Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 42637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
She mentioned almost offhand how easily she’d broken the lease on her little cottage, as if even the walls there had known she wouldn’t be coming back. I’d assured her that if she truly wanted to stay in that little one-bedroom cottage, we’d make it work. But she still held the stubbornness I remembered so well.
I heard tires approaching long before she did. I stood with her on the front steps of the castle just as the sun sank below the horizon, her hand wrapped tightly in mine. The black SUV I’d sent to pick them up from the airport slowed to a stop, headlights sweeping the stone façade before flicking off.
Doors opened, voices carried. Her mother emerged first, dark hair streaked with silver, her coat pulled close against the chill. Her father followed, straightening his jacket, scanning the house with wary eyes. Last came her grandmother, stooped but steady, leaning on a cane as she was being helped. Even at a distance, her gaze instantly found me, sharp and unflinching.
Clara squeezed my hand. “It’ll be fine,” she whispered.
I could have chuckled at how worried she sounded. I didn’t know if she was anxious for me or them.
She let go of my hand to run up to her mother, who caught her in a fierce embrace that seemed to wring years of worry out of her in an instant. A huge smile covered her face when she pulled back to look Clara over. Her father’s hug was shorter, his gaze flicking toward me before settling protectively back on his daughter.
I stayed where I was, the weight of centuries on my shoulders, waiting for their judgment like a man awaiting trial. Even with Clara’s hand still tingling in mine, I could not shake the sense that the ground beneath me was shifting.
The four of them approached, her grandmother naturally at the lead. Each step she took was measured, like she had been walking toward this moment for years.
Clara slid to my side, her hand tightening around mine before speaking first, her voice low and careful. “Buni, acesta este Ivan.” Grandmother, this is Ivan.
The old woman’s gaze lingered on me, sharp and steady. At last, she spoke in Romanian, her voice strong despite her frailty. “Ştiu cine eşti. Am crescut cu poveştile din sate. Întunericul din jurul tău… iubirea care te-a pierdut. Ţara asta nu uită.” I know who you are. I grew up with the stories told in the villages. The darkness around you… the love that undid you. This land does not forget.
Clara’s parents exchanged baffled looks, clearly out of their depth.
I inclined my head, answering her in kind. “Şi dumneata crezi?” And you believe?
Her grandmother’s eyes softened, but her tone did not waver. “I believe.” She switched to English then, as if to leave no room for misunderstanding.
Her hand, thin and lined with age, reached out and cupped Clara’s cheek, her words soft but resonant. “Fii lumina lui.” Be his light.
“Always,” Clara whispered, her voice breaking.
The silence that followed was thick, a stillness pressing down over us. Even Clara’s parents seemed subdued, though they clearly dismissed her grandmother’s words as old superstition. For me, it was not superstition. It was recognition. A vow acknowledged.
Inside, the castle was filled with the sounds of luggage wheels over stone and the buzz of happiness and laughter. I stood back and smiled. It had been so long since I’d heard and felt the castle like this.
Yet even as they explored, voices echoing through the great hall, my thoughts remained in the courtyard. Clara’s grandmother’s words clung to me heavily.
For hours we ate, drank, and laughed. I listened to Clara’s family tell stories about when she was a child, and her mother showed me pictures. The photographs passed from hand to hand, laughter mingling with nostalgia, but I could not stop watching Clara’s face as she leaned in close, eyes bright with memory. To see her like this, alive in both worlds, made me ache with a gratitude I couldn’t name.
After they were shown to their rooms and when the halls quieted, Clara led me to the garden. The moonlight powdered the frosty ground with silver shards of light.
She leaned against me, my arms circling her waist and holding her tightly.
“They’ll never really understand,” she murmured.
No, her parents wouldn’t. “Your grandmother knows. She doesn’t wholly accept right now, but she knows and sees you’re happy. She was watching me like a hawk the whole time and was ready to pounce if I stepped out of line.”
Clara chuckled. “Yeah, she’s tough as nails.”
“Your parents don’t have to understand,” I said, brushing my lips to her temple. “They never have to know the truth. They only need to see that you are happy.”
She tilted her head back against me, and I tightened my hold around her. I’d follow her into the fire. Into the shadows. But until then, every heartbeat she had was mine to guard.