I sigh and start to make my way toward her. There’s a shift in the air.

Though her back is to me, she’s fully aware of my presence. Her posture is rigid and tense.

I almost open my mouth to apologize and put us back to rights. When I reach her, I start to do just that, but she peels her attention away from the painting on the wall that she’s occupied herself with and speaks before I can.

“You were angry earlier, when you first arrived, weren’t you?”

The shift in topic surprises me. “Oh? What gave me away?”

“That curt reply about Collette was a bright red flag, though I didn’t need it. You walked in here looking the same as you did back at St. John’s, always carrying your feelings around. Right here,” she says, touching my brow gently. “There was always so much tension.”

I relax my features, and she drops her hand back by her side. Her fleeting touch lingers like tiny pinpricks on my face.

“Care to tell me why you were upset? Does it have to do with work? Or something else?” She leans in and whispers, “I’m good at keeping secrets, remember?”

Her words feel like a spell, a sensation of déjà vu.

I stop pretending to inspect the artwork in front of me and turn to face her head on, suddenly wanting her of all people to know the truth. “I just came from lunch with my father. Tolerable though our meals together usually are, today was different. He’s made it clear he wants me to get married. In fact, he’s demanding it.”

After a brief pause, a laugh bubbles out of her and she slaps a hand over her mouth.

She peels it partly away while wearing a look of remorse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. Just…our lives are so different and yet we always seem to be waging similar wars. I’m as good as married myself. My grandmother saw to my betrothal just the other day. Soon, I’ll be a missus.”

I frown at her jokey demeanor. “You’re kidding.”

She shakes her head.

“You don’t sound nearly as concerned as you should be by the prospect.”

She drops her hand and then presents a perfectly demure smile as if to say, What can I do?

“I’m nothing if not dutiful.”

How can she so willingly throw her life away? How can she allow her grandmother to control her fate?

“I’ll never marry. I see no point to it.”

Unimpressed, she notes, “A cynic—how rare. And I suppose you think love is a sham? A marketing ploy made up by Hallmark and Russel Stover?”

I shake my head vehemently. “Nothing like that. I don’t think of love at all. I leave it to others to enjoy. If it’s a farce, let it be theirs. I want nothing to do with it.”

“So you’ll defy your father?”

“Of course. His request is absurd.”

Her eyebrows rise and fall quickly. “Well you’ll have to let me know how that goes.”