Page 108 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
It’s nearly autumnnow.
How could she not have realised? How could Dorian have ever been so unimportant to her that his disappearance hadn’t even made her blink? The thought makes her stomach turn.
A knock at the door startles her.
“Selene?” Dorian’svoice is gentler now. ““What’s wrong?”
She squeezes her eyes shut.I’m, I’m…They promised not to lie to each other. And the truth is, she isn’t all right.
She throws open the door and launches into his arms.
“Hold me,” she murmurs against his chest.
Dorian doesn’t hesitate. His arms come around her, strong and certain, anchoring her in place. She presses her face into the fabric of his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of him.He’s here, he’s here, I haven’t lost him yet.
Yet.
Yet.
Dorian’s voice rumbles low above her head. “Can I help?”
She tightens her grip, fists curling into his coat. “Just… let me stay like this a little while.”
He exhales, his chin brushing the top of her head. “The problem with holding you, Selene,” he says quietly, “is that every time I do, it gets a little harder to let go.”
Her fingers curl tighter.Then don’t go. Stay.
Stay with me.
The music swells as the ball begins, a shimmering waltz played by a small orchestra nestled in the corner of the grand hall. Candles flicker from chandeliers overhead, casting golden light across the polished marble floor. Every surface gleams; every corner is adorned with fresh flowers, their perfume mingling with the scent of spiced wine and honeyed cakes.
At the foot of the staircase, Dorian turns to Selene. His gaze sweeps over her gown—deep indigo velvet, embroidered with delicate silver stars. The mask she wears is edged in obsidian, matching the dark satin of her gloves.
“You look like the night sky,” he murmurs.
Heat rises in her cheeks, but she manages a playful smile. “Then try not to get lost in me.”
His lips quirk, but his eyes are serious. “That’s a dangerous thing to ask.”
She swallows. They are supposed to be playing a part tonight—gracious hosts, a powerful union, a couple untouchable in their ease and charm. But Dorian is making it difficult to remember which parts are pretense and which are real.
At least, which bits are a pretense to him.
It’s all been real to her for a long while now. Soon, hopefully, she’ll find the strength to tell him.
But not tonight.
They receive Lord Fairmont first and the rest of his household. He greets Dorian with the warmth of an old friend, clasping his shoulder before turning to Selene with an extravagant bow. “Lady Nightbloom, you are a vision.”
She curtsies, her mask hiding her bemused expression. “You flatter me, my lord.”
He grins. “Ah, but it’s not flattery if it’s the truth, is it?”
More guests follow. Ophelia arrives with her husband, her gown a flowing cascade of blush-pink, her mask adorned with delicate pearls. She embraces Selene tightly. “I’ve missed you,” she whispers.
Selene squeezes her hand. “You’ve only been married a month, and already you tire of wedded bliss?”
“Hardly,” Ophelia says with a sly smile. “But I miss having you to gossip with.”
