by Kelley York
William seems to not be paying attention, however. He flicks open the latches and raises the lid, pulling the violin from its velvet casing with the utmost care. He runs his fingers along the neck of it, across the strings, studying and assessing in ways I could never do.
I sink back down beside him and swallow hard, waiting for some sort of sign. I can’t resist the sense of hope starting to creep in, though. After a moment, William places it back in its case and looks at me, all soft edges and a tender smile as he brings a hand to my cheek.
“It’s perfect in every way. I love it. But you’re a complete arse.”
I turn to press a kiss against his palm, releasing a breath I feel like I’ve been holding ever since this idea took shape. I can handle being an arse; I do it so well and often, don’t I? “How so?”
“Because you’ve yet again gone above and beyond for me, and I have nothing to give you in return.” He draws back, gazing down at the violin. “You always do this. And I love you for it, but…”
I bite my lip briefly. The money was a concern, I knew, but I’d certainly not intended to make William feel less somehow because I wanted to give him something. It’s on the tip of my tongue to inform him that he alone has always been the greatest gift, but I bite it back. Though it would be an entirely sincere statement, I don’t think William would care much for it and I’m not certain that it would serve its purpose, anyway. He would just point out that I am a gift to him in return and then what would my counter argument be? “I can try to take it back, if you’d prefer.”
His nose crinkles as he tugs the violin case closer to himself. “I will break your hands if you try, James Spencer.”
I laugh. “In that case, I don’t suppose you feel up to trying out your gift?”
He hesitates, brushing his thumbs across the clasps. “I haven’t played in ages. I’m out of practise.”
My smile remains in place, despite my disappointment. Thinking that this present would be some sort of miracle cure for William’s sadness was hardly smart nor fair on my part—but he seems happy with it, and that’s ultimately what matters. I slide an arm around his shoulders and draw him to my side so that I can press a kiss to his cheek. Pause. Note how flushed his skin feels beneath my lips. I had hoped his fevers due to his withdrawal would have subsided by now, but it seems I was wrong.
“In that case, we’ll hold off,” I murmur. “Why don’t we get you to bed, hm?”
William doesn’t argue with me. He brings along his violin to tuck it safely beneath his side of the bed, while I blow out the candles on the tree and get a blanket placed on the back step in case our feline friend comes looking for a warm place to rest. When I return upstairs, William has at least got a fire going there, and buried himself beneath the blankets.
Up until I’ve got changed myself and joined him, I half-suspect he’s already dropped off to sleep. But he inches closer, slipping an arm about my middle, and tucks his face against my neck.
A few seconds tick by, and then, “I’m sorry, James.”
“Whatever for?”
“This was our first Christmas holiday all to ourselves, and you’ve been trying to make it wonderful. I’m ruining it.”
I tsk, ghosting my lips across his feverish forehead. It’s just like him to think such ridiculous things and I wish that he could see them as such. “You’re not ruining anything, darling. I think you’re too hard on yourself. You’re doing something remarkable right now, and we knew when we embarked on this it wouldn’t be easy. Besides, we have a hundred more Christmases to spend together, hm?”
There’s a pause, a held breath, wherein I can tell he’s struggling with something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to say it.
When he’s silent too long, I ask, “What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s silly.”
“I’ll bet it’s not. Talk to me.”
Another few heartbeats of silence.
“What if…this is normal for me, James? What if I’m at my best when I’m medicated or drinking, what if I’m incapable of feeling anything beyond this…emptiness?” He tips his head back to look at me, frustration brewing in those beautiful blue eyes I love so much. “What if this is the best version of me I’ve got to offer?”
Lord, my heart aches.
I don’t pretend to know what demons William battles; all I’m privy to is what he allows me to see, and I think he still keeps so much from me in his quest to appear strong. Which, as much as I dislike it, is something that I can understand. We both have things that we would rather keep to ourselves in some misguided quest to protect one another.
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“I always do.”
I shift our positions a bit, rolling onto my side so that I can touch our foreheads together and look him into the depths of his eyes. I need him to know that what I say isn’t just pretty words, but something I mean wholly.
“I think that I have every ounce of faith that you will get better. I think you’re stronger than you know, and this? This is all just a setback. An adjustment period. And before you ask, even if this is your best, then I would love you all the same, because you’re still giving me everything you are and that’s more than I could ever ask for. The fact that things may be more difficult for you than they are for others is only a testament to how strong you are, William.”
His long lashes drop to half-mast. “And if there comes a day where I’m not strong enough?”
I bring a hand to cup his face without skipping a beat. Sometimes I do not think I can bear how much I love this silly man. “Then I’ll be the one strong enough to hold you up until you can stand on your own. Just as you would do for me.”
I don’t know if my answers comfort him, if they even reach him in that heavy fog he finds himself so lost in during moments of despair and doubt like these. But ever so briefly, I see the haze seem to lift from his face, just a flicker of hope and longing in his desperation, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that all of this weight on his soul only buries the William Esher I know that’s beneath it all. Some work and time and patience are what we need to find him, is all.
William kisses me, a thank you, and I find my own comfort that we’ve reached a place where we can speak to one another so easily without having to utter a single word. It’s familiarity. It’s love. A love that I hope William can still feel even when little else can reach him.
