It’s so delicate, a tapestry woven from half-truths and partial trust.
We can be friends and get along and even become family, but there are so many other things at play that it’s hard to keep track of them all.
Maybe one day, it won’t feel like so much. That’s the point of this wedding, after all. Maybe one day, I will look at Landon with utter adoration and forget that his father is keeping his eyes on the Witchery and his hands in our pockets.
“Samuel, that roast was absolutely divine,” Elizabeth says. “You didn’t use magic, did you?” she asks in a playful tone.
“I’m wounded you would think so,” Dad says. “I made this entirely on my own.”
“Dad doesn’t use magic in the kitchen,” I say. “He thinks it weakens his natural ability.” I laugh and give him a smile that lets him know how adorable I think it is.
“Well, I’m even more impressed, then,” Elizabeth says.
“Why don’t we move to the sitting room for some tea before dessert?” my mother suggests, and everyone stands. “Tana, I bet Landon would love to see the rooftop.”
I look at Landon.
“That does sound like something I’d love.” His smiles come easily, but it’s hard for me to distinguish the ones that are genuine from the ones that are just for show. I’ve had to work exceptionally hard at hiding how I really feel in favor of how I’m supposed to feel. But I want to know Landon as he truly is, just as I want him to know me.
“The rooftop it is.”
I lead him up the stairs, the sounds of our parents’ conversation fading away. I feel myself start to relax, the weight of expectation not quite as heavy when it’s just the two of us.
I open the door to the rooftop and grab some blankets from the wicker basket. The night is clear, thousands of stars sparkling in the dark sky. The waning moon casts everything in silver light, and the waves on the shore fill the air with their familiar rhythm.
I sit down on the couch with my future husband and hope he can’t sense the disquiet in me.
“What are you thinking about?” His words cut through my thoughts, forcing me back to the present.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know where I was.” How can I tell him I was thinking about the weight of it all? How can I tell him that the closer we get to the wedding, the more worried I become?
“Well, what if I tell you what I was thinking about?” he says.
I turn to face him. “I’d like that.”
“I was thinking about what a good match we are.”
The words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I’m speechless. “Why is that?” I finally ask.
“Because you’re good, Tana. Sometimes I get the sense that you’re trying so hard to be what you think you’re supposed to be. And I admire that. I admire that you believe in this so much that you’re willing to try.”
I’m mortified when tears sting the backs of my eyes. I look away and take a steadying breath, let the chill of the night calm me. The words are kind, and they’re coming from a decent person, but all I can think is that I wish I didn’t have to try so hard.
I wish this life came as naturally to me as it does to Landon and my mother and Ivy.
“I do believe in it,” I finally say. “And I’m hoping that one day, it won’t feel like I’m trying.”
Landon brushes a piece of hair behind my ear. “I hope so, too. I want you to trust me and trust that I will accept the person you are when you aren’t trying. When you’re just you.”
I shake my head and look off into the distance.
“Did I say something to upset you?” Landon asks.
“No, no, I’m not upset. But I must admit that I’m a little confused.”
“About what?”
“Sometimes you say things that make me think you’re trying to—” I cut myself off, not sure how to continue.
“Trying to what?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Sometimes it sounds like you have genuine feelings for me, and it confuses me because you’ve made it very clear that you can’t promise me love.” I pull the blanket closer to my chest, as if it will cover the parts of myself I’ve just exposed.
Landon exhales and sits up straighter on the couch. “I want to be honest with you, Tana—I can’t promise you that. But I’ve also been thinking about what you said, about allowing space for more than just duty, and I’m willing to try. I am trying. So maybe let me, okay?”
“Fair enough,” I say. I laugh and cover my face with my hands. “Doesn’t it scare you, marrying someone you don’t know?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them.
“Honestly, it scares the hell out of me.”
It’s maybe the best thing he’s ever said to me, the most real thing, and for the first time, I see him as just a boy instead of as the governor’s son. I want so desperately to be seen for who I am, not solely the role I play, and yet I haven’t even tried to do the same for Landon.
“I’m so glad,” I say, wanting to laugh and cry in equal measure.
I wipe my eyes, and he catches my hand. “I believe in this life. I believe in the power of the mainland and the Witchery coming together.”
“Me too.”
Hearing those words helps me commit to this life in a way I haven’t been able to since we moved up the date of the wedding. I don’t fully understand the reasons that went into that decision, and those questions have created uncertainty in me. But it’s okay to be scared and worried and uneasy. I can believe in this path and still wish I could see farther down the road.
“Landon,” I say, my voice quiet, “I think I’d like you to kiss me now.”
A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. He gently places his hand under my chin and tips my face up, leaning down to meet me. My eyes close, and his lips brush mine, shy and hesitant and gentle.
At first I don’t move, terrified of not wanting him enough or wanting him too much. But his lips are soft and his hand cradles my face, and he is going to be my husband soon. Slowly, I sink into the kiss, move my mouth against his and let myself feel however I’m going to feel.
There aren’t dragonflies in my stomach. I don’t erupt in a blaze of fire that leaves me desperate for him, but maybe that kind of kiss doesn’t exist. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to handle it if it did.
But it’s nice, the way his mouth feels against mine. It’s tender. It’s the kind of kiss I can commit to.
He slowly pulls away, taking my hand. “We’ll get better at this,” he says, and my cheeks flame, wondering if it was bad, wondering if he didn’t enjoy it.
“I think it was pretty good for a first time,” I say, even though the spark I’ve always hoped for was absent.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, realizing how that sounded. “What I’m trying to communicate—poorly, I should add—is that I think we’re starting from a really good place.” He squeezes my hand when he says it, giving me a reassuring smile.
“I think so, too.”
It isn’t the first kiss I’ve always dreamed of, especially not with the addition of Landon’s comment, but I’m learning that dreams are just dreams. They aren’t real, don’t have any bearing on my life. And it isn’t fair for me to continually compare the Landon in front of me to the one I dreamt about growing up.
I know all that, and yet I can’t fully let go, can’t fully forget about the Landon in my head. That’s the problem with dreams: they are so easy to get lost in and so very difficult to give up.
thirty-four
Landon and his parents are gone, and Dad brings in a tray with tea for me and wine for him and Mom. The fire is going, and instrumental music plays softly in the background. The dinner could not have gone better, and I see it in the way my parents look at each other, in their easy posture as they lean together on the couch.
And it fills me with pride to have helped manifest their biggest hopes.
I’m so happy for them.
I am.