Chapter 3

Tess drove me back to the Ashford estate late that night.

The butler met us at the door with his jaw set. Julian, he said, had spent the entire afternoon on his knees in the family chapel. Eleanor had invoked the old family sanction — the kind no one used anymore — and made him stay down there for hours. No water. No food. No one allowed to tend to him. Not until he apologized.

The trouble was, Julian wouldn't apologize. He didn't think he'd done anything wrong. He'd saved the woman he loved. In his mind, that was a victory, not a sin.

I didn't blame him, really. Eight years of marriage in my last life had taught me the shape of him. He wasn't cruel for no reason — he just loved what he loved, and nothing else moved him.

I went to find Eleanor and tried to comfort her. That only made it worse. She pulled me against her and started to cry — actually cry — apologizing on Julian's behalf for what he'd done.

"I should have taken better care of you, Vera. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

When she got going about Julian, her face went red.

"Over my dead body. I said it from the beginning — over my dead body would I ever let him marry that Pemberton girl. And now he's throwing your life away for her? That scheming little thing?"

She grabbed my hand.

"Don't you worry, darling. I'm going to make him come crawl to you on his hands and knees. He's going to swear to your face he'll never see her again."

The fierceness of it nearly undid me.

My father had died before I could remember him well. After that, I'd been sent to live with the Ashfords — a ward, technically. An orphan, really. For most girls that would have been a small, quiet life, measured out in charity and careful manners.

Eleanor had made sure I never felt that way. She treated me like her own daughter. More than her own daughter, sometimes. More than Julian.

When I was fourteen and told her, blushing, that I had feelings for Julian, she'd set the engagement in motion before the blush faded.

If Vera wants it, Eleanor used to say, Vera gets it.

My eyes stung. I folded myself against her.

I hadn't been held like that — unconditionally, without having to earn it — in a very long time.

In my first life, Eleanor had died before my marriage turned into its long, cold silence. She'd gone to her grave still believing Julian and I were happy.

I sniffled and forced my voice steady.

"Thank you, Eleanor."

Then, carefully: "But — it was me. I was the one who told Julian to save Celeste."

I buried my face deeper in her shoulder. I'd been rehearsing the next sentence for what felt like an entire lifetime.

"Eleanor. Break off the engagement."

The room went very still. Tess's jaw dropped. Eleanor went rigid.

Everyone in this city knew how I felt about Julian Ashford. From middle school on, I'd been the girl trailing him like a small, stubborn shadow. Impossible to shake off.

At my debutante ball at eighteen, someone had asked what I'd wished for over my birthday candles, and I'd said it out loud, in front of every important family in Ravenport — I'll marry Julian Ashford or no one at all.

I couldn't remember Julian's face clearly from that night. I only remembered it hadn't been a happy one.

God, it was funny now.

That should have been my hint. He didn't love me. I could have thrown myself at him for a century and the answer would have been the same.

Not loving someone isn't a puzzle you can solve.

And later — later I'd still forced him to marry me. Never once considered what he wanted.

No wonder he'd come to despise me.

Thank God there was still time to fix things in this life.

It took me the better part of an hour of begging, but Eleanor finally gave in. She agreed to call off the engagement.

Then I walked down to the chapel, carrying the one piece of news Julian Ashford wanted more than anything in the world.

He was still on his knees when I pushed the door open. Twenty-four years old, shoulders drawn straight, the lines of his face clean and severe in the candlelight.

In this life, he didn't look at me with hatred. There was no disgust yet. Only apology — real, quiet apology.

"I'm sorry, Sparrow, I — "

I shook my head.

"It's all right, Julian." I paused. Then, on purpose: "It's all right."

He froze.

I hadn't used the old nickname I had for him — big brother, the soft, teasing one from childhood — in years. Not since the day I'd told him I was in love with him.

His brow drew in.

I smiled at him anyway. Easy, unburdened. I took a step back — back into the space of the little sister I used to be before I'd ruined it.

"I'm sorry," I said. "For all of it. For forcing you into things you never wanted. That's over now."

His expression didn't move.

"On the way here, I asked Eleanor to break off the engagement."

That landed.

Julian's eyes, which had been almost vacant with guilt, sharpened all at once. He searched my face.

"You're angry."

I shook my head.

He should have been pleased. He should have been relieved. I was finally letting him go. I was finally clearing the way for him and the woman he actually wanted.

Instead he just said, flatly: "Fine."

Then he closed his eyes and wouldn't look at me.

I turned around and left.

I didn't try to read into it. This life, this was where Julian and I stopped.

And that was the best thing for both of us.