Chapter 3
Another month passed. Edward's eyes were improving faster than the doctors had expected. They said he might regain his sight in just over a month.
He was in a wonderful mood on the drive home from the hospital, holding my hand tightly the entire way.
"When I can see again, the first person I look at will be you," he said.
My heart sank, even as I forced a smile.
"You've seen me a hundred times before," I said.
He squeezed my fingers.
"It's not the same. I want to look at you properly. To memorize every detail of your face."
I didn't reply.
When we got back to the penthouse, Edward took a work call in the study.
When he came out, I was kneeling on the floor, tidying up the coffee table.
He tripped as he walked over, pitching forward.
I jumped to my feet immediately to catch him.
"Are you okay?" I said.
He steadied himself, shaking his head. Then he leaned down, his face coming inches from mine.
My breath caught. I thought he was going to kiss me.
In the month we'd been together, he'd never crossed a line. The most he'd ever done was hold me or hug me.
But he didn't kiss me.
He just stayed there, so close I could feel his breath on my face, silent for several long seconds.
Then he spoke. "What's your name?"
The question wiped my mind blank for a few seconds.
When I finally came to my senses, Edward had let go of me and was sitting on the sofa, his face perfectly calm.
"Don't be nervous. I knew you weren't her the day you walked in," he said.
I stared at him, completely stunned.
"How did you know?" I asked.
He tapped his ear.
"I heard it. When I lost my sight, my hearing got sharper.
Everyone has a different way of walking. You wear flat shoes, your steps are light, and you pause for a split second when your heel hits the floor. Olivia always wears heels."
My voice was thick as I spoke. "Then why didn't you call me out on it?"
Edward was silent for a moment, then he told me everything I'd never expected to hear.
He told me Olivia had called him the day she'd broken off the engagement.
She'd told him she didn't want to take care of him, that it was too much trouble, that it would ruin her career.
She'd told him she was leaving.
He'd been heartbroken. So he'd pretended he didn't know.
But he'd never expected another person to walk through his door.
He paused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"I'm glad you came," he said.
My chest felt tight, like someone was squeezing my heart in their fist.
"So why are you telling me this now?" I said.
He held out his hand toward me, his long, elegant fingers slightly curled, waiting for me to take it. "I don't want to live in a lie anymore. I want to know your name. The real one."
I took a deep breath. I walked slowly toward him and placed my hand in his.
"Grace Nolan."
He closed his fingers around my hand, his thumb brushing gently over the calluses on my palm.
"Grace. It's a beautiful name," he repeated, like he was savoring the sound of it.
It was the first time he'd ever said my real name.
Tears burned in my eyes.
He pulled me closer, lifting his other hand to my face.
His fingertips traced my face— from forehead to brows, to eyes, to the tip of my nose, and at last came to rest beside my lips.
"Let me feel your face," he whispered. "So when I can see again, I'll know it's you."
I closed my eyes, letting his fingers map every inch of my face. His touch was warm.
He is gentle, careful, as if he were touching something precious and fragile.
After a long moment, he pulled his hand away, a smile on his face.
"I've memorized it," he said.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. I remembered Eleanor's words, echoing in my head.
"The second he regains his sight, you leave quietly, and on one will ever know you were here."
But for the first time...I didn't want to leave.