Page 37 of Bring Me Your Midnight

“If at some point you’d like me to kiss you, will you let me know?”

I wish I knew why he wants to kiss me—if it’s because he feels a pull toward me, a spark, something more than the duty that has brought us together, or if it’s because I’m his future wife and that’s what’s expected.

“I will,” I say. “It isn’t that I don’t want you to kiss me, though. I’m just not sure I’m ready yet.”

“Understood,” he says.

He watches me for another moment, then looks out toward the mainland again. I follow his gaze, and we sit like that for several breaths, both quiet, contemplative.

“We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” I ask, letting the sound of the waves on the shore settle the unease that has started in my stomach.

“I’ve asked myself that same question a lot,” he says.

“And what have you come up with?”

“I can’t think of a more worthwhile pursuit than that of duty. Our names will be remembered for generations to come; we are the beginning of a new day. How could we not be okay, knowing the importance of our union?”

Disappointment spreads through my gut, and I wish I could make it stop. What he’s saying is true; I’ve told myself the same thing many times. But I want more than that, more than talk of duty and honor. Those things may be what brought us together, but they aren’t the only things we have room for in this alliance. I have to believe there could be more.

I’ve been quiet for too long. Landon looks at me, and I finally respond. “It is a remarkable thing to think about. But surely duty isn’t the only thing ensuring our happiness. Surely we can hope for other things as well?”

Landon furrows his brow, and it’s the first time I’ve seen a break in his confident composure. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Duty is why we’re together, but we don’t have to limit ourselves to that, do we? We could find true enjoyment of one another. We could find passion, even love. Why not hope for those things?”

“Hope is too fickle a thing.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s too broad. Hope paves the way for wanting things that were never part of the plan.”

His words take my breath away because he’s right, because wanting something more than what’s before me is entirely too dangerous. And I hate that I know that.

I must look upset, because Landon gently lifts my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Don’t misunderstand me, Tana. I believe we’re going to have a remarkable life. I believe it will be satisfying and enjoyable. But I can’t promise you love. I can promise you many other things, stronger things that can bear the weight of shifting emotions and familial obligations. I can promise you that not only will we be happy, but we will also be fulfilled, the kind of fulfillment that can only come from something far more stable than love.”

I nod and try not to let his words hurt, try to accept them for what they are: forthright. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“There are many things that are out of our control. Being honest with each other isn’t one of them.”

“Then let me be honest with you, too. I understand your position, and I know you’re right, but hope is not something I’m willing to give up. You don’t have to promise me love, but I would ask that you stay open to the possibility of building a foundation on more than duty alone.”

He nods. “You have my word.”

“Thank you.” I turn back to the sea, and my insides relax just slightly. We heard each other, we listened, and that means something. I built Landon up so much before we met, had so many dreams and visions of what our life together might look like, of how he might make me feel, and I hoped for them right away. But we are just two people getting to know each other, and I have to give him the space and time to get there. I have to give myself the space and time to get there.

“Tell me something, Tana,” Landon says, the heaviness gone from his voice. “What would you be doing right now if I weren’t here?”

“You go first,” I say, still stuck on his previous admission.

“There are stables about an hour’s journey east of my home, and my father and I visit often. We ride the horses through the woods and discuss political matters if needed, but often, we simply talk. It’s a nice respite from the normal pace of things.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I say.

“Do you ride?”

“I don’t, but I’d love to learn.” There are horses on the island, of course, but I’ve always preferred to walk.

“Then I will teach you.”

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