Page 103 of Peasants and Kings
Hadrian looked like he was about to pull me off my horse and onto his lap. I was afraid that if he did that, I’d give in and tell him everything. I could not fall apart, no matter how comforting he had been, no matter how instinctively I felt protected by his breadth and strength.
If I did that, I would lose my ability to remain safe in anonymity.
No. I would be safer alone, even though I didn’t want to be. I reinforced my emotional walls that were in danger of tumbling down.
I maneuvered Eris away from Midas which gave me a moment to compose myself for the inevitable questions Hadrian would ask.
He did not disappoint. “Did she tell you why? Was there a note?”
I nodded, knowing I needed to skirt the truth, or bend it. I grasped at the only straw I had. “She never got over my father’s death. She went on as long as she could, I guess. But in the end the pain of it was too much.”
He nudged Midas closer to Eris, close enough that he could take one hand and cup my cheek. “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”
I blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s tragic that you lost your mother. It’s tragichowyou lost your mother, but I can read you, Eden. There’s more to it than that. I’m sure of it.”
He was like a hound on a scent.
“We were estranged,” I admitted. “I hadn’t spoken to her in years. Guilt, Hadrian. What you pick up on is guilt.”
His eyes saddened. “I know a thing or two about guilt.”
A serene ride on the beach lifted most of the melancholy from the atmosphere, and by the time we returned to the house for lunch, my spirits had lifted almost completely. Ingrid greeted us with a smile and hot sandwiches—her version of a Philly cheese steak, but with mutton.
“Bran is asking when you’re coming to visit,” Ingrid said as she set down a napkin in front of Hadrian who’d taken a stool at the counter. “He wants to show you what he can do with a football.”
“Who’s Bran?” I asked as I lifted the sandwich to my mouth.
“My youngest grandson,” Ingrid explained. “He worships the ground Hadrian walks on.”
The faintest trace of color appeared high on Hadrian’s cheekbones and he kept his eyes downcast. “He’s a good lad,” he muttered.
“Where is Bran?” I asked with sudden interest.
“On the next island over. His parents tend to the livestock,” Ingrid said. “You haven’t seen the neighboring islands yet, have you?”
“Not yet,” I said.
She looked at Hadrian with an accusing look. “Have you kept the poor girl chained to your bed?”
I choked audibly on my sandwich as my cheeks flamed. I attempted to chew quickly and swallow.
“If you were anyone else,” Hadrian said mildly, “I’d tell you to mind your own business.”
She let out a delighted laugh and they both smiled. It was nothing short of familial, the way they spoke to one another.
Hadrian took a sip of water from his glass and cleared his throat. “If Eden wants to spend the afternoon being subjected to your family’s scrutiny, then we’ll come and see them.”
I shot Ingrid a look. “Oh, yeah, I definitely want to see the other islands.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Hadrian said with feigned darkness.
After we finished lunch, we took a power boat to a neighboring island. We stepped foot onto the beach as a gaggle of children ran to greet us, the adults following at a more sedate pace.
Hadrian wrapped his arm around me and then introduced me in Norwegian. Ingrid’s family called out greetings in English, their smiles open and welcoming. It took all of my willpower not to gawk as they treated Hadrian with casual affection.
The few teenage girls in the mix hung back, appearing enthralled and yet nervous about Hadrian’s brutal virility. I felt their plights like they were my own. I understood their confusion. Hadrian’s presence was naturally overwhelming, even to a grown woman.
