“I guess.” Her skepticism sounded a little forced, and I rolled my eyes. But she caught my eye and grinned, and I threw an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug.
“C’mon,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
As I started to scoot down the row to the end of the bench and the exit, April caught my arm. “Let’s go that way, it’s closer.”
I looked where she pointed, the other way down the row to the secondary exit. She was right; for some reason fewer people were heading in that direction. So I reversed course and followed her instead, around the ring of the jousting field and through the gate. We came out on the left side of the jousting field, near a small clearing, and my breathing stalled when I saw where we were.
April was right, I hadn’t been on this side of the grounds much at all. Except for the first day of Faire. The handfasting. That day had been the beginning of everything between Simon and me. The first time he’d kissed me, even though it was staged. The first time I’d felt his hand around mine and felt safe. Protected. Like he was the one I was meant to be with. It had all been fake emotion, brought on by being in character and fancy words spoken while our hands had been bound together with a golden cord. But it had felt real, and more importantly, it had led to something real.
Something real that was now over. I cleared my throat hard and geared myself up to walk past the handfasting that was obviously getting ready to start now. I had no desire to be anywhere near it, so I kept my head down and my feet moving.
“What are those people doing there?” Of course April had to notice and ask me about it. I sighed inwardly. It wasn’t her fault; I’d never told her about this part of my time at Faire. So I forced a smile and a casual tone of voice.
“Oh, it’s this mushy thing, it’s for couples, no big deal.”
“It looks cute. Let’s go see.”
“April, no.” But she would not be deterred. She hooked a hand around my elbow and practically dragged me over there. “No,” I said again, squirming in a pathetic attempt to get away. “Why do you want to see happy couples? I’m still in the ice cream and brownies and booze phase of my breakup, you know. This could set me back weeks.”
“Ah, the holy trinity of heartache.” She grinned at me over her shoulder. “Shut up and come on.”
There was a small crowd gathered for the handfasting, but it didn’t look right. There were hardly any patrons. Two or three milled around on the fringes, but everyone who was actually in the clearing was a cast member in costume. But there weren’t very many cast members, either. A scant handful, and I realized with a jolt I knew all of them. The Queen was there, of course, since she performed the ceremony. Every time I saw Chris in costume, it was hard to remember she was the same woman who wore her hair in a long braid and made killer lemon squares. Caitlin was next to her, like a good little lady-in-waiting; my niece caught my eye and grinned at me. Now I was suspicious. She looked like she was up to something.
“Ach, it’s about time, lassie.” And there was Mitch, with his exaggerated Scottish accent, bowing to April and me like we were in royal garb ourselves.
“About time?” I looked from him to April and back again. “What’s he talking about?” But neither one of them answered. Instead, April propelled me forward with her hand on my arm, and when Mitch took my hand I followed along, a habit born of weeks of men reaching for my hand while in costume and me giving it freely. He dropped my hand as we reached the center of the clearing, and I stopped walking, barely noticing when Mitch stepped back.
There, in the center of the clearing, was Simon.
Not Captain Blackthorne.
Simon.
He wore jeans, a crisp light green cotton shirt open at the throat, and a sheepish expression. His hair was cut short like the first day we’d met, so he no longer had the shock of hair that hung over his brow, and those red burnishes the sun brought out were almost invisible in that closer crop. The face-framing beard was gone too, not to mention the smudges of eyeliner he had sported most of the summer. No leather. No hat. No earring. All traces of the pirate had gone. All that was left was . . .
“Simon?” I could only stare at him. He looked so different. He looked like that serious, judgmental dickhead I’d met on day one, who told me I’d filled my form out wrong. Except that man had worn a disdainful expression. This man was just the opposite. He looked at me as though I were the only thing that mattered.
“Emily.” His gaze roamed over my face as though he hadn’t seen me in weeks, but he didn’t move toward me. I remembered I was mad at him, that we’d broken up, but I was so stunned to see him completely stripped of his pirate persona, that none of that seemed to matter. Not when he was looking at me like that.
“But Faire’s not over.” I gestured at his outfit, as though I were imparting new information he had missed. “You weren’t at the chess match today.” Also vital intel he probably didn’t know.
He nodded slowly, solemnly. “You’re right.”
“But . . .” Too many thoughts were in my head at once, and they all wanted out at the same time. “Why aren’t you in costume?” He’d told me how precious those days he spent as a pirate were to him. Why had he cut that time short?
“I’m proving a point.” Now he moved toward me, just a step, his eyes still on me. “You gave me a lot to think about, you know, last week. And you were right.”
“I was?”
“You were.” He took another step toward me. “About a lot of things. But the most important thing is that my brother is gone. Nothing I do will bring him back.”
“Oh.” I sucked in a little air through my teeth. That hadn’t been the nicest thing I’d ever said. “I’m sorry. I was—”
“Completely right. You made me see how much I’ve been stuck in this loop. Sean died, but I’m the one who became a ghost. Micromanaging this Faire, not letting anyone breathe, including myself. And the worst thing, the absolute worst thing I did that night, Emily, was make you think you didn’t matter. That you weren’t good enough. That a Renaissance faire—that anything—was more important than you. I’m so sorry, Emily. No one should make you feel like that.” He didn’t reach for my hand, although I wanted him to more than anything. “I did a lot of thinking over the past few days, and I’m stepping back from Faire.”
“What? No.” I shook my head. “You can’t quit Faire.” I looked around guiltily at our friends who were gathered around us. “He’s not quitting Faire,” I told them. Chris pressed her lips together to hide her smile.
“I didn’t say I was quitting,” he said. “I’m stepping back. Letting more people help out. Mitch, for example, is excited to take over some of the organization next year.”