Page 97 of Sweet Silver Bells
Her eyes glistened, but she blinked the tears back like a lady taught never to let emotion show. “I think I’d like to stay, just a little while longer. I want to see if the ghosts remember me.”
Hunter wrapped her in his arms and began to sway, ignoring the tempo of the music entirely. “Then we’ll stay. And if they do, let them know you’re not alone anymore.”
Counting his steps in his head, Hunter spun Olivia, her dress fanning out around her as colors combined, the other dancers and their gowns twirling to the same choreography. He was keeping up well. There were no moments of pain or stumbling. Olivia fit in like she was born to be here.
That’s because she was.
They moved to music that was really there, that wasn’t in his head. He appreciated that, seeing the eight-piece orchestra, the violinists who played with their entire bodies, dressed in black as if they were supposed to fade into the walls but instead showed up to be noticed.
The music was fast and lively—magic, a twinkle in the energy, in the air, as a large grand clock ticked, filling the room with natural percussion counting down until midnight.
Until Christmas.
Smiles lingered on faces, and cups clanged together in toasts as groups celebrated. A whirl of joy surrounded them like dust from a faerie sprinkled over their heads. Hunter felt lighter, more in control, as he breathed in Olivia’s scent. Her skin, her neck, and her lips were inches from his face at all times.
He wanted to freeze time, to live in a moment of bliss where Olivia smiled, secrets hidden behind those eyes, secrets for him to discover, to obsess over. This would be short-lived; theirworld crashing down as the reality of their pain overwhelmed both of them. Hunter could see him running out of there as Sarah crept into the back of his mind. The last time he’d danced with a woman here was when she was in his arms.
How do I disappear into you?Hunter thought, as Olivia’s eye bore into him.
She saw him, like no one else did. She saw his pain in a different light, not as someone who needed help or saving, but as a companion. Both of them existed in a haunted sadness that would never be lifted, except for the comfort of each other’s arms.
The music slowed and came to an end, the ballroom breaking out in applause and appreciation as the band announced a small break and waiters came through with small hors d'oeuvres and champagne in small, stemmed circular glasses.
Olivia didn’t let Hunter look away from her, their bodies not breaking from their dance as everyone moved more casually around them, a few awkward stares thrown in their direction.
“Hunter.” Her face, the quiver of her lip, told him all he needed to know about where her heart lived. “The last time I was in this ballroom, I was called the worst possible thing imaginable. A boy who held me close, who said the most beautiful words to me, called me a witch. You called me a siren. It is the same, isn’t it?”
It hurt her, that word.
It shouldn’t hurt, Olivia. I don’t want it to hurt.
“But Olivia,” Hunter said, his hands slipping down to her waist, pulling her into him, into their bubble hidden from the world, “youarea witch.”
She pushed herself away so fast, tears filling her eyes instantly.
“No, stop.” He grabbed her hand before she could turn, her body poised to run. She stilled, as he asked.
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“I didn’t think you could hurt me. I thought you were different, Hunter.”
“Olivia, you are a witch. And I’m so proud of you,” he breathed.
“What?”
“I am so proud of everything you are. You can be terrifying, sure, but who isn’t sometimes? You are the strongest person I’ve ever met, you are sure of yourself, you are more beautiful than any forest, than any moon, mother nature bows down at your feet because she cannot compare to your beauty, she cannot compare to the compassion you hold in your heart.”
“I want them all dead,” Olivia said. “Everyone who walks on two legs and shares a tongue like mine. How is that for compassion? You are proud of me, of this evil being that I am, of this horror.”
Hunter put his hand under her chin. “Stop, Olivia. It isn’t 1914. Everything you are and everything you want to be is something that I love. I love you.”
She did stop. The slight angling away from him, the pull of her body against him, ceased. There was a limpness in her, as if she were about to faint into him.
It would be okay if she did. He would hold her, carry her forever.
“Who could ever love a witch, Hunter? What does that say about you?”
“I don’t care what anyone says. Because you could do nothing to scare me away, there is nothing you can do to make me feel differently. I am here with you in this ballroom, in this place filled with the ghosts you speak of, my own ghosts, because you wanted to stay. I will always stay.”
