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Chapter 43

Meg

I didn't leave the room the following day, either. Not even for food. There was a pitcher of water still in the room, so I didn't go thirsty. But after over a full day of not eating, I was becoming dizzy. Dizzy with hunger and dizzy with confusion.

Why would Raoul not tell me his name? Why would he lie to me about that?

It couldn't be that he was involved in the killing, could it?

But no. If that had been the case, surely he would have hurt me by now. And he seemed far too gentle for that. I'd heard of men who acted kind but were secretly out to harm women, but I also knew that they often offset their evil tendencies with large amounts of charm.

Raoul was sweet, and though he was mostly confident with me now, I wouldn't have called him charming - not in the traditional sense. Charming because he was lamblike, but he hadn't exactly been brimming with charisma.

The man who'd killed Isabelle had been a wolf.

Raoul was a puppy.

But then why tell me a false name? It made no sense.

In the middle of the day after I'd learned Raoul's true identity, I'd been lying under the sheet, drifting in and out of hazy sleep. I'd awoken, though, at the sound of weeping.

Male weeping.

Uncontrollable.

Janelle's voice was heard, the sound soothing, though I couldn't make out the muffled words. The crying only seemed to intensify.

Guilt gnawed at my stomach, and I pulled the sheets further over my head. He had to have been weeping due to my ignoring him, but I just needed some time alone. To think. To come to terms with the fact that the only person I had to currently trust had lied to me. I couldn't stop wondering what else he'd lied about. What else he would lie about.

So let him feel badly.

And I would have stayed in that room forever had I not had human needs. The moment my daydreams turned to stews and meats and cakes, I knew it was time I found something to eat. I didn't need to speak to anyone. I would find a slice of bread, spread a bit of butter on it, and go back to the bedroom.

Judging by the clock, I was sure to make a successfully quick journey. Twenty past midnight. Raoul would be asleep on the couch, and Janelle will have gone back home by now.

I left the bedroom, barefooted. I kept the door open behind me and padded silently to the kitchen. In the dark. I'd check the breadbox. Hopefully, there was still a fresh loaf there - I prayed it hadn't been eaten yet.

A ray of moonlight poured in from the kitchen window, nicely illuminating the space. I found the wooden box, made way for it, and-

"Meg?"

I yelped and spun, finding a form at the kitchen table. My eyes adjusted enough that I could make out Raoul's face.

I relaxed some, though there was still tension in my belly. "I - I didn't know you were there."

"Sorry." His voice was soft. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I glanced back at the breadbox, but didn't go for it. Instead, I asked him, "What are you doing sitting in the dark?"

He adjusted; I saw his hands go to his head, through his hair. He took a shaky breath. "I've been out here for a while. Since this afternoon."

And hadn't moved, I presumed.

"My brother. He..." Another quivering intake of breath.

At that, I went for the lamp on the wall and switched it on. I nearly jumped when I saw his face - tearstained and puffy-eyed. He winced against the sudden light. When he saw me staring, he looked quickly down and moved his hands to the table, on top of a sheet of paper.

"Your brother?" I said.

He nodded. "I told you he was ill."

"Yes."

"He died." His lips trembled, and he moved the base of his palms to his eyes, as though to stop tears. The paper was exposed now. "I received a letter today."

"Oh..." I whispered. And, against my own current state, I found myself sitting at the table across from him. I looked at the sheet of paper before him and indeed spotted the words "Comte de Chagny" and "passed away" among the scattering of letters.

"I..." His voice shook. "I know I should feel...grief for him. But I don't. I feel...like I miss what we could have been, my brother and me. But I don't miss him. And that makes me hate myself."

"No," I said. "No, I... For the way he treated you, it makes sense."

"But he was my brother. I should be in mourning."

"It...Raoul, it looks like you are in mourning." I leaned forward. "But I think you're mourning the hope you felt for him."

"But not him."

"I think that's all right. It doesn't mean you didn't love him. You can...love someone without liking them. I think love is a complicated emotion."

He at last brought his hands down, but his eyes remained cast on the table. They looked redder than ever.

"I just wish things had been better between us."

"I know." I stared at the letter but didn't read it. "My mother has pushed me my whole life to be a star ballerina. It's made me...resent her. Quite a bit. And it's made me stop liking dance. I know how it feels to be resentful."

"But you miss your mother. You hope she's alive." His words were a mere breath.

I shrugged. "Yes. But my mother was still kind to me. If she hadn't been, I might be feeling the same as you."

He finally brought his eyes up to mine. "Truly?"

I nodded. "Yes. I think so."

Raoul stared at me for ten or so seconds, then extended a hand, palm up. I looked down at it. I knew what he wanted. But I was still...I just...

He sighed. "Meg. I'm so sorry I lied."

I watched my hands in my lap.

"I just...for the first time...I was connecting with someone. And I...I just-"

"Why would your real name bother me?" I picked at a nail.

"Because I didn't want you to know I was a vicomte."

My brows stitched. That was odd, really - I feel that most people with a title would flaunt it as much as possible. "I don't mind what you are."

"Well, perhaps I mind." His chest rose and fell. "Perhaps I don't want to be a vicomte. Perhaps I don't like everything it comes with. The social obligations. The high station. The fact that I'm being always watched. That fact that I know you would have treated me differently if you'd known...been less yourself-"

"You don't know that," I said, and finally looked up. A tear was sliding down across his cheek, his shoulders pulled forward. "I might not have treated you any differently."

He snorted miserably. "Might not have. Might not have. Even you don't know." He swallowed. "It doesn't matter, anyway. You hate me now as it is. So I learned my lesson."

My heart dropped. "I don't-"

"You've been holed up in that room, pretending you don't hear me. So yes. You do."

"I don't." I grimaced. "Raoul...I'm just...confused. Everything has happened so quickly. First, my mother disappears. Then, I find out her glasses are shattered, meaning...who knows what. And now I learn you're not who you said you were." I gripped my knees. "It's not that I hate you...I just...I'm-"

"You felt betrayed," he offered. I nodded. He frowned, deeply. "I understand that. And I...never wanted to hurt you. I didn't. I'm sorry that I caused you grief."

A long silence, and then I moved my hand slowly to the table.

Palm up.

He sighed in relief, and took it.

"Now, at least," I said, "I know your actual name."

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I-"

"Raoul, it's fine. I see why now. It's fine. Just...don't lie again. All right?"

He nodded rapidly. "Of course," he said, but barely any sound came out.

My stomach growled, and I remembered why I'd come out here.

"Oh," he said. "You must be hungry." He removed his hand and stood. "Here. Let's find something for you to eat."

But before he could turn away, I stood as well and crashed into him, arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug. He grunted in surprise, but then took a shaky breath and held me as well.

"Thank you for telling me," I said. "Thank you for opening up to me. I feel closer than before."

"You do?" His voice was incredulous.

"Yes." I nodded. "I do."

And I did.

That was why, I realized, why I opened up so well to Isabelle. Why her death had destroyed me.

She'd been open with me first. She'd been vulnerable with me.

She and Raoul hadn't seen my tears and demanded I tell them why, as Christine and my mother often did.

They'd bared their own hearts instead.