will take it by force.”
Grace sighed in defeat. “I’ve already come this far,” she muttered. “You might as well let me finish.”
Oliver forced out a laugh before standing to retrieve another glass from the cart. “If I am going to endure your drunken ramblings,” he said, “I will need some of this as well.”
He took the bottle from her hand, pouring it slowly into his glass. He slowly raised the glass to his lips, letting the drink rest in his mouth just for a moment before swallowing. His eyes fluttered closed as he raised the glass again.
Grace’s traitorous eyes couldn’t look away. She watched him as though she could memorize every detail in the seconds between his breaths.
The flick of his lashes. The square of his jaw. The slope of his throat. His cravat was loosened just enough that all she could think of was how easy it would be to slip her fingers behind the silky fabric and pull him closer.
She was pulled from her trance by the gruff sound of him clearing his throat. Her eyes flew back to his, and her heart nearly stopped when she found them open, watching her.
Every coherent thought abandoned her. What was she supposed to say to the man she had professed her disdain for only weeks ago—who now found her blatantly ogling him, while scandalously alone, sharing a stolen bottle of brandy?
Grace’s mind scrambled for words, yet every thought fractured beneath the intensity of his stare.
“Benjamin had a crooked nose.” She blurted far too loudly.
