Page 56 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“Why do you want me to play a game with you? Ariella or Rookwood would be more than happy to—”
“I don’t want them,” she says. “I want you.”
Dorian raises an eyebrow in clear disbelief.
The lie—or at least the unspoken truth—rattles out of her. “You work too hard,” she tells him. “I am trying to force you to relax. You are a very good husband, and I should hate foryou to expire and to find myself once more thrown onto the marriage mart.”
Dorian laughs. “I’m a terrible husband,” he tells her.
She wants to tell him that he isn’t, but she also doesn’t want to lose the lightness of this moment. “You could be worse.”
To this, Dorian says nothing.
“So?” she prompts. “Will you join me?”
“You are becoming increasingly hard to say no to.”
Selene claps her hands. “Hurrah! What would you like to start with? I shall play anything you like. I’ve not been taught much but simple card games—my father told me I didn’t have the head for chess—but—”
“Your father was an idiot,” Dorian snaps, with more venom that she thought had in him. He seems to realise what he’s said a second later. “Not to be rude, but no one knows what they’re good at unless they’re allowed to try. I… I have a game I think you’d like. Give me a moment to tidy up here, and I’ll bring it upstairs to your room.”
“My room?” Selene queries, quite forgetting that they are married and that it’s perfectly acceptable for him to be in her room.
“Unless you wish to play somewhere else?”
“No, no, that will do fine. I’ll… see you shortly.”
She heads upstairs. There’s something intimate about inviting someone into the space where you sleep, but she can’t think why. It’s not like they’re sitting on the bed. He stayed there for hours when she had her sprained ankle, but… that was different, somehow, like the injury was a barrier between them.
She sits down to await his arrival. Mistress Stripe curls up on the window seat behind the curtain, her long fluffy tail occasionally poking out.
Dorian arrives not long after, unfolding a board on the table. She’s seen its like before, though she can’t rememberwhere. It’s a pretty game, divided into four sections painted to resemble seasons, with four starting spots and four places labelled ‘home’.
“It’s calledLast Man Home,”Dorian explains. “Have you ever played?”
“It looks familiar, but I can’t remember anything about it.”
“It’s a blend of luck and strategy,” Dorian continues. “Players have seven cards at any one time to use to get five counters around a board. You can use your cards in any way, in any order. You need the right combination of strategy and luck to get your people home…”
Selene examines the card he’s handing out. Each card, helpfully, explains exactly what it does. She picks the blue counters, Dorian takes the green. He offers her the first move and the game begins in earnest.
“Wine?” she suggests.
“Please.”
Selene pours another two glasses. Dorian visibly relaxes, sinking into the chair. He still looks tired and slightly ill, but his posture is promising. He moves a piece, only to have Selene sweep him off with her next card.
“My apologies,” she says.
“Ruthless,” Dorian comments.
“Oh!” Selene says, making Dorian jump.
“What is it?”
“I’ve just remembered where I’ve played this game before. My grandmother taught me—years ago. She used to cackle and say ‘ruthless, excellent gal!’ whenever I swept her back to home.”
Dorian smiles. “I think I’d rather like your grandma.”
