Page 96 of Gilded Locks

Grace nodded, the tears still coming, and turned her face into her pillow to hide them.

But long after Willa pulled her drapes, closed the door so slowly that it barely clicked as it shut, and exited the house, Grace lay there in distress and pain, knowing she’d hurt Garrickand that she didn’t know who or what to trust. She’d thought she was alone before, but now, she felt completely adrift.

Eventually, Grace fell into a fitful rest. Mother woke her sometime after lunch with a plate of food she set on the sidetable. Willa had sought Mother out, and she had come to look in on Grace.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Mother placed a hand on Grace’s forehead and, seeming relieved, smiled and settled in on the side of her bed.

Grace groaned. Her head still ached, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been. Maybe the relative darkness of her room had helped. So long as she didn’t look at the seams of the drapes, she was fine.

“That bad? Tearful sleep isn’t very restful,” Mother said.

“I haven’t been crying,” Grace lied.

Mother brushed at Grace’s cheeks. “Your face betrays you, fledgling.”

Grace turned her face away.

“Come on. Tell me what’s weighing on you. Things have been difficult, but this feels different.”

“I’m just a little tired. Too many late nights. Normal hiccups for Protectors.”

“That explains the headache. But not the tears.”

Grace thought of arguing that it wasn’t unreasonable to think a headache as bad as hers would cause tears, but she’d already committed to the ‘I didn’t cry’ lie.

“Is it the Clairmont boy? I saw you two… talking.”

“His name is Garrick.” Mother shouldn’t refer to him like that. Like being a Clairmont was all that mattered about him. No one should do that.

Mother didn’t say anything but watched Grace expectantly.

Finally, Grace groaned, sat up, and spilled the details. “I should care about James. James is the one I ought to like. But he’s just so stiff, and it’s almost like he’s two different people. The Rogue, and a boring, grouchy man.

“But Garrick… Garrick’s different. He’s shy. You might not know it, but he is. He is sweet and kind. And he says he doesn’t like his father or the mayor, but I don’t know if I can believe it. Earlier this month, I’d have sworn he was just like them.”

When Grace finished, she looked at Mother, who was listening with no discernible hint of pleasure or disapproval. “You really care about Garrick.”

Grace nodded. “I know I shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“He’s a Clairmont, and I’m a Robbins.”

Mother nodded, thinking for a moment before speaking. “Do you know why I married your father?”

Grace rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard this before.”

Reaching out for Grace’s hand, Mother shook her head. “I’ve told you the sappy, gooey reasons,” she said with a smirk, “and they’re true. But there’s more to it than that.”

Grace looked at her mother from the corner of her eye, curious, but not ready to admit it.

“I didn’t want to marry your father. Not when my parents suggested it.”

“Grandma and Grandpa Russell told you to marry Dad?”

Mother nodded. “They wouldn’t have forced me. That wasn’t their way. But your father was a Protector, a handful of years older than me, and he was good at what he did, as you know.”

Grace nodded.

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