Blaise let out a wheezy sob, and her eyes watered over.
I couldn’t help the way my head cocked at that. Boisterous, carefree Blaise. Men following her like she was a Fate herself Blaise?
Sure, I’d never thought Blaise was extraordinarily pretty, at least not until she smiled. But if someone would have bet with me on who would venture to Madame LeFleur’s with the intent of altering her appearance, they would have owned my father’s window-making business by now.
But then I looked closer, looked through the cracks of her expression, and I saw it in the corners of her eyes, heard it in the sound of my memories.
Would you rather fall in love with Evander and get out of your marriage bargain—but you can never be with him? Or would you rather never love him and be stuck married to him for the rest of your life?
Andy has awful taste in women.
At least I have Andy, though.
…fall in love with Evander…but you can never be with him…
My heart stopped.
I heard her answer a second before she opened her mouth.
Evander was eons behind the both of us.
“I love you, Andy,” she said.
My heart dropped into my stomach, but Evander only smiled. “I love you too, Blaise. I’ve always told you, you’re my sister.”
She shook her head, her eyes somehow both bright and empty.
“Not like that.”
CHAPTER 55
EVANDER
Time slowed down, reworked itself as my brain tried again to translate what Blaise had just said.
But every time my mind processed and reprocessed her words, it spit out the same result.
“Not like that.”
Fates, I was going to be sick.
My hand faltered at her cheek, and before I could recover my composure, she jolted back, rejection soiling her face, her familiar eyes widening.
“Blaise, I don’t…”
Her face heated, and she scooted away from me on the floor, wrapping herself in that flimsy burlap. Ellie stood behind me, but I could sense her presence stiffen.
“Please,” Blaise said. “You don’t have to say it. I know you don’t see me that way. You never have.”
There was no blame in her voice, no derision. Just numb resignation.
Blaise, little Blaise who I used to toss into the air, sending her flying so Jerad would catch her. I could still hear her giggles when I tickled her, still feel her drool that I’d wiped off my shoulder after she’d fallen asleep on it.
How many times had I tousled her hair, planted a kiss on her forehead, wrapped her up in a hug? All things whose interpretations seemed so obvious to me, so clear.
My face heated with shame. Had I given her the wrong idea, had I gotten so used to wooing the courtesans that I’d taken to bed, that I’d forgotten the line between platonic teasing and flirting?
My stomach churned, guilt piercing through me.
“Blaise, I never meant… I’m so sorry if I…”
She waved me off, though it was a half-hearted gesture. “You never treated me like anything other than a sister.”
It wasn’t quite relief that leaked into my chest.
My mouth couldn’t seem to find words at the moment, but Ellie spoke for me. “You meant to attend the ball. To trick him into falling in love with you by wearing a different face.”
There was no judgment in Ellie’s tone, but the words stung Blaise all the same. I couldn’t tell whether Ellie meant it, but she had that way about her. That way of rebuking that could be so practical, so void of emotion, that it stung all the worse.
Because when she stripped all the anger, all the accusation away, there was nothing left but the truth.
There was no mollifying truth. No watering it down.
Blaise swallowed, grimacing. “No use in denying it, I suppose. Though, that’s not how I talked myself into it at the time. I told myself that if I could just talk to you like I was someone else, without you having all the memories of me as a child, I thought maybe you’d realize what we could be. You just…” She took a deep breath. “After Jerad died, you were just so lonely all the time. I could tell you were hurting more than you made out to be. But you wouldn’t let me help you, wouldn’t let me in. Instead, you turned to them.”
Them. The way she pronounced that small, insignificant word made my chest cave in.
Them. Generic. Inconsequential. Unremarkable. Unworthy of being remembered by name.
