“I—” I gasped for air, an excuse to think, because she did have a point. One I’d been too blinded to see by Shao’s own tragedy and hurt. “You could have made yourself clear to him! You had every opportunity to apologize and at least clear up that he was loved. That he was still family—”
“Why in my heart and a half would you think I never tried?” Isabella shrieked—full on shrieked—and tears broke free through the barrier of her everlasting smile.
I yelped, because it was then—when I saw her tears, and when I saw the slight shadow of lingering blood on her lips and tongue and teeth, and I realized she’d been biting her tongue hard—that I understood.
I didn’t know how wealthy or powerful her family was, but she was an upper tier noble.
With that title came responsibilities. A designated way to act, no matter the circumstance.
Isabella wasn’t allowed to yell or to express any expression other than tranquility and happiness. She had to be the picture-perfect example of one of the country’s most powerful people, and she’d suffered for it.
Her brother—Shao—didn’t know how to restrain his emotions because he’d never had to. He couldn’t control it, and everything he felt showed transparently on every fiber of his being.
Isabella didn’t know how to express her feelings, because she’d never been allowed to.
She smiled harder when she wanted to scream, because she wasn’t allowed to cry.
If she was this restrained by the bounds of her breeding, did she know how to rebel against her parents? Could she have broken free of their orders if they’d tried?
My voice softened at the realization, as did my heart. She reminded me of myself after the onset of Father’s illness, albeit a much more restrained and successful one. “How did you try?”
Isabella’s eyes glazed over and she licked her lips, her smile weakening slightly.
“I sent a thousand letters after the second visit,” she said. “But he’d long stopped answering them. I don’t know if he even read them.” I doubted he had.
She twirled her hair in silence, and I opened my mouth to speak. She shook her head at me, and I stopped to let her think her words over and continue at her own pace.
“I looked up to Shao a lot as a child,” she said at last, her voice lowering as it shook. Our eyes met, and she gave me a weak titter that I returned with a genuine but small smile. I rubbed my palms together.
“We were separated when I was seven and he was ten, and while I don’t remember much, I know I loved him.” She sighed. “Father never allowed me to visit Asha, no matter how much I begged, until I turned thirteen. He forced a dozen guards to defend me against my own brother.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “He… thought that was your idea. He thought you’d have found any way to sneak away if it hadn’t been—but you never did.”
Isabella glanced down. “I know. I tried to convince him otherwise, but…”
Heaving a sigh, she added, “Well, you know the rest. I was so optimistic at first, too. After the first few moments, when he realized the guards wouldn’t budge, Shao became so, so closed off. I could have snuck out—I know that—but I feared getting caught. Scared of defying Father. Of hurting him. I love Shao, but… I love Father too, broken as he may be.”
I squeezed her hand, because I understood.
I didn’t want to understand, but I did.
“He stopped replying to my letters after that visit.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t realize how much the isolation had affected him, much less his hopes. How could I have known? I was so young. We were both so young.”
“I…” Despite everything, I felt desperate to help this woman feel better. Not only for her sake, but for mine—because, no matter how briefly, I’d seen myself in her—and for Shao’s sake, too. If she wasn’t as cruel as she’d seemed, she deserved to reunite with Shao. He deserved to know her feelings. To forgive her… and himself.”
Isabella gripped bunches of her dress and twisted them around. “I was so desperate to be his sister again, and I was so excited when I got another chance to visit him two years ago—this time with only a few guards, who’d stay hidden—but I was scared he’d reject me, just as he’d rejected all my daily letters.”
“I think… he was hoping for explanations that he didn’t get.”
“I overcompensated,” she said. “I was scared. Since I didn’t know how to deal with conflict, I didn’t. I wanted to return to the way we were as children, even though we were far too old for it now, and we’d been separated for far too long. I brought him dresses to bully him into, romance books to read to him, illegal magic charms to prank him with…”
Absentmindedly, I turned Shao’s painting back around as I rubbed my thumb over the frame as Isabella had.
“All you need to do is apologize in person,” I muttered without looking at her. “You know that, right? Explain yourself and tell him you’re sorry. Shao… is Shao, and he’s been looking for excuses to forgive you for his entire life.”
Isabella’s expression pinched. “It can’t be that easy—”
“You say that,” I interrupted, “but it’s not easy for you at all, is it? I don’t think you bluebloods know how to swallow up your pride. For all I know, the only thing you’re practiced in is the art of deflecting blame.”
Isabella covered her mouth as she laughed, and I marveled at the glittering sound.
Although both her present smile and laughter and the earlier forced ones seemed genuine, their difference was so stark I questioned how I’d fallen for her feigned nonchalance at all.
“You wound me with your accuracy,” she said with a wink, and she gave my cheek another peck with her lips. This time, I didn’t flinch back, although a part of me rebelled at any touch that wasn’t Shao’s. I’d grown too accustomed to seeing only him during our time together.
“Maybe if you smother his cheeks with grandmotherly kisses like you did to me, he’ll see the light,” I teased.
Grim amusement contorted Isabella’s lips. “You might just be right, although you could be kinder with your descriptions.”
