Page 81 of Bound

She fought down the urge to tug at her braid. “Neither do you. Mama too.”

Another grim-faced smile, and it didn’t suit him at all. His eyes were the sort that sparkled with good-humour, and yet with her they were steeped in worry. “A fine lot we made.” It should have been a criticism, but there was a fondness to his tone as well. Because... they had. Because they loved each other and that hadn’t changed.

Not now. Not ever.

“So... what about now?” she asked, a tremble to her words because she was all too aware of how it would hurt if he rejected her. Did she even want to go? To meet these strangers that were a part of her father and maybe then... a part of her? She wasn’t certain. But that she could—that at the very least she might know where he lived in case she needed him...

It was more than she’d had before.

He didn’t sigh. Didn’t look away from her as if she’d dared ask what he hoped she wouldn’t.

“Would you want to come?” he asked as gently as he’d asked her anything. “Would you want to meet the rest of my family?”

The rest of it. Because... because she was included in the whole.

If she was younger, she would have blurted out a fervent yes. Thrilled to see where her da lived, but also the trip itself into the city. Carried as they flew, taking in the sight of it as it was meant to be seen.

But she wasn’t a little girl any longer. And there was a tangle of emotions that were only partly hers. Some... some were her mother’s. Inherited from careful glances and, as her father had commented, all that wasn’t said.

“I... don’t know. I’d have to think about it.” Worry over it was closer to the truth, but she added what she wanted most, even if it was said into her cup rather than to him directly. “But I’d like you to show me where you live. So that I... know. Just in case.”

He reached out for her hand again, gentler this time. “You really won’t tell me what happened? You don’t seem yourself, Wren. Don’t think I know you so little that I wouldn’t notice.” His eyes narrowed, but there was a twinkle behind the concern that he could not hide. “And no shrugging at me. You get that from your mother, and I’ll not stand for it.”

She rolled her eyes because... she did love him. Loved that he knew that when... no one else did.

She’d never told him about... before. The shame had been too great, the way she hated herself for being so gullible. She couldn’t bear the thought of him knowing, of knowing how foolish his daughter could be.

And he’d accepted her behaviour, her harsher words, her penchant for tears as the continued grief for the mother she’d lost. He’d been kind and careful with her and it had helped. Especially once she’d learned to bury the rest of it down deep where it couldn’t hurt quite so much, drowned out by the want of her mother to make it all right again.

Could she share this part when it was tied up so closely with the rest of it?

“There was... some trouble with the stall arrangements. And I didn’t think I would take it so badly, not being in my usual one.” Is this how Braum felt? Keeping close to the truth, but not daring to give the whole of it? Hating the prospect of giving a lie so words became stilted, half-hearted things.

Her stomach ached to think of him.

Because he was either a wretch and a liar, or...

Or he was a man without his mate, and supposedly that was rather horrible.

She rubbed at her forehead and fought for calm.

He hummed a little. “They should have prioritised fixing your usual stall. I’m sorry they didn’t.”

She shrugged.

And he sighed. Before he stood and crossed around the table, his hands coming to her shoulders and pressing downward ever so slightly. He’d done that when she was a girl, all full of mock outrage at being so dismissed. And she would be cross as long as she could until she’d laugh and squirm and wriggle free and shrug as many times as she could before he picked her up entirely.

Why were things so easy, then? Why did she get caught in a painful loop of her twisting insides and constant worry and...

“Anything else?” he asked, leaning down slightly over her. “If you did not make enough, I wish you would tell me. No daughter of mine is going to go hungry, grown or otherwise. Or I could speak with the Proctor? Insist on the repairs?” He squeezed her shoulders and there was no mistaking the affection there. “Let me help, sweet. You don’t have to do this all on your own.”

So she kept being told.

Her heart ached. Or maybe it was her stomach again.

Her throat burned, and she dearly wanted to put her arms down on the table and give into the tears that threatened her.

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to step aside and let him make things right.