Where the Library Hides (Secrets of the Nile #2)

Capítulo Dos

CAPíTULO DOS

The sight of Whit drunk had speared me through. I paced my hotel room, hands flapping, wondering at what I’d seen and what it meant. I had gone to look at other exits, hoping to find another way out of Shepheard’s other than the main entrance that everyone used, and had seen him standing in a crowd of soldiers . Something I’d never thought was possible, given how he felt about his time in the militia. Not to mention what I personally felt about them. But there he had been, smiling easily, staggering a little, and clearly enjoying himself. Then he spoke to someone of rank, dressed in a decorated uniform, and the sight had turned my stomach.

I couldn’t make sense of it.

Whit wanted nothing to do with the military. That’s what he had led me to believe. He didn’t want any reminders of what had happened, and so I could hardly see him engaging in a pleasant chat. And why would any British soldier or captain engage in conversation with one of theirs who had been dishonorably discharged?

I’d left the balcony doors open, needing fresh air. The moon showed her face, the night still and quiet. I ought to have climbed into bed, but my heart pounded hard against my ribs. There was a time when I couldn’t trust Whitford Hayes. When I’d believed the worst of him. But he’d shown me a hidden side of himself, and I’d had to adjust my earlier assumptions.

He made me feel safe.

Except when I saw the way he was tonight, drunk and merry with the militia, a niggling sense of dread wound its way through my heart.

What if I’d been right about him all along?

“Wake up, Inez.”

I shifted under the sheets, blinking against the pillow. That had sounded like Whit. I turned, squinting through the heavy gauze of the mosquito netting. It was Whit.

“Look who’s being inappropriate now,” I said when I could find my voice.

Usually that might have earned me an amused smile or even a chuckle. But Whit’s blurry frame remained silent and motionless.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Early,” came his curt voice. “Will you come out of there?”

“Something tells me I’m not going to like what you’re going to say.”

“Probably not.”

I sighed as my stomach tightened into unruly knots. Whit pulled the mosquito netting aside, and I murmured a quiet thank-you as I slipped out from under the bedding. My nightgown was loose and long, and I tugged at it, self-conscious and shy. Whit held himself back, his expression remote and guarded. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before. He smelled like whiskey, cloves, and peat in a swirl of smoke. I wondered if he had seen his bed, or if he had stayed up with his soldier friends the rest of the night.

“I saw you in the lobby.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I know.”

“Who were those men?”

Whit shrugged. “No one of import.”

I tipped my head to the side, considering. Obviously, they were in the militia, and he had clearly known them. What I ought to have asked was why he went out drinking with them, when he was presumably busy with the preparations for our wedding. I had barely seen him since he had laid out exactly what he wanted me to do. His own to-do list had been exten sive. He had made it seem like it would take a miracle to pull off a wedding in such a short period of time, all while keeping it from my uncle.

“Have you slept?”

Whit waved off my question. I took a step closer, noted the spidery red veins in his bloodshot eyes and the line of tension in his clenched jaw. His usually clean-shaven face had not seen a razor in the last twenty-four hours. Once again, I felt a prick of alarm. He seemed tense and nervous.

He was going to call off the wedding. I was sure of it.

He’d made a mistake asking—it was too reckless, an idea that should never have been spoken aloud. He was going to tell me that he agreed with my uncle, that it was for the best that I leave Egypt, and then I’d have to find someone else. People married for convenience all the time, surely. There had to be—

“We have to get married today.”

I blinked. “ ?Qué? ”

He crossed his arms. “It has to be today. Too many people could interfere, get a hold of your uncle, and tell him of our plans.”

My mind reeled. “But—”

“I have our witness and someone to marry us. But I need to work on securing the license.” He went on as if I weren’t floundering in deep water, trying to stay afloat. “Were you able to find a way out of Shepheard’s?”

“Yes,” I said. “I don’t have a dress. It has to be today?”

“If I can get the license, then yes. Meet me at the Hanging Church when the sun goes down.”

Whit turned to go and I reached for him, but he’d already crossed the room and was at the door.

“How did you get inside my room?” I asked. “I have the key.”

“I nicked the spare from downstairs,” he said over his shoulder. “The hotel security is appalling.”

“Whit—”

“I have to go,” he said hurriedly and was gone. Gone before I could get another word in, gone before I could ask him why he wasn’t acting like himself, before I could demand that he look at me. Just once.

I stood motionless, overwhelmed and terrified. It was as if I could already feel the swaying of the boat under my feet, dragging me back home.

I wore black to my wedding, and if I were feeling sentimental, I’d let myself think of the moment when I first laid eyes on Whit, while wearing the same exact dress. But that awful raw feeling of terror clung to me like a shroud, and I could think of nothing but Whit’s aloof manner earlier. I fingered the only adornment I’d chosen to wear, Mamá’s brightly patterned shrinking scarf. I had thought about leaving it behind, but it gave me a reminder of why I was getting married in the first place.

I would not allow my mother to win.

