Page 63 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
The Groom shall not enter the Bride’s private chambers unless explicitly invited by the Bride, or in the case of an emergency.
Selene leans over his shoulder as he’s writing. “You should probably add in something similar for me in regards to your personal space.”
“You’re welcome in my room any time you like.”
Selene’s throat goes dry at the implications—all of which she’s sure Dorian doesn’t mean. “Whatabout your study?”
“You are allowed in my study so long as you knock first.”
“I really do feel like I am getting a lot more out of this marriage than you are.”
Dorian tilts his head. “Do you now?”
Selene doesn’t know what to say to that, or why his gaze is making the back of her neck so warm. “Sign the contract,” she tells him. “What’s your middle name?”
“Ambrose,” he says, writing everything in place. He hands over the pen towards her. His fingertips are hot, and she tries her best to ignore them.
They leave the ink to dry and head to his room for their game.
“I have a favour to ask,” Dorian tells her as he sets up tonight’s entertainment.
“Name it.”
“Tomorrow night, could you keep Marta with you? I have business with her beau.”
“Is it wedding-related business?” she asks him.
Dorian shakes his head, looking guilty.
“Dorian?”
He says nothing, but sweeps his arms around her. “These are the rules, right?”
Selene slides her arms around his back. “Yes,” she says quietly. “These are the rules.”
The next week, Dorian and Selene (accompanied by a very eager Marta and a less than eager Soren) head off for Kenwood Grange, home of the illustrious Fairmonts. It’s a long journey, and Dorian keeps getting out to sit up top with the driver, leaving Selene alone with Marta for much of it.
“Lord Nightbloom is not very good at sitting still,” Marta remarks.
“Lord Nightbloom is not very good at doing nothing,” Selene corrects.
“He’s a good man.”
“Yes,” she says, a little sadly, “he is.”Too good for me.She clears her throat, not wanting to give weightto that thought. “How have you settled in, Marta? The work isn’t too hard, I hope?”
“Not at all, My Lady! I will admit, I did find how… howcasualthings are at Ebonrose a little jarring at first, but now… I do like how things are.”
“Me too,” admits Selene, smiling largely to herself. “On both accounts.”
Pleasant as Marta’s company is, it’s a relief to finally reach Kenwood Grange.
The estate is a grand affair, its sprawling grounds awash in the soft gold of late afternoon. Kenwood Grange is nothing like Ebonrose—where Selene’s home is a place of shadowed corridors and solitude, Kenwood is a place of warmth and movement, filled with laughter spilling from open windows and the scent of flowers in full bloom.
The moment the carriage halts, Ophelia Fairmont is already hurrying down the front steps, skirts gathered in one hand, an expression of unbridled delight on her face. The last time Selene saw her, she was round with child. It’s jarring to see her now looking so slim, and without the baby Selene expected. How strange to think that no one will remember its almost-existence other than her.
“Selene!” Ophelia exclaims, barely waiting for the footman to lower the step before she reaches out, grasping Selene’s hands and squeezing them tight. “At last, you've come! It has been absoluteages, you wicked creature!”
