Chapter 6

I left my room with my shoulders tight and my steps slow.

The hallway felt longer than before. My own breathing sounded too loud in my ears. I kept telling myself this was simple.

A man I once dated. A familiar face I could not place. That was all.

Fear arrived before reason.

The living room opened wide and bright, sunlight spilling across polished floors. A man stood near the center of the room, his back to me, one hand resting on the arm of a chair as if he had been waiting there for a while.

Then he turned, I saw the flash cross his face instantly.

He crossed the room in three long steps and wrapped his arms around me.

The hug stopped everything.

It was solid. The kind of hold that does not ask permission because it has never needed to. His chin rested briefly against the top of my head. His hand pressed flat between my shoulder blades, warm.

My body reacted before my thoughts could catch up. I stiffened, then softened. I was shocked at first, and the ease followed unexpectedly.

So this is him.

The thought arrived quietly. Just a sense of being placed back into a shape I fit.

He pulled back just enough to look at my face, his hands still holding my arms.

“You’re here,” he said, smiling. His voice was low, familiar in a way I could not explain. “You’re really here.”

I nodded, unsure what else to say.

Grandfather stood a few feet away, watching us closely. There was approval in his eyes. He looked pleased, I saw him smile.

Mrs. Rowe appeared near the doorway, hands clasped together, her face bright.

“Two love birds,” she said smiling.

Grandfather spoke gently. “Don’t scare her, Mrs. Rowe. Rowan is your cousin.” he said, looking at me. I guessed he must have seen the unrest in me.

Cousin, the word landed, and relief washed through me so fast it left me dizzy.

Then confusion followed close behind.

“Why did that feel like relief?” I thought.

Rowan did not move away, he only smiled wider, as if he had known what that word would do to me.

“Sorry,” he said lightly. “I forget how I look when I charge people.”

I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding.

“So,” he said, still holding my hand, “you look exactly the same.”

“I don’t feel like it,” I said.

“That tracks,” he replied. “You never did feel like what people expected.”

Grandfather chuckled quietly and turned away, giving us space without saying it aloud.

Rowan guided me toward the sofa and sat beside me, close enough that our knees touched. He did not crowd me. He did not pull away either. His hand stayed in mine, thumb brushing over my knuckles in a slow, absent motion.

This action told me we must have some special relationship.

“I flew in this morning,” he said. “New York to Providence. Grandfather's driver picked me up at the airport.”

“You came that fast,” I said.

He shrugged. “Where else was I supposed to be?”

He did not ask how much I remembered. He did not test me with shared stories or names. He talked around the missing pieces like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mrs. Rowe brought coffee. Rowan thanked her with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. She smiled at him, fond and approving.

We talked about small things. The flight. The weather. How strange it felt to be back. Rowan made quiet jokes that did not demand laughter but earned it anyway. My shoulders loosened. My hands stopped trembling.

After a while, he stood and held out his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you the parts of the estate you liked best.”

I stood up without thinking, and we walked outside.

The estate unfolded slowly as we moved. Wide paths cut through manicured grounds. More than one house stood in the distance, each grand in its own way, each placed carefully as if to claim its own view of the sea. The land stretched farther than I could see, private and contained, bordered by trees and cliffs.

The ocean appeared again as we reached a rise. The wind carried the scent of salt. My hair lifted and brushed against my face.

“You used to come out here when you were overwhelmed,” Rowan said. “Said it helped you think. And the sea, you picnic there every weekend.”

I stood still, looking out at the water. Something about the view felt right.

We continued walking. Rowan stayed close without hovering, matching my pace without guiding it. I noticed how often his eyes moved toward me, checking in without making it obvious.

A car engine cut through the quiet.

A win Tesla model S sped down one of the narrow drives, moving too fast. It slowed just enough as it passed us. The window rolled down.

A young lady leaned out, sunglasses perched on her head, a careless grin on her face.

“Hey,” she called. Her gaze slid over me with quick interest, then away. “Didn’t realize the estate was hosting ghosts now.”

She laughed at her own comment and drove off, tires kicking up gravel.

Rowan went quiet beside me.

I looked at him. “Who was that?”

He exhaled slowly. “Eleanor’s youngest. Verity Hale.”

Something about the way he said it made me file the moment away.

My phone rang before I could ask more.

Mrs. Rowe’s name filled the screen.

“Food is ready,” she said cheerfully. “Come before it gets cold.”

We turned back toward the main house.

Dinner passed easily.

Warm food filled the table. Laughter rose and fell without effort. Grandfather looked relaxed for the first time since I arrived, his posture looser, his voice lighter. Rowan told stories that included me without requiring my participation. No one corrected me when I stayed quiet.

For a while, I forgot I was missing anything.

Rowan’s phone buzzed near the end of the meal. He glanced at it and frowned slightly.

“I need to take this,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

He stepped outside, then returned a few minutes later.

“I have to go,” he said, regret clear in his voice. “But I’ll see you tomorrow I promise,”

He hugged me again before I could respond. The hold lasted longer this time. His hand rested at the small of my back, steady and grounding.

“Sleep,” he said softly. “We’ll take things slow.”

After he left, Grandfather and I walked into the garden together as the night had settled in. Lights traced the paths, soft and unobtrusive.

“Why doesn’t Rowan work with the family,” I asked.

Grandfather smiled faintly. “Stubborn,” he said. “Always was. He wanted to build something on his own. You argued with him about it more than once.”

“I did?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “You admired it, though. Even when it frustrates you.”

We reached a bench near the edge of the grounds. The ocean was a dark expanse beyond.

“Rowan was adopted,” Grandfather added, as if it were an afterthought.

I nodded, storing the information without knowing where it belonged.

He kissed my cheek and squeezed my hand. “Hospital appointment tomorrow. Rest this week. Monday, we begin your training.”

Later, alone in my room, my phone rang again.

Rowan’s name lit the screen.

I smiled as I answered.

“So,” he said, amused, “apparently Mrs. Rowe has been telling everyone I’m your boyfriend.”

I laughed. “She told me the same.”

“She never liked Lucius,” he added casually.

“Who’s Lucius,” I asked.

There was a pause from his end.

Then he said, “Lucius was your boyfriend.”

I laughed again. “Boyfriend?”

His voice shifted, losing its lightness.

“Actually,” he said, “it was more than that.”

“You loved him very much. He's your first love.”