the corridor he wouldn’t let me walk down just this morning. The pounding in my chest grew louder, harder as we walked.
“I want to introduce you to my parents.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. “They won’t join the festivities?”
“Maybe later.”
“Is your father feeling well enough to?”
“No, but he’ll join anyway.”
The hall was dimly lit with gas lamps, as the rest of the house was, but the lamps were close enough to the portraits that I could sort of make them out. Most of them were of groups of men, around tables signing papers, watching as one of them made a discourse, posing for a painter. One photograph in particular caught my attention. I stopped walking in front of it and let go of River’s hand. The painting had tents and people everywhere, but front and center there were two men and two women. They were all smiling wide. My hand rose slowly to touch it, but I let it drop before it got there. It was my grandparents. I’d never met my grandfather, but I knew his face, and I knew this painting because the same one hung in my grandmother’s house before she moved in with my parents. I looked at River, who was standing there watching me with his hands in his pockets. Who are they, I asked, but not aloud, I couldn’t get my voice to work.
Nevertheless, he answered. “Your great-grandparents. And mine.”
“Where are they?”
“On this very island.”
“Dolos?”
“Dolos before the curse. Before it broke off.”
“Why would this be hanging here?” I glanced up at him. “After everything.”
“Maybe as a reminder of what once was.”
“Why would you want to remember an old friendship, especially one that supposedly wronged you?”
“Why do we study history?”
“To learn from the past and not make the same mistakes all over again.”
“But do we ever truly learn? Some would argue that your presence in this house would mean we don’t.”
“Mayra says my cousin haunts the Manor.”
“Did she, now.” River’s lips set into a fine line.
“Is she telling the truth?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts, in curses.”
“Is she telling the truth?” I turned around and tilted my head to meet his gaze.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
He was standing far too close to me. So close that when he reached for me and wrapped an arm around my waist, I was powerless to stop him. So close that when he brought his face down, his nose touched mine and I stopped breathing entirely.
“What do you want to know, Penelope?” he murmured against me.
“Everything.”
“Everything?” He pulled away ever so slightly, just enough to look into my eyes.
“Yes.”
“Be careful what you wish for, little witch. These walls just may grant them to you.”
“Maybe I want them to.” I swallowed.
“What will you do when you learn that everything you thought you knew was a lie?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” I blinked, feeling myself drifting, as if in a dream. “What’s a lie?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.” River leaned in again and pressed his lips against mine, kissing me softly, so softly my knees buckled.
His hold around me tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue flowing into mine, taking, granting. He felt familiar, yet entirely too exciting to have ever kissed me before. I’d remember this kiss. I’d remember these lips and this tongue and these hands. It felt like my dream, just like my dream, but this was real. When he broke the kiss and pulled away, looking at me with a longing that nearly broke my heart, I knew it was real.
“River?” a female voice called out down the hall.
“We’ll be right there.” He straightened, bringing me with him, and took my hand in his as he led me down the hall.
We stopped in front of a woman and I had to take a second to gather my bearings. It was Sarah, the blonde beauty from the stories. She was wearing a beautiful floor-length dark pink dress that matched the flowers I’d seen on their lawn, and a matching fascinator on her head that made it look like she was either going to a tea party or the Kentucky Derby. She was stunning. I’d seen pictures of her around town, pictures on Missing signs that her husband had placed all over the island, even though he knew exactly where she was and who she was with. Her husband was long gone, but Sarah’s signs remained, faded and ripped up, but no one dared take them down.
No one on the island dared touch anything