inbox. duplicity.

[sheening]

Daphne Bridgerton

Please leave all correspondence here, action threads as well. While new to the game, her voice-mail message will be automated, and it may take longer than usual for her to reply to texts, videos, and phonecalls.

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[sheening]

[ the entirety of this situation is to do with anthony, daphne would say. she is helpless over anything that occurs now, truthfully. she cannot ponder what all might go on with her brother and husband ('not husband') and while she will not rail against his vow to not be with simon again, she is no fool. but it hurts to dwell on that. on the maybes, when it's her brother standing before her, her eldest sibling, the protector of them all, with contrition in his voice and eyes.

she listens. truly and with her entire heart, jaw clenching a few times when she wills her lips and chin to stop quivering. it surely would be something, wouldn't it, if she and simon could come to any place that resembles the life she knows they should have.

her comments about setting her affections for simon to the side had been, perhaps, melodramatic but sincere. questioning anthony to determine any logic for why he has done what he has, well, that feels like the easier option than dwelling on her love for a man who barely knows her...

her brows furrow as he explains, a soft swallow as anthony rounds back to what she means to him. it is not so easy a thing, for her intuition to flourish when her heart aches.

her lashes flutter down when he speaks those final words, a clearing of her throat sounding as she squeezes both of his hands, her teary eyes meeting his. a genuine smile lifts on her lips.]

We could never be rid of one another, Anthony, and I would have it no other way. It is...precarious, being in this city. Any...safe, familiar feeling, it should not be taken for granted. [ god, she wants every single answer, every single reason that they'd fall so easily and quickly into one another's arms and beds, but she can only reach and wonder for so long. ] It seems you are...a class above even being brothers, then. Friends who bring out the best and the worst in one another.

You shall never have to question my loyalty to you, brother. I...I love you, regardless of anything else. [ how could she feel otherwise? she breathes out, melancholy hold on her features. ] I promise.

[meetatdawn]

[ Anthony's heart races when she smiles like that. He'd all but convinced himself that he might never see her smile again, that he might never be the cause of her smile. Even though her expression shifts back into melancholy, it is still something, and the chasm between them feels less expansive, it feels potentially crossable now.

It is more than he deserves. God, what was he thinking, when he'd given into Simon? He'd protested, he'd known, and he'd still said yes. He'd still let Simon convince him that they needed to do it. Some part of him wants to paint Simon as a villain, in the way he'd suggested, but he knows better than that. It wouldn't be right to seek absolution through lies.

A class above even being brothers, then. What a strange way to phrase it. It hints at the dangerous thing he has not yet realized for himself, but that he will start to realize before long, these budding feelings in his chest, the desire he holds for Simon, which is a far worse betrayal of Daphne than the sex itself. So much so, that he has not allowed himself to even consider it. Between that and the fact that any feelings he would have for Simon would never be meaningful back home, it is far from his mind. But her words do hint at it. They do spark....something, the barest recognition. Only enough to think how strange they are, how like love they sound. But, no, of course not.

Of course not.

That is, of course, the real reason his words don't feel sufficient to her, and also why he cannot properly answer her. She has ever been intuitive, she must feel this thing that he does not know how to name, though she obviously does not know how to name it either. The two of them, moreso than anyone else in their family, are so devoted to their duties, they understand the parameters of society and its obligations. Anthony may break the rules with the way he fucks around, but he knows them and he intends (eventually) to follow them. And so, how could either of them name something that is impossible? How could either of them realize?

But naturally it makes his actual excuses--convenience, familiarity--seem hollow. That is an impossible situation of its own. He does not mean to lie. He does not think he is lying. Neither of them would believe the truth. So there are no good answers, no right answers, no way to ease Daphne's fears. They are not unfounded. And even in this, where they are stumbling around the truth, both completely blind to the reality, she is still smarter than he is. She has always understood emotions better.

With only the barest recognition (so bare, it could hardly be called that) at the issue lurking under her words regarding his relationship with Simon, he does not know how to respond. She is right, she must be right. There is nothing he can say that might change that.

Anthony thinks perhaps that will be all. She has promised they will not be rid of each other and, again, he feels grateful beyond measure, undeserving and yet nevertheless the recipient of her grace. He is so lucky, so truly blessed to have her in his life.

He is so certain that is all she will say, so certain that is it, that when she tells him she loves him, a sentiment generally expressed through actions in their home and not through words, his heart nearly breaks again, but in a different way entirely. The way she says it with that melancholy expression is nearly painful, knowing he is the cause, and yet also so warmed to know she does still love him.

She still loves him.

He can feel himself on the precipice of truly falling apart. The way his muscles tense, the heat rising to his face. His throat tightens and tears well in his eyes, and all he can think is that he cannot do that to her, he cannot show her, the same admonition that their mother had given him ten years ago, when he'd had to swallow his grief and stay strong for his siblings.

He lets go of her hands so he can pull her into a hug, holding her against his chest so she won't see, so she doesn't have to watch him fall to pieces over something so simple, something he should know, something he does know. If he knows, why does it hurt so much to hear it? If he knows, why is it so hard to face? His heart races and the tears threaten to fall but he practically begs them not to, pleading with himself to keep it together for her. ]

Thank you. [ Soft, because he is not sure he can manage to speak any louder, without it being obvious. Because he is not sure how much he can say before his feelings betray him. ] I love you, too, sister. I truly am sorry.