Chapter 35: You’re Still Standing There
Jane snatched a robe from the back of a chair and threw it at her chest. "Come on! Hurry up!"
Livia pushed herself upright. "What is it?" she asked again as she slipped her arms into the robe. Her fingers fumbled with the tie, still clumsy from sleep.
Jane finally leaned in. "Someone is waiting for you on the roof."
Livia paused mid-knot. "Who?"
Jane grinned. "Henry. Go. I’ll keep an eye on the door. You’re still standing there," Jane whispered impatiently, giving her a small shove. "Move!"
Livia exhaled and nodded, tightening the robe around herself before slipping toward the door. She paused just long enough to listen—distant laughter somewhere below, the muffled clink of glasses, a door creaking shut—but no footsteps nearby.
Jane cracked the door open and peeked out into the corridor, then gestured. "Clear."
They moved quickly. Livia gathered the hem of her robe as they slipped past darkened doorways and up the narrow back staircase that led to the roof.
At the top, Jane stopped. "I’ll stay here," she murmured. "If anyone comes, I’ll cough twice."
"Jane—" Livia began, suddenly aware of how fast her heart was beating again.
"Go," Jane urged.
Livia pushed open the final door and stepped out into the night. The city stretched out around her, rooftops uneven beneath the moonlight, chimneys exhaling thin streams of smoke into the dark sky.
And there, near the edge of the roof, stood Henry. He turned at the sound of the door, a small smile already forming on his lips.
His gaze swept over her, taking in the thin robe, the bare ankles. "You should have something thicker on."
"What?" Livia raised a brow. The night air tugged at the loose strands of her hair, and she tucked them behind her ear.
"I was told you were unwell."
"Yes. Yes. I—I was... I am." She shifted her weight, pulling the robe tighter across her chest. "It’s been a while," she added.
"I apologise. I was out of town on business."
Of course he was. Men like him always were—moving between cities, deals, obligations, lives that did not include women like her.
"Oh... okay."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"How have you been?" he asked finally.
"I have been quite alright, thank you."
"I haven’t stopped thinking about you..."
Livia let out a small breath. "Really?" she said, tilting her head. "And here I was thinking you forgot all about me."
He stepped closer. His hand rose, and brushed against her cheek. "I’m sorry," he said quietly.
She stilled under his hand.
"I had quite the evening planned for us." His thumb traced lightly along her jaw. A faint smile touched his lips. "But I guess that will be some other time."
"Tomorrow?" she asked.
"Uh... I’m not sure." He glanced briefly toward the edge of the roof. "I cannot really predict when I will be seeing you."
Of course. Livia swallowed the sting of that.
"The month is almost over," she said.
He looked back at her. "I’ll just pay for another."
A small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips.
"Oh," he added suddenly. "I brought you something."
"You... what?"
He reached into his cloak, and withdrew a small object wrapped in cloth. He held it out to her.
Livia stared at it for a moment before taking it. She unwrapped it slowly, the cloth falling away to reveal a small, leather-bound book. "Henry!" she exclaimed, the surprise in her voice unguarded now. "You... you shouldn’t have." She paused, then corrected herself almost immediately, her lips curving. "Okay, no—you absolutely should have."
He huffed a quiet laugh at that. She turned the book over in her hands, her fingers brushing lightly over the cover before opening it just enough to glimpse the pages inside.
"La Vita Nuova?" she read, her brow lifting slightly. "I haven’t read this one." She looked back up at him, curiosity bright in her eyes now. "What’s it about?"
"Why don’t you read it," he said, "and we can discuss it?"
Livia closed the book gently, holding it close. "Thank you," she said.
Henry’s gaze dropped to the smile on her face. "You weren’t sick with the flu, were you?"
Livia took a step back. "I—I was."
The lie was thin. They both heard it. Henry let out a long breath.
"I’m a difficult man to lie to, Livia," he said.
She clutched the book more tightly against her chest, the leather edge pressing into her palm.
Henry’s gaze did not leave her face. "I don’t talk a lot because I spend my time listening to what people don’t say. Don’t lie to me."
Livia swallowed. He was right. He did listen. Most men heard only what pleased them. "I..." She glanced instinctively toward the stairwell door, where Jane was supposed to be keeping watch, and for one absurd second she wanted Jane to burst in and announce the roof was on fire. Anything would do. Fire. Flood. Divine intervention. "Nicholas is going to kill me."
"What were you doing?"
Livia looked at him. The moon was not full, only a pale hooked thing in the sky, but it gave enough light for her to see the line of his jaw set hard, the stillness in his shoulders, the waiting. He would not rescue her from the answer. He would make her say it.
"I was..." Her mouth had gone dry. She hated that she suddenly felt twelve years old. "I was entertaining a gentleman," Livia finally said.
Even in the weak moonlight, she saw it happen—the warmth draining out of Henry’s face as if someone had drawn it off with a blade. His eyes went rigidly cold.
It was frightening to look at. Henry stepped forward. She stepped back. Her pulse jumped painfully in her throat. She had seen anger in men before—loud, sloppy, ridiculous anger, anger that reeked of wine and wounded vanity. This was not that. This was controlled, and therefore far more dangerous.
"I..." Livia drew in a breath that shivered on the way in. "I told you what would happen," she began, words tumbling now in a rush. "Nicholas loses his brain when he is offered money. What could I do? I couldn’t..." She broke off, looking at him with all the fear and frustration she had tried so hard to swallow. "You were gone too long." She breathed.
(Brought to you by Missy Dionne 3/3)