Page 67 of Bookshop Cinderella

“It’s meant to show our superiority over the lesser mortals.”

“Or to show that all of you suffer from indigestion.”

He chuckled. “Possibly.”

She glanced at the painting of an angelic, golden-haired beauty beside Max’s portrait. “And who’s this? Not Lady Moseley. Another sister, perhaps?”

“No. That is Rebecca.” He paused a fraction of a second. “My wife.”

“You were married?” Startled, Evie glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“Yes,” he answered, staring up at the portrait. “She died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He turned, facing her. “It was nearly eight years ago.”

“That long? You must have both been very young.”

“We met in New York when I was only twenty-two. She was seventeen.”

“New York? So, she was American, then? How did you meet?”

“A friend of mine was marrying an American heiress, and he asked me to attend the wedding as best man. I met Rebecca at the wedding breakfast.”

“She’s very beautiful.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “She was.”

“What was she like?”

He was silent so long, she thought he wasn’t going to reply, but thenhe laughed a little and said, “I’m not sure what to say. It’s not an easy question to answer.”

“No? But you were married.”

“Only for two years. And we’d only known each other two months when we wed.”

“Quite a whirlwind courtship.”

“Yes. You see, Rebecca wasn’t like any other girl I’d ever met. From the moment I saw her, I wanted her—across a crowded room, just like in some romantic novel, before she said a word, before I even knew her name. And when I heard her laugh...” He paused, turning to look up at the picture. “She looked like an angel, but she had the throatiest, most wicked laugh I’d ever heard in my life. I heard that, and my heart was lost.”

“You fell in love that fast?”

“Yes. At least,” he amended with a grimace and returned his attention to her, “I thought it was love. God knows, it felt like love.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“It was passion and desire, infatuation and lust, the sort of thing that makes you feel so gloriously alive and happy that it becomes easy to ignore your own better judgment. Is that love?” He paused to consider. “I suppose it is, but it certainly isn’t the kind that lasts.” He tilted his head to study her. “I think perhaps you know what I mean?”

“Me?” Evie stared at him. “What makes you say that?”

“The pigeon, of course.”

“Oh, Rory.” She gave a laugh, shaking her head. “That wasn’t the same thing at all. Rory and I had known each other forever. After he went to Germany, we only saw each other once, briefly, when his father died. He came home to settle his father’s things. We wrote to each other often while he was away, but there was nothing romantic about it for either of us until he came back.”

“What changed?”

“Not much, as it turns out.” She saw his puzzled look and hastened to explain. “When he first came back, it was so good to see him again, and I started hoping there could be more than affection and friendship between us, but that was just wishful thinking on my part. You’re the one that made me realize it.”

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