Page 110 of Winterset
Alone, I spared one last look at my bedchamber, taking in the white walls, the canopied bed, and the antechamber door that led to the master’s room—Oliver’s room. My stomach clenched. I would never get to use that door, but someone would. One day, he would marry. I wished that woman could be me, but no amount of wishing would make it my reality. The realization filled me with sorrow.
Last night in the library, as he’d held me in his arms, I’d wanted to tell him how I felt about him. But it had not felt like the right circumstance. And now, this morning, I was leaving. We’d run out of time.
I stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind me. I’d walked these halls my whole life; how could this be the last time? How could I leave my home? How could I leavehim? Winterset held every happymemory of my past, and Oliver was everything I’d ever wanted for my future.
Standing at the top of the stairs, I paused, trying to commit every sight, sound, and smell to memory: the color of the stained-glass windows, the sound of the creaking staircase, the familiar scent of home.
When I reached the entrance hall, Oliver was sitting in his study at his desk.
The very place we’d first talked face-to-face.
I stepped inside, and he looked up.
He took in my traveling dress. It was the same dress I’d worn the day we’d met. He smiled, and I thought he might be remembering our first moments together too.
He stood slowly.
But I didn’t hesitate.
I walked to the side of his desk and wrapped my arms around his waist.
His arms came around me in a gentle embrace, and we silently held one another.
It had been a very long time since I’d felt so safe, so happy, so loved. I tilted my chin to look up at him. His eyes, so blue, held so much sadness.
A tear slipped down my cheek, and he wiped it away. I leaned into his touch and closed my eyes, trying to soak in everything about this moment: the feel of his calloused fingers, the subtle scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hand.
When I opened my eyes, I saw that his eyes were filled with tears too.
How could I do this?
How could I leave him in so much sadness?
No matter how much I might wish it otherwise, my future was anywherebuthere.
Oliver kissed my forehead in goodbye, and it broke my heart.
I loved the feel of his lips, but it wasn’t enough. If these were our last moments together, I wanted to make the most of them. “Oliver,” I whispered, and when he pulled back slightly to look down at me, I slid my hands up his lapels to rest on his shoulders.
He gently cupped my face, brushing his thumbs lightly over my cheeks. The sensation made me shiver with pleasure.
Unable to bear the distance between us another second, I rose onto my tiptoes and kissed him.
The kiss was tender at first, only featherlight touches of our lips.
And then something shifted. Our mouths moved more urgently, rushing to convey everything we didn’t have time to say.
He kissed me deeply, desperately.
And I relished every second.
It did not last long though; it couldn’t. The carriage was waiting, and I had to leave before it was fully light to be safe.
When our kiss was over, Oliver rested his forehead against mine and trailed his hands down my arms, interlocking our hands, and I said, “I wish ...”
“Me too,” he whispered.
We didn’t say anything more. What was there to say other than goodbye? And I never wanted to say that.
