Page 114 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
Not in this timeline. Not inanytimeline.
The parlour door opens, and Dorian steps out, followed closely by Lady Duskbriar. He’s smiling, grinning, even. He looks like a schoolboy.
Her parents make their goodbyes, and as they step out into the morning light, Selene turns to Dorian.
“You look pleased with yourself,” she observes.
“Your mother said some nice things.”
Selene stares at him. “Mymother?”
Before she can ask more, the Duke arrives.
For once, he isn’t glowering. He looks almost—pleasant.
“Lord and Lady Nightbloom,” he says smoothly. “Last night was a delight. I would not be averse to more like it.”
Dorian eyes him warily, as if trying to decipher some hidden message within the words. “I… thank you?”
The Duke extends a hand. Dorian hesitates before shaking it, his expression still wary.
The Duke leaves.
Selene watches his retreating figure. “Did Soren put something in the wine?”
“Hardly,” Dorian mutters, flexing his fingers with a wince. “He nearly broke my fingers.”
Selene frowns. “Is your hand bleeding?”
Dorian glances down, noticing the thin scratch across his skin. “Snagged it on one of his rings. Don’t worry, it’s just a scratch.”
Without another word, he heads off to deal with it, leaving Selene with agrowing sense of unease.
By the time the last guest departs, Selene exhales a slow breath of relief. The house has been restored to order—the grand hall cleared of its revelry, the hired servants dismissed, and the usual hush of Ebonrose settled back into place.
Dorian spends most of the day in his study—of course. She catches glimpses of him in passing, deep in thought, fingers pressed to his temple as he reads some letter or another.
But he does emerge for lunch, looking gaunt and pale.
Soren, reclining lazily in his chair, eyes him with an amused smirk. “Tired, my lord?”
Dorian raises an eyebrow but says nothing, helping himself to the bread and fruit laid out before them.
Selene, however, flushes. She remembers the warmth of him last night, the weight of him, the way he had whispered her name like a prayer.
Dorian doesn’t react to Soren’s teasing, doesn’t acknowledge it at all. He simply eats, and part of her feels foolish for expecting anything else.
The rest of the day passes pleasantly enough. With Marta given the day off and the weather turning brisk, Selene spends most of the afternoon curled up in her room, reading by the fire. She wonders, idly, if Dorian will remember their nightly game tonight.
And then she wonders—what if she doesn’t want to play anymore?
She wants to stop pretending.
She wantshim.
The thought settles in her chest like a decision already made.
Selene closes her book, smoothing down her skirts as she rises. Her heart is a steady, determined rhythm as she crosses the halls, making her way to his room.
