Chapter 18: The Threshold

Arwen stood in front of her closet staring at Isolde’s expensive silk nightgowns.

She pushed past all of them until her fingers found what she was looking for at the very back.

Her own nightgown from before, soft cotton in pale blue with tiny buttons down the front. She’d bought it three years ago on sale because it made her feel comfortable.

She pulled it on and looked at herself in the mirror. For the first time in weeks, she recognized the person staring back.

Her hand was shaking when she reached for the lock on the connecting door. She stood there for what felt like hours with her fingers wrapped around the cold metal, trying to make herself turn it.

He’d called her Arwen tonight, had used her real name like he’d known it all along.

The lock turned with a soft click.

Arwen pushed the door open slowly, half expecting to find Caelum’s room empty or him already asleep, but he was sitting at his desk with his back to her. Papers were spread out in front of him and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He must have heard the door because his whole body went still for a second before he slowly turned around.

Their eyes met and she watched all the air leave his lungs in one exhale.

“Arwen.” He said her name again, and this time it wasn’t through a door. Just her real name spoken out loud in a voice that sounded almost reverent. “What are you doing in my room.”

“You knew,” she said. “How long have you known?”

“That you’re not Isolde?” He stood slowly like he was afraid she might bolt if he moved too fast. “I’ve suspected for a while, and I confirmed it about three days ago.”

“Three days?” Her heart was hammering. “You’ve known for three days and didn't say anything?”

“I was waiting for you to tell me yourself.” He took one step toward her, then stopped. “Was I wrong to wait?”

“I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t know anything anymore except I’m tired of lying and terrified of what happens when I tell the truth.”

“What are you afraid will happen?”

“That you’ll be furious, call off the merger, destroy my family, hate me for making a fool of you.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “That you’ll look at me differently.”

“I already know everything.” He took another step closer. “I know Isolde ran. I know your father forced you to take her place to save your family. I know you’ve been terrified of being exposed since you walked into this house.”

“How could you possibly know all that?” She asked as she took a step back trying to sound calm.

“Because I had Rowan dig deeper, and because your father isn’t as careful as he thinks when he’s desperate.” His voice was calm but she could hear something else underneath. “What I don’t know is why you’re still here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You could have told me the truth weeks ago, you could have confessed everything.” He took another step, and now he was so close. “So why didn’t you? Why keep lying when you’re clearly miserable?”

“Because I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always had a choice, Arwen. You just didn’t like the options.” His jaw tightened. “And you still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here now, in my room, wearing a nightgown?”

She looked down at the simple cotton that didn't look like something Isolde would never own.

“Because I’m tired of pretending,” she said quietly. “And because you asked what I wanted and I think I finally know the answer.”

“What's that?”

“I want to stop lying to you. I want to stop performing every second.” She paused, trying to find the right words. “I want whatever this is between us to be real instead of based on a role I’m playing.”

He closed the distance between them in three strides until he was right in front of her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look at him properly.

But he didn’t touch her. His hands were clenched at his sides like he was restraining himself.

“What do you want from this, Arwen?” His voice was rough and she could see desire and anger and fear warring across his face. “From me, from this marriage, from whatever we’re doing?”

“I don’t know.” The most honest thing she’d said maybe ever. “I came in here without a plan. I just knew I couldn’t stay on my side of that door anymore.”

“That’s not good enough.” He leaned closer and she could see the way his pupils had dilated. “I need you to tell me what you want because I’m two seconds away from doing something we might both regret and I need to know if you actually want this or if you’re just running from something else.”

“I’m not running.”

“Then what are you doing in my room at midnight in a nightgown?”

“I’m trying to be honest for the first time since we met.” She lifted her chin. “I’m trying to show you who I actually am instead of who I’ve been pretending to be.”

“And who are you, Arwen Valehart?” Her real full name sounded like a confession and accusation all at once. “Because I thought I was starting to understand you, but now I’m not sure if anything I’ve seen has been real or just another performance.”

“The painting was real.” Her voice shook. “Everything I have done that felt different from Isolde—that was the real me.”

“And this?” He gestured between them. “Is this real?”

“I don’t know how to prove this is real when I don’t understand it myself.” She could feel tears burning behind her eyes. “All I know is when you gave me those art supplies and made my tea right and called me Arwen through that door, something shifted and I couldn’t keep pretending.”

He searched her face, desire and suspicion fighting in his eyes.

“What do you want from this, Arwen?” he asked again, and this time his voice was barely more than a whisper.

Arwen realized with a jolt of pure terror that she knew exactly what she wanted but had no idea if she could ever have it.

She wanted him to look at her like this for the rest of her life.

She wanted this marriage to be real.

She wanted to be Arwen Ravencroft.

But she felt like saying it would make it real, and real things could be taken away.

“I want...” The words couldn't go past her throat.

He was watching her with that intense gaze that made her feel completely transparent.

“Tell me.”

Before she could answer, his phone buzzed loudly on the desk.

Neither of them moved to check it.

It buzzed again. And again.

“You should get that,” Arwen whispered.

“I don’t care.”

But the moment was broken and the spell shattered by the intrusion of the outside world into this fragile bubble they’d created.

Caelum finally stepped back and grabbed his phone, and Arwen watched his expression change as he read the message.

“What is it?”

“Rowan.” His voice went cold. “Your sister has been found.“