“Addison,” I said, remembering her pointed words in the parlor at the Lodge. So that’s why David had kissed Cara like that. To protect her from a second incarnation of Addison’s wrath.
“I couldn’t let her hurt Cara again.” David kissed me again, softer, his lips light as snowflakes on my cheeks and nose. “But you have to know how much it pained me.”
“Cara said that you wanted someone to help you seem normal, a girl to complete the gentry bachelor lifestyle.” I looked down at the snow swirling around his black shoes. “Why Cara? Why not me? I am rich, I come from a good family; I mean, I am a—”
“—Landry,” David finished for me. “You are a Landry. And I did not know I could trust you until the day you met Jack, and even after that, there were times I was not sure. You have no idea how like your father you are. Not only in the way you look, but in the way you carry yourself, the way you radiate ambition.”
“I am not ambitious,” I protested.
He traced my lower lip with his finger. “You are. You are full of this… zeal. And I could never tell what that zeal was for. Was it for the gentry? Or for something else?”
He tilted my face toward his, and I could feel the bite of the frost-scented breeze on my upturned face.
“You were not like any gentry girl I’d ever met. You were sharper, more perceptive. You were like looking through a telescope at the galaxies. I felt dizzy and small just seeing you. I wanted nothing more than you, which was terrifying, because I spent most of my time vacillating between what I wanted for my own life.”
“To be gentry or Rootless.”
“It is over now,” he breathed. “I do not have to wonder any more. About myself. About you.”
I slid my hands around his face. “No more ambivalence.”
His lips touched mine as he spoke. “No more lies,” he promised.
The cold air nipped at the heat between us as we separated just in time for Jude to emerge with his gloves.
Jude helped me into the sleigh, and then climbed in himself, his hand squeezing mine one last time before he let go. David hopped in the other side, all energetic bounce again.
“The Rootless and the working class are calling us heroes,” Jude said, settling into the furs and blankets. “All three of us.”
“Still don’t believe me about modern-day knights?” David asked me.
“I’ll believe it when I have a statue next to Jacob Landry’s.”
Jude offered me a flask of wine. “Then I will make sure that happens.”
“And I will make sure that it’s a full body statue. Maybe naked,” David said, taking the reins.
Snowflakes appeared out of clouds so thin and transparent they could barely be seen, and David used his thumb to wipe them from my face. With the skyline glassy and lit up behind us, and the stars glittering above us, David urged the horses forward, and we rode south together.
And even though I knew it would be beautiful, covered in snow and ice, bathed in starlight, tall and majestic in the face of upheaval and heartbreak, I didn’t look back as we drove away from Landry Park.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First of all, I want to thank my incomparable agent Mollie Glick for taking a chance on my book when it still needed lots of love. Your sharp eye and keen business sense have been my life raft through this entire process. Thank you.
A huge thank you to Nancy Conescu, who is kind and wise like Glinda the Good Witch. You knew this book better than I did—you knew what it needed and what it didn’t need any longer. Thank you for your patience and insight.
To the entire Penguin team, especially Stacey Friedberg and Courtney Allison. You are the brilliant people who do brilliant things. To Kristin Smith, for making the most mouthwateringly gorgeous cover imaginable. And to Kathleen Hamblin, another ray of brilliance. You guys deserve all the chocolate in the world.
To Gennifer Albin for the hard words and practical advice and 2:00 A.M. pancakes; to Robyn Lucas for the cheerleading and marketing help and plot fixes; to Laura Rahimi Barnes for all the honest encouragement and the late night G-Chats, and most of all, for being my book fairy. To the WrAHMs: there has never been a wilder, funnier, smarter group of lady writers out there, and I am so honored to be among your number. To Lucy Stark, Melanie Harlow, and Tamara Mataya, this table flip is for you.
To Ashley, for all the free babysitting and encouragement and for hiding from imaginary bears with me when we were on a mountain in Albuquerque. To Denise, for the beautiful author photo. To the Bu, for reading my baby novels in high school and college. To Alyssa, Jill, and Amanda, who keep me well adjusted, and to all of my colleagues at the Johnson County Library—you make being a librarian fun.
To my grandparents: John, Kay, Ed, and Sandra—your nurturing presence has allowed me to thrive. To Kathie and Milt Taylor, for constant babysitting and support; to Dana Hagen and Eddy Bisceglia, for all the love. To Renee Bisceglia, who took me to the Central Resource Library as a girl and let me check out more books than I could carry. To Doug Hagen, who took the time to read to me every night and who told me to make the Hagen name proud.
To Noah and Teagan, who stayed up late to give me hugs and kisses after I came home from “writing stories.” And most of all to Josh, who never let me quit, who always believed in me, and who brought me snacks and beer and Doctor Who when it was needed. I wouldn’t be writing this if it weren’t for you.