Chapter 6 - The Shadows of the Past
Two months had passed since the catastrophic wedding that had briefly become the talk of Charleston society. The local gossip columns had feasted on the aborted nuptials for a solid fortnight, trading whispers about the runaway bride, the devastated groom, and the mysterious older sister whose appearance had triggered the explosive climax. But in a city as old and proud as Charleston, yesterday's scandal was today's wrapping paper, and the world soon moved on.
I, however, was in the process of rebuilding my entire universe.
The offices of Callahan & Sons Publishing occupied a restored historic brick building on East Bay Street, overlooking the glittering expanse of the harbor. True to her word, Margaret had ensured the building was fully accessible, but the greatest luxury wasn't the physical accommodation—it was the atmosphere.
For the first time in my adult life, I wasn't an object of pity or an embarrassing secret to be tucked away.
Sitting at my mahogany desk in the third-floor archive room, I carefully adjusted the white cotton gloves I still wore to protect my sensitive skin from the dry, brittle paper of nineteenth-century ledgers. Surrounding me were towering shelves filled with leather-bound journals, maps, and letters written by people who had lived, suffered, and survived centuries before me.
A soft knock sounded on the open office door.
I looked up to see Daniel standing in the doorway. He looked different than he had at the altar—thinner, perhaps, with the shadow of a beard along his jawline and a quiet, grounded maturity in his eyes that hadn't been there when he was playing the role of the dutiful groom. He wore a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking less like a society scion and more like a real person.
“Hey,” Daniel said softly, leaning against the doorframe.
“Hey,” I replied, offering a careful smile that pulled slightly at the scarred tissue of my cheek. “I thought you were in Prague by now.”
“Flight isn't until next week,” he said, stepping into the room and walking over to inspect a framed historical map of Charleston harbor resting on a side table. He was silent for a long moment, tracing the edge of the frame with his thumb. “My mother told me you’ve been practically living in this archive.”
“It’s quiet. The books don't judge the lighting,” I said dryly.
Daniel let out a low, self-deprecating laugh. He turned around, leaning back against the table and looking at me with a steady, earnest expression. “I wanted to apologize again. For my blindness. For not seeing what was happening right in front of me during the engagement.”
“You didn't know, Daniel,” I said softly. “Emily was very good at compartmentalizing her life. She kept the past locked away in a dark room, and she expected me to stay locked inside it with her.”
“And how are your parents?” he asked, the question hanging heavily in the air between us.
I shook my head, feeling a familiar, dull ache in my chest. “They tried calling once, about three weeks ago. My mother was crying, talking about how the family name had been dragged through the mud, how Emily had locked herself in her apartment and refused to eat. They wanted to know if I could... I don't know, issue a statement or visit her to help smooth things over.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened. “And what did you say?”
“I told them that if Emily wanted to apologize for what she said at the altar, my door was open,” I replied, looking steadily back at him. “If they called to ask me to hide again, never to call back.”
Daniel nodded slowly, a quiet respect dawning in his eyes. “Good for you, Victoria.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the distant sound of gulls crying over the harbor drifting in through the open window. The sunlight caught the edge of my desk, warming the old wood.
“Are you doing anything for dinner tonight?” Daniel asked casually, though a faint hint of color rose in his cheeks. “There’s a seafood place down on the wharf. Margaret’s treating, but she specifically said she needed a third wheel to keep me from complaining about my packing list.”
May you like
I looked down at my hands inside the white cotton gloves, then up at the man who had walked away from a lifetime of illusion because he believed in truth.
“Only if we’re sitting outside,” I said with a faint smile. “I like to see the sunset.”
