Page 117 of Keep Me

I swallow the pain climbing up my throat.Don’t push, Sylvie.

“How did your aunt react?” I ask.

He lets out a breath of laughter. “She lost her mind, but Anna spoke to her. The house is mine, and she can’t take it away.”

“Good,” I reply, and I mean it. Nothing pleases me more than hearing him say that. “It’s all over, then,” I add. The contract, the marriage, the whole thing.

“Aye,” he replies. “It’s over.”

“What will you do now?” I ask.

He doesn’t reply, and I hear the struggle in his heavy breath. I’m waiting, hoping, praying that he’ll say something that might possibly involve me.

“I need more time, mo ghràidh. And I can’t ask that from you.”

I blow out a silent, quivering breath as I stare down at my bed, letting a tear fall directly from my eyes to the pillow. “I’ll give you whatever you need, Killian. If you tell me you need my help, I’ll help you. If you tell me to wait, I’ll wait. That was the vow we took, remember? It might be over, but I still believe in those words we swore. I’ll do whatever you need because that’s what wives do.”

He lets out an exhale that sounds hopeful.

“Oh, darling,” he replies. “Sylvie, I don’t want you to wait.”

My heart shatters. I didn’t know heartbreak could hurt so much, but it’s true. It’s agony.

I physically bow over in my bed from the pain, holding in a silent cry as he devastates me with his words.

“I need to do this on my own, love,” he continues. “And I’m afraid it might take forever. So, if you want to make me a vow, then promise me that you won’t put your life on hold for me. You’re not coming back to Barclay Manor, and we are not married. Tell me you understand.”

The phone line is silent as I cry into my pillow.

“Please, Sylvie. I need to hear you say it.”

He must hear the wet sounds of my next inhale because he makes a sympathetic sound.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

After a moment, I work up the courage to give him what he wants. “I understand. I won’t wait for you, but I will be here to help you. No matter what, I will always want to help you.”

“That’s good enough then,” he replies softly. “Then, right now, I want you to get some sleep.”

“I don’t want to hang up,” I cry.

“Then, keep the phone on your pillow. I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

Wiping my tears, I do as he said. I lie on the bed, resting my phone face up on the pillow. Staring at his name on the screen, I let the sound of his breath on the other line lull me off to sleep.

It’s the first restful sleep I’ve had in weeks, and the entire time, I dream of gentle bees and typewriter keys scattered in the grass.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Dear Sylvie,

Today marks two months since you left. And I’ve been seein’ this therapist now for over a month. She suggested I write a letter to everyone who I need to express something to. And although she said I don’t need to really send them, I decided that I wanted to send yours.

There are some things I need to say to you.

When you showed up at my house, I was stuck. I spent nearly two decades of my life lost and grieving, but then you came along. You were stubborn and rude, but you weren’t afraid to tell me what I needed to hear. Out of everyone, you were the only person who could pull me out.

I’m sorry that you had to spend a year with me when I was at my worst, but I think we were both a mess. And I want you to know that I’m not angry about the lies you told in that arrangement. I think part of me knew the entire time that the real plan was to take my house from me.

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