A sharp yell yanked me from my thoughts. A carriage driver had narrowly avoided hitting a stray dog barking happily at several children playing in front of a small market stall. Barrels of spices scented the air: paprika, cumin, and turmeric. Next door stood Harraz, a store specializing in herbs and fragrances, where many Egyptians and tourists strolled among the varied offerings. They all came out smelling of essential oils, and I itched to sample a few for myself, but I didn’t have the time. I waited for Whit at the street corner in front of the church, entertained by watching the proceedings of daily Cairo life. No one spared a glance at the widow standing alone at the end of the street corner. I had slipped through the front entrance of Shepheard’s in my disguise with a confidence that I didn’t feel in the slightest as the minutes dragged.

Whit was late. Very late.

The sun lowered, cool air settling over the city as the sky gradually darkened. The sound of the evening prayer rose high in the night. I usually found it comforting, but it only served as a reminder that the person I was marrying hadn’t arrived.

A part of me doubted he’d show up at all.

Maybe he hadn’t been able to secure the license; maybe my uncle found out about our plans and was now, in this moment, confronting Whit. A thousand reasons and explanations swam in my mind, all of them viable possibilities. But there was one reason that sat heavy in my stomach, an indigestible lump, one that shared the space with my worst fears.

Whit was just another person in my life who could easily walk away from me.

I shifted on my feet and tried not to think the worst. Except it kept rising in my mind like steam, making the back of my neck damp with sweat.Whit might have changed his mind. For the first time in my life, I wished for a pocket watch. I’d give him a few more minutes before heading back to the hotel, and in my head, I began to count seconds. By the time I’d gotten over five hundred, I finally faced the truth.

He wasn’t coming.

My feet seemed to move of their own accord as I slowly began the walk back to the hotel. What was I going to do now? I thought about using my mother’s scarf to shrink me down to nothing, except the magic probably wouldn’t work on humans. I went to cross the street, when I heard a shout and realized with a start that someone was yelling my name.

“Olivera!”

A familiar frame appeared at the end of the path, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. Relief stole over me as he drew closer, feeling like a balm over an aching wound. I let out a shaky breath as I took in his features. Whit seemed lighter somehow, less encumbered. Hope dug its way into my heart, a determined weed.

He stopped in front of me.

“Hello,” I said cautiously.

Whit grinned and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “I got it.”

“The license?” I asked. “Someone actually gave us permission to marry?”

He nodded and then reached for me, tugging me close. “I didn’t think we’d pull this off, Inez.” One of his arms braced my lower back, and a warm feeling spread down to my toes. The soft linen of his shirt brushed against my temple and I heard his steady heartbeat under my cheek.

“Why are you shaking?” he whispered against my hair.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” I whispered back.

Whit moved me far enough away that he could gaze down into my face. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“You were distant earlier,” I said. “It didn’t feel like we were in this together. And when I saw you last night in the lobby, I worried about what it meant.”

“I had to ask a friend for a favor,” he said, wincing. “And I got carried away acting a part.” He used his index finger to tip my chin upward. “I wouldn’t change my mind about marrying you, Inez.”

“This is probably a terrible idea,” I said. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “But the best option we have, right?”

He was correct, but I hated how it sounded like it was our last resort. I glanced down at our attires. Neither of us was dressed for celebration. I wasn’t wearing a new gown, with ribbons and ruffles, or enough jewelry to make me glitter like a far-off constellation. The fabric of my clothing felt heavy and cloying. I was dressed for mourning. And perhaps, a part of me did grieve. I had always thought my wedding day would be under blue skies, inside the church I knew like the palm of my hand, and followed by a lavish breakfast. Surrounded by my parents and extended family, my favorite cousin, Elvira, at my side.

But my cousin was dead, my father was still missing, and my mother was a thief.

We approached the ancient church constructed above the gatehouse of a Roman-built Babylon fortress. Whit led the way, wearing another wrinkled navy shirt tucked into his khaki pants. He hadn’t changed his shoes. His lace-up boots went up his calf, and they were dusty and well-worn. His face bore the marks of our time in the tomb—a bruise had bloomed across his cheek; a shallow gash followed the line of his scruffy jaw. And his eyes were still bloodshot.

I’d done reckless things in my life, but getting married in a secret ceremony surpassed them all. I tried not to think about what Tío Ricardo and Tía Lorena would say if they could see me now. But I heard their admonishments anyway.

Thoughtless. Foolish. Rash.

At least I was taking charge of my own life. Making a decision that allowed me to do what I wanted, even if it might be a mistake. If it was, I’d find a way through. I always did. I could, at least, trust myself enough to know what I wanted.

And that was to stay in Egypt—however possible.

“Do you know why it’s called the Hanging Church?” Whit said, jarring me from my thoughts. He pointed through the iron gates situated under a pointed arched roof and to the twenty-nine steps leading up to the carved wooden door. “The nave is suspended over a passageway.”

“It’s lovely,” I said, my attention arrested by the twin bell towers flanking the arabesque entrance. It would have looked beautiful adorned in flowers and satin ribbons.

