Irene had returned early that morning to administer some new medicine to Juliet.
“She is fighting.” Irene had announced, taking the hood off her head. “She just needs to fight a little harder and she will win. For now, we keep waiting.”
“For how long?” Weston had asked.
Irene had exhaled loudly. “For as long as possible.”
He had remained by his wife's side for the entirety of that morning, telling her about the garden and how he had made sure no one went near it. He talked to her about nothing and everything at the same time. The sun rose fully into the sky, and its rays hit the bedroom rafters, causing them to appear slightly on Juliet's face.
He reached for her hands a little later and gently rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.
“I wish I had the courage to tell you that I was in love with you before everything happened. Perhaps if I had done so, we would not be in this position. I knew I loved you wholeheartedly, that day in the rain. The days that followed were just excuses that piled on top of each other so I could keep talking to you. I had so much time to talk to you about my feelings, but I kept prolonging them.”
He swallowed, watching Juliet's gentle face shine ever so slightly in the afternoon light. “I had let my cowardice get in the way of my judgment. Charles told me, but I had been too adamant to see it properly.” He laughed at the thought of his friend telling him the truth and him denying it ever so vehemently.
“I wanted to tell you the night of the ball too. I had come out to talk to you after mother had lashed at you with her scalding words as usual. I had again the chance when we were in the garden. I should've said something, but then Mr. Brown arrived with the flowers. I have never seen you look so happy before. Attempting to ruin it by telling you then felt cruel because if you didn't feel the same way, not only would I have ruined our friendship, I also would have destroyed your mood for nothing.”
He felt her hand twitch, and a lump grew in his throat. He swallowed in disbelief. Had he imagined that?
“Juliet?” He called, waiting. Watching.
Nothing.
“Juliet, can you hear me?”
Silence. He wrapped his hand tighter around hers, hoping it would trigger another movement, but nothing came forth. He began to grow unsure whether it happened in the first place.
He sighed and leaned back against his chair.
“My mind is beginning to play tricks on me.” He whispered. This happened with Eliza, too, on the day she was meant to be buried. He could have sworn he saw her eyes slightly flutter, but it had all been in his head.
“I suppose the reason I was so terrified to tell you how I feel was because of Eliza and my father. I had been so mentally bruised as a kid that I did not think anything, or anyone, could ever heal it. Until you came around.” Weston let out another light laugh. “Sometimes I wonder if the spring masquerade ball didn't happen, would I still have fallen in love with you? If we had never gotten caught in the garden that day, would our conversation have blossomed more? Would I have grown in love with you like I did now? I suppose sometimes, even catastrophic situations have silver linings. Apparently, so do damaged men.”
He reached for his wife's hand once more, feeling her soft skin around his palm. “You are my silver lining, Juliet. You aremy hope. You are the new source of light in my life. So please, fight this. Push through it and wake up. Wake up so I can finally tell you just how much I had fallen for you. If we can get through this, I would never let anything come between us ever again. Not my mother, not the desperate townspeople and the royals in need of some salacious gossip to fill their time. Not even society's straining expectations and boundaries.”
The door creaked open slowly, and Anne appeared in the doorway, her face plastered with solemn sympathy.
“Mother asks to tell you to come down for lunch.”
“I am not hungry.” Weston’s voice was flat.
“You haven't eaten in a long time, Weston. Do you want her to wake up and find that you've malnourished yourself because of her?”
“I do not care about that, Anne.”
Anne held onto the doorknob and let silence have its way between them for almost a minute.
“I miss her dearly too, you know.” She continued. “Before she came along, I did not know how joyful it felt to have a sister. One I could share giddy girly secrets with. One I could talk to about men of the court and which one was bound to end up on the steps of the tavern every night after marriage.”
Weston laughed. He couldn't imagine Juliet having that sort of discussion with anyone, not to talk of having it with his sister.
“My point is, I have grown to love her so much, too. I do not want to lose her too. But you have to come down and have your meal. I don't want to have to worry about you, too.”
Before Weston could mouth a reply, he saw Juliet's left hand twitch again.
“Did you see that?” He asked, his voice soft and shaky, like if he were any louder, her hand would stop twitching. “Her hand.”
“See what?” Anne asked, moving closer to the bed to inspect Juliet.