“I’ve been stuck here for half a year with him,” I said with a half-hearted wink. “His prickly personality is rubbing off on—”
A man cleared his throat behind me, and I forced myself not to jump in shock as I twisted around.
In front of me was Shao, leaning back against a doorframe; by his side stood a redhead boy scratching at his chin, looking uncomfortable.
“H-how long have you been eavesdropping?” I cried.
“Since you started telling that girl to smother me with kisses,” Shao replied, pointing at Isabella. I winced at the way he referred to her, and I wasn’t sure whether to exhale in relief or disappointment at his admission.
If he’d heard Isabella’s apology, my mission to reunite them would have proven far easier… but I’d have embarrassed myself by yelling at his sister for my mistaken desire to defend him.
“We heard you guys having a screaming match all the way from the parlor,” Shao said, clearing his throat again, and I grimaced. “While we couldn’t make out your words—” this time, I did sigh in relief— “we got worried and rushed over here as quickly as we could.”
I quirked a small, awkward smile, lifting my palms up. “Well… surprise? Your sister and I made up, and you should too.”
Nodding to cement my statement, I marched gracelessly backwards before turning to hurry out the other door and give the family some space.
With rapid steps made possible by his unfairly long legs, Shao lumbered after me, and I squealed before speeding my pace into an almost run. In the corner of my eye, I saw Isabella’s disappointed gaze, and felt a pang of guilt.
“Go talk to your sister,” I mumbled as Shao cornered me into the wall of a hallway not far from the room we’d just escaped.
“What reason would I have to talk to her?” He snapped. “You’ve heard my story about her. I want to talk to you.”
> “Y-you don’t have a reason to talk to me either, do you?” I asked, turning my head to the side and looking down at the tiled black-and-white floors. “I have a feeling your sister wants to apologize.”
“I don’t know if you forced her to apologize by yelling at her for so long, but I don’t care one ounce about something guaranteed to be fake—”
“It won’t be,” I interrupted, and I found myself stroked the hand crushed against the wall to comfort him. “I promise.”
“You have no way of knowing,” he said, but I saw a glimmer of broken hope in his eyes, and I heard it in his voice.
“She cares about you,” I said. “She’s your sister. She loves you.”
I looked back at Shao and saw him narrow his eyes. “I wish I could believe that.”
“I have a feeling you wouldn’t even need me to convince you if you’d read her letters,” I said. “You haven’t, have you?”
He didn’t reply. His jaw set.
That was all the answer I needed. “You should.”
“I tossed them,” he said, readjusting his mask, which hadn’t moved an inch.
“No, you didn’t,” I said, feeling a confidence I couldn’t qualify. “Knowing you, you probably hoarded them somewhere safe, wanting to know what they said but being too terrified to open a single one of them.”
“You have the completely wrong idea of me.”
I took one hesitant step towards him until we were a breath apart.
“You’re masked, so I’m not in danger of being turned into a rose,” I said. “What if I run into your room and dug through your closet?”
“You’re ridiculous,” he replied, and I could feel the warmth of his words against my forehead.
“Under your bed, then.”
His hands tensed, but he kept up his stern, uncaring façade. “Good luck with that.”
“Between your mattress?”
He snatched his hands away—but whatever he saw in my face stopped him halfway, and he sheepishly hesitated them midair, allowing me to reach out for them again. I tried to keep myself from laughing—no, cackling as Isabella had—but found no success.
“Shao, they’re probably wrinkled to death now,” I said.
“Not like I was ever going to read them.”
“You wanted to.”
“No.”
“Let me read them, then,” I said, changing tactics.
“They’re private—”
“Why, when they’re meaningless to you?”
“They’re not—” His voice rose, and he caught himself, gritting his teeth. “They’re important as further proof of my family’s disregard for me.”
“Don’t you want to know for sure?” I asked, giving his hands a squeeze. “I know it’s hard. Terrifying. But from my talk with Isabella, however brief it was, I don’t think she feels ill of you. I’m sure you know that, too, deep inside.”
“I…”
“I’ll be by your side the whole time if you let me,” I said. “I know your family—particularly your father—hasn’t treated you with the respect and acceptance you deserve, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t love you. It doesn’t mean Isabella distrusts or fears you. I don’t think she ever has. The only thing she’s scared of is you never accepting her.”
It was impossible that I speak with complete confidence, but I was as sure as I could be, and my words were what Shao needed to hear. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bulging, and took a slow, deep breath.
“You’re not wrong,” he grumbled. I smiled.
“You keep saying that,” I said. “I take offense to it.” To Shao’s lifted eye, I added, “It’s not that I’m not wrong, Shao. It’s that I’m right.”
“I take offense to your unnecessary and trivial distinctions,” he said, snorting.
“Oh, hurry up, tell me I’m right,” I said, and he laughed. I felt pleased that despite his misgivings, he was still himself. Still Shao, able to laugh and tease me.
“You’re right,” he said. “You always are.”
I preened at his words, my back straightening, though I’d rather forced them out of him.
