Satin Princess(50)

“I can show you up to the room we prepared for you,” she says. “Thomas already took Jessa up. She seemed… tired.”

I follow her up the carpeted stairs. The blue carpet is worn and the stairs creak as we navigate up them.

“We had them redone shortly after we moved into the manor,” Margaret tells me. “But that was almost forty years ago. We might have to do some more work on them.”

“Things don’t have to be perfect to be worth keeping,” I mutter. I’m not sure where that comes from or even what it means. And as soon as I’ve said it, I wish I hadn’t.

She throws me a touched smile. “You make a beautiful couple,” she says as we reach the end of the staircase.

“That’s nice of you to say.”

“I’m not trying to flatter you,” she says. “I mean it.”

“I know.”

She chuckles a little and I notice that she has a slight limp in her right leg. She notices my gaze.

“Twenty-five years ago, I fell off one of the horses when I was out riding with Thomas,” she tells me. “Broke my leg and fractured my foot. It took two surgeries, weeks of bedrest, and months of physical therapy before I could walk properly again. But I could never get rid of the limp.”

“Did you get back on another horse again?”

Her eyes twinkle. “Of course. Funnily enough, when I think back to that time, I think of it fondly.”

“Is that so?”

She nods. “Mostly because of Thomas. He took such good care of me. I think that was the moment I realized just how much he loved me.” She chuckles. “We’d been married almost twenty years by then, already had the kids and the farm and a whole life we’d built. But when you realize that nothing on earth can change how you feel about a person, that’s when you know you’ve got the real deal. And that’s when it hit me. That’s when I knew.”

I’m silent as her words sink in.

“Anyhow! Enough rambling from a batty old lady. The room we’ve given you is the Austen Suite,” Margaret informs. “It has a breathtaking view. You’ll see once the sun’s up. Have a wonderful rest, Anton. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Margaret.”

She whisks down the hall, singing softly to herself. I slide through the bedroom door on silent feet.

She wasn’t lying—the room is spectacular. Like stepping back in time with how beautifully it’s been preserved and restored. The fire in the corner crackles happily inside of a red brick hearth. The hardwood floors are refinished and glossy enough to see my own reflection.

Just in front of the fireplace is a cushy sofa. A grand, four-poster bed reclines in the back corner. Silks hang from all four sides, draped romantically around the mattress.

The only thing missing is… Jessa.

Then the bathroom door to the right opens and she walks out. She’s still fully dressed, but her eyes are puffy enough for me to realize the obvious: she’s been crying.

“Jessa—”

“I think you should go and ask for your own room,” she says flatly.

I raise my eyebrows. “Do you think that’s something I’m likely to do?”

“Fine,” she snaps. “Then I’ll go ask for another room.”

She tries to walk past me, but I grab her arm and pull her gently against me. Her chest hits mine and she pulls away almost immediately.

“Don’t touch me.”

I ignore her. “What you heard out there… You don’t have the context to understand it.”

“Please,” she scoffs. “How stupid do you think I am? You clearly meant what you said. Don’t you always?”

“You have no idea what I meant.”

She tosses her head and huffs. She’s not coming down from this horse anytime soon. So I stand there calmly and wait for her to rage and storm and drain all the excess adrenaline out of her body.

“I don’t want to share a room with you,” she spits.

“Too damn bad.”

“Fine,” she hisses again. “Then you can sleep on the couch.”

“Like hell I will.”

“For God’s sake, you can’t even give me that?”

“No, because there’s no reason to be dramatic.”

Jessa stamps her foot. “I heard you out there, Anton!”

“I was pissed at my brother. It wasn’t about you.”

“Then who was it about? Is there another woman having your baby?” she demands, crossing her arms across her chest. “Hm?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then tell me!”

“Would you believe me if I explained?”

“Honestly, right now, anything you say will just sound like an excuse to me.”

“Exactly,” I say. “So why bother?”

Her eyes go wide. I can see the hurt in them, written clear as day. “You’re an asshole. Why did you even bring me here, Anton? Was it just to screw with my head and make me think that I was important to you?”

“No.”

“Then why?” she demands again.

“Because I thought you’d enjoy it. Simple as that.”

She doesn’t quite know how to process that. She turns from me and stares out the window. “I have no idea what we’re doing…” she murmurs.