Whit strode forward, and I followed, my heart slamming against my ribs with every step we took in unison. Together we climbed, and then he pulled the heavy door open. He tossed a glance over his shoulder, meeting my gaze swiftly. His expression was unreadable in the dying light of the day. The spread of purple light swept across the sky as the evening prayer rose higher into the burgeoning night.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice quiet.

“Am I ready?” I repeated. “No. I can’t believe we’re about to do this. Ten minutes ago, you were going to marry someone else. Five minutes ago, I didn’t think you were coming. But now you’re marrying me , and we’re here. When we walk through that door, this silly idea will become real. My mind feels fuzzy all of a sudden. Does your mind feel fuzzy?”

Whit let the door swing shut. His chin dropped, his attention straying to the toes of his boots. When he lifted his face again, his expression was carefully neutral. He contemplated me in the dusky light and seemed to come to a decision. “We don’t have to do this, Inez. We can walk back to Shepheard’s and pretend—”

“But then what?” My voice turned shrill. “Tío Ricardo still controls my fortune. I have nothing, not even a place to sleep. I must vacate the room on the tenth of January. By the way, it’s the ninth of January, in case it’s escaped your notice.”

“You’ll think of something,” Whit said, grinning. But the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “You always do.”

“I’m tired of trying to plan six moves ahead. Pretending to be a widow and lying to my aunt so I could come to Egypt, sneaking out of the hotel twice , and then stowing away on the Elephantine —”

His voice was kind, his fist still closed around the door handle. “Olivera, I know.”

“I don’t have another option,” I continued. “And I need to stay in Egypt. My mother—”

Whit released the handle and stepped closer. He placed his hands on my shoulders, bending his knees so that he could meet my eyes. His breath brushed against my mouth. “Sweetheart, I know .”

The endearment felt like a soft touch, smoothing away the knot of tension pressing against my temples. He rarely used them—only when I was inconsolable or in mortal peril. His nearness overwhelmed my senses. This towering man would be my husband—if I wanted. It seemed incredible, impossible. Excitement pulsed in my blood. I wanted Whit, but I also wanted control of my life. Saying yes to Whit meant my uncle could no longer dictate my plans, my future. It meant I could stay in Egypt.

No more planning. No more stratagems. That kind of behavior reminded me of my mother. And I didn’t want to be her; I didn’t want to inherit something that could hurt so many people. And suddenly, I remembered that I already had.

All my machinations had led to Elvira’s death.

Someone else had pulled the trigger, but it was me she had followed.

More than anything, I wanted to atone for my behavior. I wanted to stop my mother from selling off artifacts that had belonged to Cleopatra. I wanted to discover what happened to my father. I was filled with so much tangible yearning, each a weight on my shoulders, pressing me down into the earth. All that want threatened to bury me alive.

Unless I did something about it.

“Talk to me,” Whit whispered. “What are you thinking?”

I shook my head, trying to focus on the here and now. On the man who stood in front of me. Sometimes, I could read him easily. When our hearts connected, and for a moment, we saw the world the same way. But more often than not, I barely understood him. I still didn’t know why he wanted to marry me .

A term of endearment was just a noun and not a promise.

“I have my reasons for doing this,” I whispered. “What are yours?”

He took a step back, nodding, as if he’d expected the question. His words from the day before still rang in my ear. The weight of them, said in his deep baritone, in his smooth and aristocratic accent. The breadth of his shoulders tight and sharp, his hands trembling. He had been nervous when he’d said them.

Marry me instead .

That had been then. Now that I stood before the church, I wasn’t sure I had fully understood the permanence of my decision. Marriage meant forever—or at least, I wanted it to mean forever. I studied Whit, who had gone stone-still, visibly weighing his answer.

He tucked his hands deep into his pockets.

“Proposing to you was my choice and no one else’s,” he said. “In the utter chaos of my life, you are the only thing that makes sense. You asked me what my reasons are, and I don’t know all of them yet, but I do know one important thing.” He took a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving my face, and the raw emotion lurking in their depths almost keeled me over. “You’re the one I want, Inez.”

My lips parted.

His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Please make me the happiest man on this earth.”

And the planet tilted again, off-kilter. The ground seemed to shift under my feet, and my knees buckled. Whitford Hayes was a multifaceted prism, and I thought I had seen every side. The outrageous flirt with his equally outrageous winks, the soldier loyal to his general, the drunk with red-rimmed eyes and a flask hidden in his pocket, the adventurer who knew how to handle dynamite, the man who loved Egypt, and the brother who adored his only sister.

But I’d never seen his raw vulnerability.

That side of him left me breathless.

“Is that enough for you?” he prodded.

“Yes,” I breathed.

Whit nodded, solemn and grimly determined. Sweat beaded at his hairline, and it occurred to me that he might still be nervous. He might be trying to appear calm and reassuring for my sake, but on the inside, maybe his heart was beating just as fast as mine.

He opened the door and held out his hand. I didn’t hesitate, taking it with a small smile, feeling I could take on my uncle and my mother and my aunt and anyone else who stood in my way.

We walked through.