Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 34243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
His mouth covers mine before the rest can come out.
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh—
It’s that slow kiss of his. The one he’s been teaching me all summer. The one that starts unhurried and gets to my bones before I’ve noticed it’s arrived. His hand slides from my ribs down along the bare curve of my hip, and my own hand is already in his hair, already pulling him closer, because apparently that’s what I do now. I pull him closer. My body learned this weeks ago and hasn’t unlearned it since.
A sound catches in my throat.
His palm presses flat against me, low, and another sound escapes before I can stop it, louder this time, and I remember, wait, the house, his family—
His hand lifts from my hip and settles gently over my mouth.
"Silent, princess."
Whispered, so low against my ear I feel it more than hear it.
My eyes squeeze shut.
Because of course he’d do this. Of course he’d silence me with his own hand just so he can keep doing what he’s doing, and of course my body doesn’t care about his family one floor away or the servants or the early hour, because my body doesn’t take instructions from me. My body takes instructions from him.
His mouth moves to the side of my neck.
I whimper against his palm.
He doesn’t stop.
By the time he’s done with me, I’m shaking, the sheets are twisted around us, and somewhere in the middle of it I lost track of which sounds I made and which ones I swallowed, and I don’t care. He’s lifted his hand from my mouth and moved it back up into my hair, and he’s just looking at me.
Just looking.
I’m still trying to catch my breath when his fingers find a long lock and lift it.
“Your hair...”
His eyes lock with mine as he brings it to his lips, and my heart latches to my throat.
“I love the silkiness of it as I thread my fingers through them. If I ask you to keep your hair long for me, will you?”
“No.” Like I said, maturity wasn’t one of my strongest points that time, but Arkane...
His eyes only gleam.
“I know you will.”
“Why?”
Because you love me.
The memory fades, but the feelings it came with linger, and I find my hands shaking as I reach for the brush.
Hair down, for sure.
I drag it through one stroke at a time. My hair falls past my shoulders, past my collarbones, almost to my waist. I never cut it. Not once in six years, not even when the ends went rough and the stylist tried to talk me into a trim.
Outside, the last lamp catches. The street below goes quiet. The lamplighter’s done.
My hands are still shaking when I reach for my earrings, and this time it’s a lot easier to choose.
Turquoise.
Because I remember another memory—Arkane telling me that’s what my eyes remind him of.
I fasten one, then the other. They swing against the sides of my neck, cool and small.
From somewhere toward the fancier end of Holborn, a string quartet has started up. Faint, muffled through walls and distance, the kind of music that doesn’t play on streets like this one. Somewhere closer, a woman is calling her children in for the night. A cart rattles past on the cobbles.
The candle on the dressing table gutters once and holds.
And now, we’re done.
Hair down. Turquoise pendant earrings. White velvet. I stare at my reflection, but instead of seeing a dolled-up version of me—
It’s like looking into a magic mirror, and all I can see is the two of us from six years ago, and oh God—
Because you love me.
There are times, just so many times like this that my heart hurts because I just had to be so, so stupid that it’s only when it was too late—
I just had to be so, so stupid that I had to lose everything to realize I already had everything.
Because every time his eyes said those words—
Because you love me.
He would slowly run his knuckles down my cheek—
And I love you.
That was what it meant.
That was what he said.
Every time he did those things.
A look.
Because you love me.
A touch.
And I love you.
Chapter Two
“YOU LOOK NERVOUS, MOTHER.”
“Who? Me. Oh please. What would I be nervous for?”
“Exactly.”
Joy turned to her eldest son’s wife. “Do you think I look nervous?”
“Yes.”
But instead of Tassy answering, it was Icelle who answered, just joining the others in the drawing room and catching her stepmother’s question as she did.
Joy managed a smile. “Thank you, Icelle.” She studiously avoided looking at Arkane while saying so.
Arkane watched his mother from across the room. His mother wasn’t the type to fuss over her clothes, but that was the only thing she had been doing for the past five minutes. Fuss over the creases of her gown like they’re about to destroy her life.
“Miladies, milord, the carriages are ready.”