Rebellion

Chapter Eighteen: Evangeline

Chapter Eighteen: Evangeline

            I pressed my back to the door and sighed, letting my eyes drift closed as I listened to my father carefully mumble to himself.

            “He is unwell?”

            I jumped and nearly shrieked at the unexpected voice, my eyes flying open as Seth stepped out of the shadows down the hall.

            “You scared me,” I said weakly, patting my hair down into place. “I didn’t see you there.”

            He reached out and gently touched my hand. I jerked away impulsively, fighting the connection that threatened to form, and an emotion I couldn’t identify flashed in his eyes before they settled back into passivity.

            “I was walking by, and I saw you coming out,” he said quietly, taking a step back and reestablishing the distance between us. “It was not my intention to scare you, my Lady.”

            “Please don’t,” I blurted out, blushing slightly as he looked at me with stark curiosity in his eyes. “I don’t want things to be strained between us,” I said, wishing the words would stop tumbling from my mouth.

            “You’ve made it clear that you don’t want to be close to me, Evangeline,” he said calmly. “And so pardon me if I overstep my boundaries again, but I don’t know what the hell you want from me.”

            “I don’t know what I want from you,” I whispered, ducking my head. “But I know I don’t want this…wall between us.”

            There was a hesitation, a silence on his end, and I knew I’d said too much again. But then he sighed and offered me the crook of his elbow.

            I raised my eyes to meet his, and he half-smiled at me. “I don’t know much about you, Evangeline, but I’ve noticed that you don’t like to be touched. I thought this might be a suitable compromise.”

            I smiled slightly, and carefully linked my arm through his without touching bare skin. I felt a faint humming in the part of my arm that touched his through the cloth of his shirt, but I managed to ignore it easily enough as we walked in companionable silence.

            “Can we be friends?” he asked suddenly, and I realized just how much taller than me he was as he looked down at me.

            Could I be friends with Seth? I still wasn’t entirely sure where his loyalties lay or what his connection to Giovanni was. I didn’t know if I could trust him, or if I should.

            But there was something beneath the surface that drew me to him, that wouldn’t let me walk away though I knew I should.

            “Yes,” I said softly.

            The smile that broke out over his face was radiant, all traces of the hard expression from earlier wiped away.

            This was a Seth I hadn’t seen before—a Seth I rather liked.

            “So, as your friend, may I ask how your father is?” he said, shifting the subject easily.

            “You could,” I said, shrugging slightly. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

            “And why is that?” he asked, curiosity coloring his tone.

            I sighed and stopped, turning to face him. “My father,” I said, forcing the words out, “is unwell, as always. When my mother died, he lost part of himself, and he never quite found it again. In nearly all my memories of him, there’s a sadness that never goes away. But in recent years, he has slipped even further into insanity. He has his clear days, but more and more often now, he’s convinced that she’s still alive—and worse, he has conversations with her.”