“I’ll go bring my letters,” he said.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, no, you must allow a man his secrets.” He viewed me with mock despair, but his ears pinkened, suggesting the emotion wasn’t fabricated. “I couldn’t live with myself if you found out some of Isabella’s letters really are under my mattress.”
I threw my head back, not caring to hide my roar of laughter this time.
Chapter 18
I waited in front of Shao’s room, the door closed between us, while he grabbed his letters. As I stood, my shoulder and hip against a cold white wall, I wondered when he’d come back out; it felt as though I’d been waiting for hours, although it had only been minutes.
Hearing the creak of the door, my face lit up and I turned to greet him.
When he reemerged with an entire mesh bag that closed with a drawstring and could have fit me inside, I choked out a strained laugh.
He couldn’t even lift it up, because it was too large and unwieldy, although it was probably light. Instead, he dragged it out behind him by the drawstrings.
“Really,” I managed, “how did you convince yourself not to read any of them when you had so many letters? I’d have died of too much curiosity not to at least peek at one.”
“That,” Shao replied as he tugged the bag out his room and began heading towards the library, “is where we differ. This is only a small portion of the letters, but even then, I was too paralyzed by fear to do anything but hide it away where I couldn’t see it. That’s what I still want to do, in fact.”
I arched a brow. “What changed your mind?” I asked smugly, knowing the answer full well.
“Do you think you can handle the truth?” He asked, and I scoffed and nodded at the same time. “I figure I’m more scared of you than anything Isabella could have written.”
I feigned a gasp. “What, me? What have I done to make you fear me? I’m the kindest person you’ve ever met—”
“That’s not a high bar,” he said with a snort, and I winked.
“That might have been what I was counting on when I spoke with so much confidence.”
Shao rolled his eyes. His derision had little effect on me, however, considering how silly he looked with his burlap sack of letters.
“Need some help with that?” I asked, and I lifted my arm and flexed, revealing a… pretty sad attempt at a bicep, but if you squinted, I was sure you could see a hint of something round. Maybe.
“I’m stronger than I look,” I added pitifully to Shao’s laughter.
It wasn’t long before the library emerged before us, its adorned doors seeming vaguely foreboding and welcoming at the same time. I took a deep breath after I thrust open the doors, keeping them open for Shao and his luggage.
He passed through the first couple desks and seats until he reached the spacious desk I’d once laid my unguents meant to heal Shao with on. The mahogany wood was still stained with sickly greens and yellows, although the pungent odor was gone, as was the stickiness.
Shao brushed his fingers at the top of the table, paying special attention to the discolored bits. A soft smile played at his lips.
“Really?” I asked. “Of all the desks, is there a reason you chose this one?”
“My opinion of you changed the day you tried to heal me,” Shao replied, and I rested a hand on my hip. “You went from an entity that I didn’t know how to speak with, to… you. A girl I wanted to know more. Someone who cared about me—or the cure, but it was easy to deceive myself—enough to try to heal me.”
He turned back towards me, and I gaped; his stare had never been softer, and I wanted nothing more than to drown in it forever.
“In you,” whispered Shao, “I found neither a savior nor an angel…” My heart dropped at that. “But I found the silly girl who would sacrifice her sleep and every second of h
er time to become my hero. I found the rambunctious girl I wanted not to restrain nor control, but to join.”
Time seemed to stall. My heartbeat stuttered, and my breathing slowed. I realized Shao was closer to me, and I wasn’t sure who’d approached whom.
I had a nagging suspicion I’d stepped closer to him, entranced by his words, rather than the vice versa.
“I found you, Beatrice,” Shao said, his thumb caressing my cheek, “and I’ve never been more grateful than I am for meeting you.”
“I-I—”
For a moment, we remained suspended in time. There was nothing in my sight except Shao, nothing in my mind except his touch and his voice.
Then, he stepped away, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. He pivoted sideways, and his palms thudded against the table for support.
After a breath, he lifted the ugly potato sack from the floor, split it open at the top, and tossed the contents onto the table without another word.
I dug my nails against my palms, confused by the moment of stupefaction. What was up with me these days?
We made light, awkward small talk before Shao delved into his letters, curiosity and anxiety fighting for control over his expression and soul.
He tore through one letter then another, his fingers shaking, his breathing heavy.
I plopped down into the cushioned chair beside him, the seat giving way before rising back up. Since it didn’t feel right to breach the privacy of his sister’s heartfelt letters, I found myself scrutinizing Shao’s face for any trace of emotion.
At first, his stoic expression warped to look broken. Torn. Confused.
When Shao reached his fifth or tenth letter—I couldn’t be sure—tears started trickling, then pouring, from his eyes. I gasped; froze; I was unable to comprehend it.
He tried to hide it by blocking his face with his hand, but the tears pooled over and under his mask, dripping down onto the tabletop.
“Shao,” I breathed. “Are you—are you alright?”
Had I been wrong? Had Isabella played me for a fiddle, and her letters had actually been scathing and hateful? Or perhaps she’d gotten vindictive after Shao had refused to respond for so long, and lashed out—
A Kiss like Roses: Fairy Tale Synergy Book 1 Page 15
