Page 49 of Princess Bride Swap

She didn’t respond, but she leaned into him and he held on. He settled them both onto the bed, her in his lap as he rocked her gently and murmured reassuring words that she was all right. She would be all right.

It took time. First, she began to breathe easier. Then the tears stopped and she allowed him to brush the wet off her face. The shakes remained, but they lessened in severity. When he thought she was calm enough to talk, he ran a hand over her hair and held her close.

“Is this because of the fight with my mother? I’ve handled it,tesoruccia.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. Something inside of him that had been tied tight these weeks eased.

This was right. Not that she would be in such a state, but that they would be close. That he would hold her and she would lean against him. That they would have soft spots for one another. That they wouldtalk.

Not hide from everything they were. And poor Beaugonia had gotten herself into such a frenzy she’d had a panic attack. Which was probably his own fault. He’d put too many responsibilities onhershoulders.

Well, no more.

“We must talk, Beau. We must... This has not been working, has it? I am to blame. We will sort it all out. Don’t worry any more,amore mio. Everything will be fine.”

But she shook her head, even as she sagged against him. “It will never be fine.”

“Beaugonia...”

“These attacks are never because of one thing,” she said, sounding utterly exhausted. “I admit, this one stemmed from my argument with your mother, but that’s hardly the reason I have panic attacks.”

Anything that eased began to tighten up again. Those words...These...attacks...as if a panic attack was a common occurrence for her. Not because of something he’d done. Not because of a pressure that was too much.

He looked down at her tousled hair. He tried to make sense of this. She’d mentioned her childhood social anxiety, and he’d understood. His anxiety had not been related to crowds. It had been more...generalized. But he’d never had a full-blown panic attack. Or at least, nothing that looked like this. Still, he could see how if it had been left unchecked, he might have.

But she had claimed that...she had grown out of her anxiety. That it no longer defined her, though her parents had continued to define her by it. He had assumed that perhaps, like him, she had gotten help. Because shehadbeen fine in all social situations. She had been perfect at their wedding dinner, on the video. She handled the staff well, and her position.

Maybe she had gotten help but because they hadn’t communicated, such help had fallen by the wayside. Maybe this was just... He didn’t know. He was misunderstanding something, surely. “Do you take anything?”

“Take anything?” she repeated, like she didn’t understand the question.

“Medication? For anxiety or panic disorders?”

“I...” She shook her head. “No. My father was insistent I never be treated. I did research on my own, but I was too...worried about what might happen if he caught me with medication or speaking to a therapist even via video. It was a blight against our name, in his eyes.”

“Your father...” And then a few facts started to fall into place. The fact this was not...new, or out of place. Her father and research and the resigned way she spoke of all this, like she knew exactly how this went.

She didn’t have medication because it was not allowed.

Becausethiswas commonplace. And had been.

And she had never told him.

“How often do you have these attacks?” he asked, still searching for some way to understand this that did not cause this terrible rending inside of him.

She stiffened against him, then began to ease away. He would have held on to her, but his limbs felt numb.

“I’m feeling much better. Do you mind if I take a bath? And then a nap? I’m quite tired.” She didn’t get to her feet, but she edged away so there was space between them on the end of the bed.

He could only stare at her. Avoiding the question. A simple question. What should besimple. Unless she’d been lying to him. “Beau.”

She sighed heavily. “Yes, I have panic attacks. They are sporadic. Uncontrollable. Sometimes there is a cause, sometimes there is not. You needn’t worry about it.”

He made a noise. He wasn’t sure what kind of noise, but no words would encompass his reaction toYou needn’t worry about it. Hewasworried. She’dterrifiedhim.

She’dliedto him. To his face. Over and over again for all these weeks.

“Icanhide it,” she said firmly. “I have been hiding it. And still, you’re the only one who knows beyond my family. It’s all right. No one else has to know. You needn’t...” She trailed off, but she didn’t look at him.

He was still sitting on the bed, trying to work through this turn of events. “What is it you think I’ll do?”

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