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Lucien may know we lied about my whereabouts, but he doesn’t know where I was. He doesn’t know who brought me home or where the money came from. More importantly, he doesn’t know that the Beast he has spent his entire life hearing stories about has a name, a face, a greenhouse full of roses and a castle I could lead anyone to if I chose.

I won’t.

The certainty surprises me.

I spent months desperate for someone to know where Rhys had taken me. Now, standing in front of Lucien with freedom entirely my own, the thought of giving him anything that could lead him to Rhys feels impossible.

“I’m not marrying you.”

“You don’t have to decide today.”

“There’s nothing to decide.”

“There is always something to decide when the alternative costs enough.”

The door opens behind us. Lucien steps away from me, and by the time my father emerges carrying three glasses of elderflower cordial, the pleasant smile is back on his face.

“Here we are.” My father carefully descends the steps. “It should still be cold.”

Lucien reaches out and takes two glasses so my father doesn’t have to carry them.

“Thank you, sir.”

His voice is warm again.

I continue to stare at him.

My father hands me the remaining glass and smiles. “Everything all right?”

Lucien lifts his glass. “Perfectly.”

I look at my father. At the healthier color in his face and the steadiness in his hands. Then I look at the repaired roof above him and the enormous stack of firewood against the house.

Every improvement I noticed when I came home suddenly looks different. Lucien takes a slow drink, his eyes remaining on me over the rim of the glass. Since Rhys left me standing beside Bramble, I haven’t been able to think about the mountain without questioning what I feel. Now I do.

I think about the castle and the greenhouse. I think about the cherry pit buried in the soil and the man who will probably continue watering it even though I’m no longer there to see whether it grows. I think about Rhys sitting alone in front of his fire, returning to the quiet life he told me he once preferred.

Then I think about the man who told me he loved me.

The man who proved it by letting me go.

32

Rhys

I feed Soleil, clean the remains of yesterday’s ashes from the fireplace, replace the wood, and prepare myself something to eat because that is what I have always done in the morning. When I finish, I wash the plate and return it to the cupboard, then head toward the greenhouse to tend to my plants.

Soleil follows me through several corridors, eventually losing interest and disappearing into one of the rooms along the way. I listen to the faint patter of her paws fade behind me and continue walking without her.

This is what I wanted.

For years, my mornings began exactly like this, and there was comfort in knowing precisely what each day would bring. I woke at the same time, ate the same simple meals, tended the same plants, maintained the same rooms, and went to bed without anyone interfering with the order I had created. There was no one asking me questions I didn’t want to answer, wandering through my greenhouses or touching me simply because they wanted to.

I open the greenhouse door and step into the warmth. Moisture has collected across the glass overhead, and droplets occasionally break free and strike the leaves below. Damp soil darkens the beds on either side of the stone path. The scents I’ve known most of my life surround me as I close the door.

Everything is exactly where it belongs.

I start with the tomatoes. Several vines have grown beyond their supports, so I cut lengths of twine and carefully secure them, then remove the yellow leaves near the bottom. I check the peppers next and find one beginning to rot along its underside. I cut it free and toss it into the compost basket.