Page 58 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“What?”
“I’m quite used to women bossing me around,” he says. “But I find I prefer it much more when you do it.”
Selene’s cheeks heat. “Sit down,” she says, more weakly than before. She points towards the seats.
Dorian dutifully slides into place, the pallor of his skin already improving. Selene returns to her room to gather the wine and hands Dorian his glass. His fingertips brush over hers. The touch follows her as she sits down opposite, and they resume the game.
“Please don’t make yourself uncomfortable on my behalf,” Selene tells him, voice quiet. “I already feel guilty enough for being here.”
Dorian tilts his head. “If I have ever made you feel like a burden—”
“No, not you—”
“Has Soren said something? Don’t listen to him—”
“No, he’s said nothing, I just… I’m very aware of how little I contribute compared to other members of your household, and…”
Dorian groans. “Please, don’t worry about that. You don’t have to contribute anything. Just… I’m glad that I was able to help you, all right?”
Selene swallows. “You don’t know me. Or at least… you didn’t.”
The ghost of something passes over Dorian’s pale features. His hazel eyes burn in the lamplight, like chips of emerald in a whiskey glass. She’s never noticed an intensity in them before. “I wouldn’t have been happy, watching you be forced into a marriage with someone who was cruel to you.”
“You wouldn’t have known.”
Dorian probably attended maybe three social events in the year she was married to the Duke. She can’t remember him being at anything after Ophelia’s wedding around harvest time. He would never have noticed how miserable she was.
No one did.
“I’m sorry,” Dorian says eventually.
Selene frowns. “What for?”
“I am sorry that you’ve spent any part of your life thinking that people wouldn’t notice if you were breaking.”
Selene stares at him, her entire body as frozen as ice. A sharp, dense pain settles in her chest. She feels like Dorian is tugging at a wound she hadn’t even noticed was there. Is she so transparent?
Is he?
“I’m sorry too,” she whispers, not breaking his gaze.
“For what?”
“For whatever has made you feel like you need to do everything alone.”
Dorian’s breath hitches. She wonders if she’s pulled on a wound, too. She wonders what he would do now if she reached across the table and took his hand. She wants to. Even just for a moment.
But everything is so solemn and so serious and she was supposed to be cheering him up, and suddenly she wants more than anything to crack the warm ice settling around them.
“And I’m sorry for this, too,” she says, playing her final card and winning the game.
Dorian laughs, throwing up his hand—the same one she was thinking about touching.
“See?” he says. “You can be smart.”
“I am sure it is just luck,” Selene returns.
“Heavens!” Dorian snaps, letting out a tired huff. “Just take the compliment!”
