Page 95 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

His mouth didn’t even tip to a smile. “As you just said a moment ago, the people who called you that don’t know you. The ones here know me. It’s different.”

“So this is about you taking on that shame, sacrificing me and Greta and all of our happiness, and living the rest of your life alone with this burden?” She touched the hard line of his jaw. “Dammit, Jamie, I knew the Irish had a reputation for putting up with bad situations because they think it’s their lot, but this is ridiculous. I love you too much to accept this. I love you too much not to fight for you. For what we have.”

When he tried to look away, his face a mask of agony, she held firm, feeling the power of love rising within her.

“If there’s one thing my parents taught me—and look at me being grateful to them for it right now, after everything I went through as a kid—it’s that we decide how we want our lives to be. We don’t let others tell us who we are or what we can do. I’m not a whore or a devil’s spawn—”

“Of course you aren’t,” Jamie said harshly, his eyes burning now.

“And you’re not immoral or a bad teacher or any of the other things they said.”

He took her hands, gripping them tightly. “But what then do we do?”

When his voice broke, she fought tears.

“Because I don’t see a way through this,” he continued. “Especially with us both wanting to keep Greta safe and happy.”

In that moment, she knew what she must say. “Come to Provence with me for a few days. Finish your defense with your legal counsel for the Education Officer’s review but do it from there. The yoke you’ve put around your neck is getting heavier every day, and I can’t bear it anymore, Jamie.”

She had to stop to wipe a stream of tears, but when he tenderly brushed them aside, she fought to keep her composure.

“You deserve better than this,” she said hoarsely.

He caressed her cheek. “So do you.”

When he rose, she let her hands fall to her lap. Reaching for him right now would be useless. The way he’d set his body was as finite as one of her glass sculptures.

“Go to Greta,mo chroí.” He somehow found the energy to smile.

She could not answer it. “I don’t want to leave you. If I do, I fear we’ll never be together again.”

A rare brightness shone in his eyes. “I do this for love of you and the child. Always remember that. Even when it hurts.”

She didn’t have the energy to denounce his words as utter bullshit again.

He grabbed his jacket and headed to the door. “I’ll stay away to make things easier. Perhaps Ghislaine can stay with you until you leave so you won’t be alone.”

Their eyes met, sorrow pulsing in the quiet room.

“I love you.” He paused, his throat working with emotion, and she wondered if it was the last time she’d hear him say it. “Lock the door behind me.”

The snap of the door shutting was the final slice to her heart.

She laid her face against the couch and cried until she was spent.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

Jamie wasn’t surprised when Sorcha appeared in the passenger seat beside him.

He nearly pulled over and got out of the car, but she’d only pass through the metal and follow him. “I miss the old days when I would faint at the sight of you. It would save me from conversation.”

She crossed her arms, glaring at him with her forest-green eyes. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when you’d turn as stupid and stubborn as your brother.”

“You didn’t live to see the day,” he said, gesturing to her ephemeral form. “And I don’t want to hear from you just now. I already know what you want to say.”

Her muted shriek reminded him of days past, when he and Carrick would show up late for supper after a few whiskeys, arms around each other. “You’re a mind reader now, are you? Jamie Fitzgerald, that Fitzgerald blood has finally risen up but good. And it doesn’t look well on you.”

He decided to pull off into a turnout, feeling his temper rising. “Stop your pecking. It will do you no good.”

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