From: Ellie Hastings
To: Isobel James
Isobel, you came back to me last night, though it no longer matters that you come and go. I get it now. You’re part of me.
I’ve forgiven you for leaving, forgiven you for lying.
Ethan too.
There’s no other way for Will and me. We must forgive you both. In time, your brother will forgive you and Ethan, just the same as I have.
Ethan once said something to me that now resonates in my heart. “Blood is blood, always to be protected, no matter the circumstances.”
I can finally see how carefully Ethan articulated during our conversations, making sure his words weren’t really lies at all. It makes me wonder if he had intended for it to be me who discovered what he’d done.
“We were different,” he’d said when I pushed him on whether or not he loved you.
Placing his words into context with his actions, I understand that he loved you in a different way than Will loves me. Ethan loved you as a sister.
As misguided as Ethan’s deeds were, he believed he was protecting his family, that he was keeping Lissie safe while keeping her close. I suppose he had his own logic for why he did what he did and for allowing us to assume you were lovers.
Our families’ lies cost you everything. Your child’s life, your life, the kind of love you deserved.
I miss you, Isobel. I miss the life you might have had.
I wonder, if I continue our boy talks, will you still hear me? Feel me, as I feel you?
Last night, Will waited for more than an hour on the balcony of our apartment while I dressed for our first date night in Paris. There are few things in life a powerful man like Will can’t control. How I present myself to him and the time it takes for me to feel comfortable with it belong in that very small category.
I came out of the master suite, wearing dark makeup and a revealing black dress, to find that he’d moved the dining table and chairs from the center of the room to clear the space.
Will stepped inside onto the chevron parquet and asked for my hand. His eyes were filled with stormy emotion as he explored the details of my dress and my body. His lips parted, but no words came from them. He wore black trousers and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves folded back to reveal his strong forearms, one covered with the tattoo that bears my name.
God, I couldn’t wait to touch his clean-shaven face.
When I offered my hand, he didn’t pull me in for a kiss. He bowed instead, then raised our joined hands into the air above my head. I twirled beneath his arm, and he led me across the elegant wood floor in a waltz. There was no music, only the melody we heard in our own heads.
Masculine grace and refinement emanate from Will when he moves, but it’s marked with a predator-like edge. Watching him walk or dance or fight is both delightful and stirring.
My husband led me through several dozen flawless box steps before lunging to the side, lowering me into his arms. “You are so lovely,” he said. Then, bending his tall frame, he pressed his warm lips to mine. “What you do to me, Elle, I can’t find the words to describe it.”
Your brother surprises me this way, with unexpected gestures that create romance in a timeless sense. No other man could love me the same as he does.
I wish you could have known him.