Chapter 167: The woman at the gallery
The gallery was hidden down a curving alleyway lined with soft lanterns, one of those places that was private enough to be our own little secret. Caspian had planned the afternoon, an oasis away from everything that had come before. I hadn't asked him what he was showing me when he'd said, "You'll like this place," but as we stepped into the vast, sunlit atrium, I knew he wasn't lying.
And for a while, it was that—us. The stillness of footsteps on waxed floors, the stillness of air that had been breathed, the stillness of serenity.
Until I saw her.
She wasn't dramatic or loud, just. familiar. Tall. Elegant in her pale cream coat and red heels that padded along silently when she moved. She was standing over some piece of modern art, one hand in the crook of her elbow, her head tilted to one side in a trained pose. As if she were accustomed to being viewed. As if she would be.
Caspian's hands locked where they'd been tracing circles on my skin.
He still hadn't turned to her. But I had. And I just knew who she was, before he turned to her. Before I heard the breathing that was too soft to be anything but shock.
"Caspian," she said.
He tensed beside me.
"Amelia," he said after a gap that wasn't long, but wasn't brief.
That name. Amelia. It had hummed with poise and warning.
I didn't take his hand. I didn't need to. Because by then, I wanted to see if he'd take mine.
He did.
The weight of his fingers closing around mine was warm and instant and absolute. But nothing could stem the prong of doubt from sliding like static into my chest.
Amelia smiled, and it was not one smile that I could accept. It was a smile that declared, I know him too. One that declared, I've known him longer.
"I didn't know you'd be here," she said, turning my direction. Not appraising—simply inquisitive. "And you are Lily."
"Yes," I answered, trying to sound as placid as possible. "I am."
Amelia's smile relaxed. "I've heard your name. Nice to finally match the face and name."
I seethed at not being able to surmise what that was supposed to mean. Had Caspian talked to her about me, recently? Or did she just. hear?
Caspian cleared his throat. "We're just passing through."
"I can tell," she said. "This becomes you. You always did love your silences being scheduled."
It was discreet, the tightening of his jaw. "And you always did like having your entrances staged."
Amelia shrugged, as though nothing. As though it wasn't important that I'd just opened some tightly shut thing between us.
"Well," she said with one final scan of the room, "I won't hold you up."
She spun, tapping heels on the floor softly, and swept down toward the end of the gallery, where sunlight was long and golden on the floor of marble.
I did not say a word. Not yet.
Neither did Caspian.
The silence between us was not painful—it was honest. Unbridled. It hung there like a question I wasn't ready to ask but was required to.
At last, he looked at me. "She was in my life a long time ago."
"how long ago?"
"Years,"
"Before any of that. Before I knew what I was looking for. Before I met you."
I nodded slowly. "Did you love her?"
He didn't blink. Didn't lie.
"I thought I did."
The truth stung, but it didn't hurt like it would have months earlier.
"Do you still talk to her?"
"No."
I believed him.
But that was different from saying the experience hadn't touched me. I was calm as we moved through the remainder of the gallery, calm as he stood before a swirling abstract painting that looked like bruised clouds and tempest.
He turned to me. "Say it."
"Say what?"
"Whatever's troubling you."
I wanted to tell him I wasn't jealous. I wanted to tell him it didn't bother me. But things were more complex than that.
"She looked at you the way she used to finish your sentences," I whispered.
Caspian's face furrowed. "That doesn't necessarily mean she still can."
"No," I replied. "But it reminded me of all the other people who have managed to get under you in a way that I never have."
He came closer to me. "And?"
"And I'm scared," I admitted. "Not that you saw her. But that I let something stir within me—something vulnerable. And that I'd gotten beyond that."
His fingers grazed my own. "You can feel things, Lily. Thorny things. Unsightly things. They don't diminish you. They make you authentic."
I raised my eyes to him, to the man who had broken it and cradled the pieces in his hands so tenderly. "Do you ever worry that someone from my past will appear and hurt you as much as they hurt me?"
He could not give a response.
"I am scared each day that someone will come back and try again. But I don't think they will do it."
There it was once more—his confidence. Not loud, not pushy. Just ever-present. Immovable.
We lingered there for a moment, the quiet of the gallery surrounding us like a cocoon.
I exhaled one last breath, "She was beautiful."
"So are you," he replied. "But that's not the reason I'm with you."
"Why then?"
He smiled, and it wasn't a sarcastic smile. It was serious. Deep. "Because with you, I don't have to be who I used to be."
My throat closed up.
Because I knew what that was. Knew how hard it was to let go of the armor that you thought you had to put on to make it through. Knew what it was like when someone made you feel safe enough to do so.
We finished the gallery in silence, but this one was pleasant. A comfortable silence.
Outside, the sun was setting low in the sky, and gold washed across the rooftops of the buildings. We were walking towards the car, and Caspian tugged me to one side with his eyes.
"May I ask you something that will probably sound very melodramatic?"
"Always," I said.
He stood still.
So did I.
"I've loved," he said to me. "But not like this. Not with this much clarity. Not with this much future in it."
I could feel my eyes stinging.
I placed my hand on his, placed it on my breast. "Then say it again."
"I love you," he said to me.
I didn't wince.
"I love you," I said to him.
And in saying it, I could feel all the old terrors come thundering back to life. All the doubts. All the specters.
They didn't disappear. They just shut up.
Because here, in this new silence, I finally understood something:
Love wasn't never getting shaken up. It was about choosing, again and again, who you were still holding on to when the ground trembled.
And I was still holding on to him.