Page 49 of Sword & Shadow
Hewitt stroked his scraggly beard.
“The only answer is that she’s moved on.”
“Not possible.”
“Why not?” Deckard threw his hands up, exasperated. “What if she really has let go? Am I holding her back by expecting her to cling to her grief?”
Hewitt eyed him. “I told you, she’s yet to recover from Ryen’s death. Mine will hit her twice as hard.”
“But she’s flirting with me,” Deckard said. “Intentionally.”
That caused the ghost of his subconscious to frown. “You’re sure?”
Deckard ran back through the memories of their days in Wauld. He thought of how she’d warmed his hands and scooted closer to him, how she’d wrapped her arm around his waist, pressing herself to him, and teasing him about his attraction to her. He remembered the kiss she’d planted on his cheek. Even tonight, he’d seen the twinkle in her eye as she’d said,“You owe me.”She pretended to be perturbed by the others thinking they’d gone off to be alone together. But he’d recognized the tilt in her voice and the lift to her lips.
“She wanted me to kiss her just now,” he admitted. “She was disappointed when I didn’t.”
“That’s not surprising,” Hewitt said. “Wives take comfort in their husbands.”
He scoffed at the idea that Evylin would ever see him that way. “She doesn’t want that sort of relationship with me.”
“You just said she wanted you to kiss her.”
“That doesn’t mean she wants to take solace in me.” He rose to begin pacing. “She’s not interested in my husbandly affection. Not like that. Not anymore.”
“This isn’t a conversation I relish,” Hewitt complained.
“I can’t say I care for it myself.” Deckard ran a hand through his hair, annoyed at its growing length. “But the thing is, she’s starting to touch me more openly. Not in a way that begs for reciprocation but simply in a manner of familiarity. And then, this.”
“If you came out here to determine the ethics of your attraction to my niece, congratulations, it’s justifiable.” Hewitt crossed his arms. “Now, go back, kiss your wife, and give her a good life.”
“I don’t know if she wants me to.”
Hewitt glared at him. “You just said that she did.”
“No.” Deckard brushed the thought away. “I mean, she hasn’t decided about us yet.”
“What is there to decide? You’re married. Even if she’s still working through her loss of me, she’ll come to trust you. Whether that takes a year or ten, she will let go and choose you.”
“If she gives me that long,” Deckard said through a sigh.
Hewitt’s gray eyes narrowed on him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, I promised her that she wouldn’t have to decide about her future until after our mission.” Deckard ran a hand over his face, reliving that foolish promise. “I can’t go back on that.”
“Are you telling me,” Hewitt began, each word a sharp cut, “that there’s a chance she could leave you?”
Deckard glanced at the ghost his madness had summoned. “Well...” He shrugged. “Yes.”
“I’m going to kill that girl,” Hewitt snarled. He took a step in the direction of the camp before turning on Deckard, evidently remembering that he was a figment of imagination.
Hewitt’s fury gave him the wild look of a bear charging an unwelcome intruder. “I told her to finalize it,” he nearly shouted. “Did she not listen?”
Had the man not been a vision that only Deckard could see and hear, he’d be bothered by the loudness of his voice. Instead, he stared at the ghost, dumbfounded. “You told her to do what?”
“I told her to consummate the damn thing.”
Slightly embarrassed by the bluntness of Hewitt’s delivery, Deckard found the ability to overcome the awkward conversation within the irritation he felt that the man had meddled in the intimacies of their relationship. “Why would you do that?” he demanded.