Settled comfortably in the warmth of our bed, I hug William close to me as he drifts off to sleep, and I pray that tomorrow will be a better day for him.
The bed is empty when I wake. That in and of itself isn’t unusual. William—on any ordinary day, at least—is up and out of bed long before I am. But as of the last few weeks, it is unusual, and catches me off-guard.
Not even just that, though. Some sort of scent is wafting up from downstairs, and it takes me a moment to place it. Apples. Spices. Cider? Oh, that’s lovely. But more surprising than that is the music. Faint from all the way up here; I can barely make it out.
I crawl out of bed, wrapping myself snugly in a robe before venturing downstairs. The Christmas tree has been re-lit, and the lamps about the ground floor are burning warmly. There is, in fact, a fresh batch of cider on the kitchen table, a few boiled eggs and some toast waiting for me. Such a small sight, and yet my hopes soar. If he’s up and moving, that’s a good sign.
The back door is cracked open again. I proceed as quietly as I can, inching it open further and leaning against the door frame.
William hasn’t changed yet, still in his dressing gown, but with his glasses on, his hair brushed, eyes closed, the violin resting between shoulder and chin and the bow gliding across the strings. The melodious sound seems effortless, natural, just an extension of William himself. He pauses once, brows knitting together. A quiet click of his tongue and he begins again, so engrossed in his playing that h
e doesn’t notice me at all. He also has a small, furry audience in the form of a tabby kitten perched upon the steps near a fresh bowl of cream, though it’s stopped drinking and seems to be watching William, instead. Maybe not so interested in William’s playing as it is in the swaying of fabric from his gown that likely looks very enticing to a tiny hunter.
I, myself, am far more interested in watching William himself. There’s nothing in all the world more beautiful than him, all his sharp edges and deep-seated flaws, every inch of his being that struggles and fights and endures, day after day. And yet at the same time, retains the ability to be so gentle and caring to those around him—far more so than I think he realises or gives himself credit for.
He is perfect. Undeniably, infallibly, completely.
When he comes to a pause sometime later, lowering the violin with a sigh, he finally takes notice of me and turns, a faint flush of rouge rushing to his cheeks. My mouth curves into a smile.
“And here you said you didn’t get me anything. What was that?”
William ducks his head, absently adjusting his gown. “The third movement of Pisendel’s sonata in E-minor, arioso. It’s been a bit since I last read it or heard it played, though, so I might be off.”
“I have no idea what that means, but if that Pisendel fellow didn’t play it the way you do, then I have no interest.”
Despite himself, an amused smile tugs at William’s mouth.
I step away from the door, bringing a hand to his cheek. In part just to touch him, in part to ensure that his fever has gone. “You have a guest, I see.”
“I do.” William looks down at the kitten batting at the violin bow, which is just within its reach. “Can we bring her inside, do you think?”
The kitten skitters back a bit when I crouch. I dip my finger into the cream and offer it out, and she approaches with caution and begins to lap it up, distracted enough that she doesn’t flee when I use my other hand to pet her damp, snow-flecked fur, nor when I gingerly scoop her up. She squirms just a bit, but perhaps being tucked against my chest, where it’s undoubtedly warmer than anything she’s had in days, keeps her from clawing me to ribbons.
William flutters about the kitchen, in search of something more than just milk to feed to her. He settles on cutting up some of the ham I brought home, offering her a small plate of pieces minced finely enough that she shouldn’t have too much trouble, despite how small she is. Then he sits at the table, head rested atop his arms, and simply watches her eat in the most endearing manner I’ve ever seen.
I stand behind him, hands coming to rest upon his shoulders, and bow down to press a kiss atop his head. “She’s going to need a name, I think. If she’s going to stay.”
He smiles distantly. “We will need to think of one.”
“Hmm… Cleo Catra.”
“No.”
“Jane Pawsten?”
“James.”
“Oh, oh. Juliet Catulet!”
William groans. “I’m going to put you outside, you miserable wretch.”
Still, there’s a laugh beneath the threat, and it fills me with a familiar warmth. “You know, dear William, this might just be my favourite Christmas of ours yet.”
He chuckles. “It’s still early.”
“All the more time for it to get even better.”
“Perhaps.” William tilts his head back, gaze soft. “Thank you. For everything. For being you.”
I cut a grin down at him and wiggle my eyebrows. “I’ll remind you that you said that, next time you’re cursing me for being me.”
“There’s not a damned thing about you I would change, and you know it.”
“I do.” I tip my head, ghosting my mouth against his for an easy kiss. And when I pull back, “Just as I would change nothing about you, dear William. Even on the days when I have to work ten times as hard to make you smile.”
He sighs at that, catches the front of my gown and pulls me in again for a long and proper kiss. It tastes very much of cider and a hint of chocolate—oh, the brat has been in the truffles without me…
And it feels very much like home.
Ready for more?
Don’t forget to check out what’s next in store.
A SHIMMER IN THE NIGHT
Also in the series...
A LIGHT AMONGST SHADOWS
A HYMN IN THE SILENCE
