Page 74 of Lost in the Moonlight

I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “I look like her.”

When I risked meeting his eyes, I saw a flicker of something there I couldn’t name. Loss. Compassion. Devotion. But was it for her, or was it for me?

He took the painting from my hand, saying, “That first night I saw you in the cemetery, I thought she’d returned to haunting me.” He set the painting so it was lying sideways, propped up against the wall with her face turned away from us. I didn’t have time to process the words about her haunting him before he’d captured my hand and was running his thumb along the palm. “We both know I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a resemblance between you.”

“Resemblance? We could be twins.”

His gaze bored into mine. “Yes. But do you know what I’ve learned from actually living with twins most of my life?”

I shook my head, unable to speak.

“No matter how much they have in common physically, they’re not anything alike. They’re individual people. Individual souls. Their wants and needs and desires are different. Katerina may share Juliette’s chin and eyes and hair, but my sisters are nothing alike. One is fire and sass and attitude, and the other is peace and calm and nurture. Anyone who met one and then expected the other to be the same would be quickly enlightened. You may look like Sienna, Willow, but you aren’t her. There’s nothing about you that’s the same.”

“I’m a flawed version of her perfection.”

“Believe me, Sienna had her own flaws. That painting was done by a sixteen-year-old who idolized her and glossed over the nuances that actually made her interesting. She had a scar”—he ran his finger along my chin—“from falling out of a treehouse we tried to build in the backyard. And wild eyebrows that were never smooth.” His finger skimmed my brows.

My body loved every touch. Longed for more. But my heart was still twisted and hurting from the seed of doubt that wouldn’t be easily shaken after seeing the portrait. It had stolen some of my peace. Some of my blissfulness.

“Do you know what Sienna said when she saw that painting?” he asked, and as I obviously couldn’t know, he kept going. “She told me I hadn’t captured anything but a fake shell. It was missing her soul. And she was right. She’s always been right when it comes to me.”

His hand landed on the curve of my neck, thumb at my pulse point. The beat thudded fast and furious against the soft pressure of his fingers, revealing my anxiety to him.

“I miss her. I’ll always miss her. But she wasn’t perfect. Besides, it’s neither her nor perfection I crave these days. The only thing I hunger for is you.” His voice was so low and deep it vibrated through me. And I wasn’t sure why those words stabbed even more when they were meant to soothe.

“I should go,” I said softly. I should. For so many reasons, of which finding out I looked like his long-lost love was only one.

I was surprised when his hands picked me up and practically tossed me onto the love seat where I landed with a surprised huff.

“I’m not letting you turn this into something it’s not,” he said, glowering down at me. “My interest in you has nothing to do with her.”

“Every time you look at me, you have to see her.”

“I see Willow. That’s who I see when I look at you. Just like I don’t look at Juliette and see some imitation of Katerina.”

I spun my dad’s class ring in my fingers. So many reasons for me not to stay. But I also heard the determination in his voice. The raw truth. I believed him. He didn’t see me as her. And hewanted me to stay. He hungered for me. When would I ever hear a man say that to me again? Would there ever be someone else who did?

The thought of walking out his door brought more pain than the idea of staying, because I hungered too. For the euphoria of his touch. For the connection. But also for the idea that I could mean something to this caring, protective man.

It was wrong because it could hurt Mom and me.

It was wrong because he’d already lost a woman he loved and seen others he cared about hurt, and I could lead more of that anguish to his door.

“Lincoln, I—” I started but then shook my head, cutting myself off. He simply watched me battle with myself. Patient. Waiting.

Hadn’t I said I wanted more of him? This was more. This was him openly sharing his past with me. The grumpy man who’d saved me from the cemetery had peeled back that tough outer layer and shown me the gentleness beneath it.

I’d promised myself I’d take what I could get out of life, even when I was bound by so many restrictions. The rules governing me might be the reason I was forced to give him up before I was ready, so did I really want to walk away when I had the chance to stay, simply because his old girlfriend looked like me?

We had much bigger hurdles to jump than that. Impossible ones.

So, I’d take these few hours I had with him this weekend, and I’d savor the feeling of falling head over heels for someone before it was ripped away.

I released the tension that had remained in my shoulders and curled my feet under me on the love seat.

“So, what are we going to watch?”

The relief coasting over his face reinforced that I’d made the right decision. He’d done so much for me already. If my being here brought him some sort of comfort, any sort of pleasure, I could and would give him it. I’d give it to us both.

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