A Midwinter Fantasy - Leanna Renee Hieber [32]
“He must see something I cannot,” Rebecca murmured, baffled to see that he not only desired her but cared for her, ached for and knew her—truly knew her, knew all the complications of her life like no one else possibly could—and here he was, likely as scared as she to reach out and take what he wanted by the hand.
“After all you’ve seen and been through, he still looks at you that way. He always will. You must trust it,” Jane said.
“I . . . don’t understand how. I don’t know that I—”
“What? You don’t deserve love? That’s the talk of a person who jumps off bridges, who does terrible things or lets terrible things be done to her. You are not she. You must not fear that look, and you must not fear what it means. You must open your eyes to what shines in him and embrace it.” Jane pressed her hand to Rebecca’s heart again. “But there’s a catch here, a hiccup. Thinking you understand and feeling that you understand are two different beasts. Stare what you fear in the face.”
“I’ve stared down death,” Rebecca said.
“But what about love? Because that, Headmistress, is your greatest fear. Look at it,” Jane insisted, guiding Rebecca toward the frame.
Rebecca stared. She watched Michael Carroll and let herself entertain the idea of what it would be like to receive, accept and possibly return his look of adoration and everything it contained. It was true, she was afraid. Pining, unrequited love was indeed of one dimension. This look, this heart, this love of Michael’s was all-encompassing. Yet it was not desperate, cloying or imbalanced; it was simply solid. It could be her foundation.
She’d never conceived of anything quite like this. Her heart began to expand from its tiny, huddled, clutched position and allowed for something new to take its place. She felt like a phoenix being reborn—
But, she was not a woman who liked earth-shattering change. She was fond of routine, not the unknown. The unknown was terrifying. Her heart huddled close again, clutching at its familiar loneliness, a reflexive contraction. An interior door somewhere slammed closed.
The shadows were ready for her this time, lurching close. A distant beat of horse hooves, a cacophony of whispers, hisses and deadly threats filled the air. The rushing river of restless souls again gurgled in the distance, its currents churning upward, beckoning her to drown herself at last, in waters worse than the Thames . . .
“Rebecca,” Jane chided.
An inward chill spread inside her, the sort of dread she’d felt when facing demons and the stuff of eternally damning horror. The cold had hooks into her, a fluid invasion and perversion such as blood into a pure spring. It was as if a possessing spirit had slipped cold, wet fingers in around her heart and was digging a hole. That unwelcome guest found her melancholy and made a nest within, birthing a wasting madness and inescapable loathing. Rebecca cried out in physical, mental and spiritual pain.
But then there was that bright angel’s light again, coming closer, as if from across a long room—as if from across Athens’s foyer. Brighter, brighter . . . The shadows sliding inside Rebecca seemed to jump back scalded, no longer as bold if still nipping at the hem of her skirts. She felt her body warm; the forces that wished to keep her prisoner were for the nonce held at bay. That light was no match for this shadow and Rebecca longed to warm herself in it.
Jane glanced from the light to Rebecca, gauging her progress. “I’ve told you before, you and Alexi would never have been a good fit. All you’d have done was scowl at each other. You loved him because he was safe, because he felt familiar. Because you didn’t trust anyone else, didn’t trust that anyone could love you, hardly even yourself. But at some point you have to let go and be loved, for there are people who love you.”
She pointed. “Look at Michael Carroll. Imagine turning the tide from the first moment you know him, from the very first moment. This should be a good trick,” she added in a mutter. “Please, God, let it work.