Page 35 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
Selene swallows. “Then what am I supposed to be?”
To this, Dorian has no answer. Selene doesn’t either. The truth is that she has no idea how she’s supposed to feel, or what she’s supposed to do.
Dorian finishes his mouthful. “Ebonrose is your home now,” he tells her. “I want you to be comfortable here, if such a thing is possible. We can find room in our budget to decorate your room however you wish. And donotthank me for that. You’d be doing me a favour, updating the place, and you are mistress here. Do with it as you will.”
Selene looks down at her lap. She isn’t sure that thereisroom in the budget for that, and besides, yes, sheismistressof the manor, but only in name. She is Lady Nightbloom, but she isn’t his wife.
“What do you want from me?” she asks him.
Dorian puts down his plate. “Come again?”
“You must want something—someonealwayswants something—”
“Not me,” he insists. “I promise you.”
Selene wants to believe him, but it just seems so unlikely. “You say I’m mistress here, that this is my home, but you don’t want marital relations. I’m trying to understand why. Are we going to live like this forever, strangers in our own house, exchanging empty pleasantries when we meet each other in the hallway?”
Dorian goes very red, and then takes a deep breath. “If we, er, consummate the marriage, then neither of us will be able to marry again,” he tells her. “You’ll be trapped here forever.”
Selene was fully prepared to pay that cost to save her from the Duke. It didn’t occur to her that she might have another option.
Or that Dorian would, either.
He’s right. If they don’t consummate the marriage, they can seek an annulment later on if either of them find someone they truly want to marry. It can’t happen yet, of course, but if the Duke marries, if he dies…
Then Selene will be safe, free to return to society, to do whatever she wishes.
And Dorian can find someone he truly loves, who’s as kind and as generous as he is.
Finally, things start to make a degree of sense.
“You’d… grant me an annulment?” she says.
“If that’s what you wish.”
“And… and in the meantime, we’d be… what? As familiar as cousins?”
Dorian bites his lip, stifling a smile. “How about friends?” he offers.
“Friends,” she repeats. It seems a strange word for him. She has friends. She knows them much better than this. “Then, as friends, we really should make an effort to get to know each other better. I understand that you’re very busy, but maybe… maybe we could make an effort to share at least one mealtime together?”
Dorian considers her words, gaze lowering to his plate. When he looks up again, something in his expression has softened.
“That seems reasonable,” he says.
“Good,” she says. “Breakfast, then?”
He tilts his head. “You strike me as someone who rises late.”
“You strike me as someone who doesn’t sleep at all.”
That startles a laugh from him. “You’re not wrong,” he admits. “Lunch, then. Dinner, if for whatever reason I can’t make it.”
There’s a weight to the agreement, something more than a simple meal arrangement. This is a peace offering, a truce, a small bridge between two people who are still feeling their way through this strange arrangement.
She reaches for her cup, fingertips brushing against the rim, and the motion draws his attention. When she glances up, she finds him watching her hands. His own are resting on the armrest, fingers curled slightly, as though resisting the urge to move.
She isn’t sure what compels her, but she reaches out, skimming the back of his hand with the barest touch of her fingertips. His palm turns instinctively, a silent question, an opening. She almost pulls away, uncertain, but he doesn’t move.
