Chapter 58: A Shape Of Eudora

Beatris

Breakfast had already been laid out on the western terrace.

Unlike the west wing, this side of the mansion welcomed the morning sun. White stone columns opened onto gardens bursting with roses, while ivy climbed lazily along the railings. Birds sang somewhere beyond the hedges, and the breeze carried the damp scent of fresh rain.

Alexander was already waiting. He rose the moment I stepped outside. His eyes found me and stayed there.

Something moved across his face too quickly to name. Recognition. Ache. Something quieter and far more dangerous.

I knew why.

My pale ivory dress fell softly to the floor, its sleeves embroidered with delicate silver thread. My hair had been pinned back exactly as it appeared in nearly every portrait hanging throughout Crimson Hill.

Exactly the way Eudora had worn hers. I barely recognized myself in the mirror.

Good.

If this was what made Alexander lower his guard, then I would keep wearing the mask. I made myself smile.

"Good morning."

His gaze held mine another second before he answered.

"Good morning."

He pulled out my chair. I thanked him and sat opposite him.

For the first few minutes, the only sounds between us were china, silver, and birdsong drifting in from the gardens. I could feel his eyes returning to me again and again. Each time I glanced up, he looked back at his plate or his cup, as though I had caught him doing something private.

I hated that I could not tell what sat behind that silence. Whether he liked seeing me dressed this way.

Or whether he knew exactly what I was trying to do.

The quiet no longer felt as sharp as it once had. That bothered me more than I wanted to admit. Maybe I was getting used to it. Maybe Crimson Hill taught people to stop waiting for words.

I reached for a strawberry and rolled it once between my fingers.

"You know," I said, "I've never seen anyone eat breakfast in such complete silence before."

Alexander looked up.

The corner of his mouth shifted. "I didn't realize I was being judged."

"You are."

"I see."

"I think it's unhealthy."

His brow lifted. "The silence?"

"The routine." I gestured lightly with my fork. "We sit here. We eat. You look at me every few minutes. I pretend not to notice."

His mouth curved a little more this time.

"You noticed?"

"Every time."

"I was hoping I'd become less obvious."

"You've become worse."

A low laugh escaped him. It was brief, gone almost at once. Still, the sound tightened something in my chest. I set my fork down.

"You laugh more than I expected."

"I used to."

The answer came so simply that it caught me off guard.

I looked at him. "What changed?"

The trace of amusement left his face.

"Time."

One word. Nothing more. I lowered my gaze to my plate. "I don't think anyone should stop laughing."

His eyes rested on me.

"You'd be surprised what people learn to live without."

I looked back at him, but before I could answer, he lifted his cup and took a slow sip of tea.

"I don't expect you to understand."

Silence settled again. This time it felt heavier.

The breeze stirred the lace tablecloth and brought the scent of roses up from the gardens below. I watched the steam rise from my tea until the opening I had been waiting for quietly appeared.

"You know," I said, "I dreamed about you last night."

His expression changed at once. Not shock. Something softer. Almost wary.

"I see."

I tilted my head.

"You were smiling."

That drew the faintest smile from him now.

"I don't smile?"

"Not like that."

His eyes held mine.

"It was different."

I lowered my gaze, as if searching for the memory.

"You looked..." I paused. "Happy."

The word settled between us.

"I've never seen you smile that way," I said. "Not once."

Alexander looked past me, out toward the gardens.

"There was a time," he said quietly, "when smiling came more easily."

I rose from my chair. He watched every step as I crossed the terrace. When I reached him, I stopped close enough to hear his breathing.

Close enough to see the faint gold hidden in the dark of his eyes.

Very carefully, I lifted my hand and touched his cheek. His skin was cool beneath my palm. He did not move.

One of his hands rose and closed around mine, not to pull it away, only to keep it there. His thumb brushed across the back of my hand once.

"You don't have to become her," he said softly. "Not if you don't want to."

His eyes searched mine.

"If dressing this way isn't what you want, don't do it for me."

Something in me caught. Not because I believed him. Because he sounded as though he meant every word.

Then, quietly, he said, "I love you, Beatris."

The confession came so plainly it almost stole the air from my lungs.

"I've waited a very long time for you."

His fingers stayed closed around mine.

"I can wait longer."

His voice had gone low now, stripped of everything except sincerity.

"As long as it takes."

He gave a faint, sad smile.

"It was never my wish to keep you inside Crimson Hill."

His thumb moved slowly over my knuckles.

"I only want to keep you alive."

"You'll understand that someday."

For a second, I did not know what to say. Then I remembered why I had come.

"I'm remembering more than you think."

That got his full attention.

"The visions," I said. "They're stronger now."

He said nothing.

"When I touched that ring..." My voice thinned despite my effort to steady it. "I saw myself."

His fingers stilled.

"I saw Eudora."

I watched his face carefully.

"And I saw you."

Still, he said nothing.

"You were happy," I said. "She was happy. Everything about it felt..." I struggled for the word. "Lighter."

His jaw tightened.

"The way you looked at her..." "I've never seen you look at anything like that."

He lowered his eyes.

"Maybe," he said at last, "because that part of me left with her."

The grief in his voice hit harder than I expected. I stepped closer.

"I don't know why," I whispered, "but when I see these memories, they don't feel distant. I don't feel as though I'm only watching them."

I placed my free hand over his.

"I feel them."

I let the words stop there. Let him finish the rest in his own mind.

He looked at me as though searching for something that had been denied to him for too long. Hope, perhaps. Or proof that Eudora was not as lost as he had feared.

Before I could think myself out of it, I leaned in. Our mouths met softly.

Alexander did not kiss me back at once. He stayed perfectly still, giving me time to retreat.

When I did not, his hand slid from mine to the side of my face.

Then he kissed me back. Slowly. Tenderly. Nothing hurried. Nothing taken.

Only years of longing gathered into something so restrained it felt more dangerous than hunger ever had.

My fingers tightened in the fabric of his coat. His other hand came to rest at the small of my back, drawing me closer without pressure, without force.

The terrace disappeared. The birds. The breeze. The breakfast cooling untouched on the table.

Everything blurred. There was only him. Only the quiet certainty in the way he held me.

When we finally broke apart, I could not catch my breath.

And something inside me had gone wrong. I had kissed him for a reason. To make him trust me. That had been the plan.

So why did some traitorous part of me want him to do it again?

I stared at him, breathing unevenly. It had to be survival. It had to be. My body was only learning the shape of safety where it could find it.

That was all. Wasn't it?

Yet the warmth of his hand still lingered against my back, and I hated how much of me noticed.

For the first time, I wasn't certain whether the confusion belonged to me

Or to the woman whose memories were slowly becoming my own.