How to Turn a Frog into a Prince - Bree Wolf Page 0,106

through her head, hope mingling with fear, and she stared at Abigail as though the other woman had grown another head. “But he loves you,” she whispered, wanting nothing more than for Abigail to contradict her.

“He cares for me,” Abigail said with a sad smile. “But he doesn’t love me, not the way he used to.” Her blue eyes lingered on Charlaine. “He said you were friends.”

Charlaine swallowed. “We are.”

A rather indulgent look came to Abigail’s face. “Are you? Truly?”

Charlaine dropped her gaze, torn between wanting to run from the room and finally confess all that lived in her heart.

“You love him,” Abigail whispered into the silence, an agonizing sob following those words.

Charlaine closed her eyes, then looked up. “I do,” she finally admitted, and as much as she feared the consequences of such a bold statement, it did feel liberating.

Somehow, she felt lighter as though a heavy burden had been lifted off her shoulders.

Blinking back tears, Abigail nodded. “I think I knew the moment he received your letter.”

Charlaine frowned. “My letter?”

“You wrote to him, and I was there when he read your lines.” Her eyes closed, and a hint of pain lingered in the way she held her head bowed. “I saw it in his eyes even then.”

“Saw what?” Charlaine asked, her hands clenched so tightly her sinews began to hurt.

Abigail’s head rose and she looked at her then. “That you’re the one who holds his heart.”

Charlaine stared at Abigail as though the ground had opened up at her feet and a little green troll had climbed out, doing cartwheels through the library.

A sad chuckle left Abigail’s lips. “It is true. Believe me for I wish it weren’t. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He looks at you the way I look at him, not as a friend, but as someone in love.”

Charlaine gritted her teeth, trying her best to fight down the joy rising in her heart. “No, he doesn’t,” she stated vehemently. “He doesn’t.” Only too well did she remember the day by the lake when he had told her he wished their kiss had never happened. Why would he have said such a thing if he cared for her? If he loved her?

“You’re afraid he doesn’t,” Abigail objected, once more dabbing her handkerchief to her eyes. “Just as I feared the opposite.”

Charlaine swallowed hard. “Why did you come to find me?”

“I didn’t.” Abigail shook her head. “I wanted to be alone, and I was afraid if I went to my chamber, he would come and speak to me, try to console me, comfort me.” The muscle in her jaw tightened. “I didn’t want his pity.” Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, and she blinked her lids rapidly to force them to retreat. Then she inhaled a deep breath and her gaze returned to Charlaine. “However, now that I’m here, I implore you,” her gaze softened, “don’t run away from this out of fear. I did, and it’s the greatest regret of my life.”

“But—”

Abigail reached across and her hand settled on Charlaine’s, cutting off her objection. “I hurt him, and now he’s afraid. Whatever he told you, whatever happened that led you to believe he could only see you as a friend, he only did or said because of what I did to him.” Her jaw quivered, and she dabbed the handkerchief to her eyes as fresh tears forced their way out. “Now, I have to pay the price.” She inhaled a deep breath, and her jaw tightened, a new determination coming to her gaze. “But I don’t want him to suffer for it. I want him to be happy again. He deserves to be.” Her hand squeezed Charlaine’s. “I think he needs you to be happy. Promise me you will not run.”

Staring at Abigail, Charlaine could not bring herself to respond, to move, to think a clear thought. Her heart and mind were a mess, conjuring various memories, re-evaluating them, trying to find proof for what Abigail had said, trying to assess if there was hope. Could it be true? Did Nathanial not merely see her as a friend? Was there a part of him—a part that for a reason she could not fathom, he determinedly shoved aside—that cared for her as she cared for him?

Never had Charlaine been one to run and hide, and remembering how she had evaded Nathanial these last few days, how she had wallowed in misery, pitying herself, suddenly made her angry. She ought to have confronted him. She