Page 98 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“The day of my father’s funeral,” he admits.
Selene has no idea what he means.
“Very few came,” he explains. “And those that did—at least in the capital—they didn’t know my father. They came through obligation. But you—you came, and you gave him wildflowers, because you knew he preferred those.”
Selene smiles. “My secret talent,” she admits. “I’ve always found myself good at remembering what people like.”
“You… you gave me a handkerchief. You distracted the congregation,” Dorian continues. “You drew attention away from me.”
Selene looks down at her feet. “Sometimes, I feel bad about that,” she confesses. “Of course you should be sad. Why did I feel the need to distract people?”
“I’m glad you did,” Dorian admits. “It was—thoughtful.”
“Have I ever told you how I knew? How I knew your father didn’t like flowers from the hothouse?”
Dorian shakes his head.
“There was a ball,” she explains. “A ball at Roselune Abbey. I was maybe ten or twelve at the time. Old enough to be aware, not old enough to be included. I snuck down in the night to see what all the fuss was about. Your father caught me snooping through the windows. I can hardly remember what he said, but he was so kind and good to me. I remember he made a little bouquet for me out of the flowers growing in the hedges. Told me all the names of them. Spoke about you, too, actually. I can’t name the feeling he left me with, but I rememberhim.The nice man who made a young girl feel special.”
Dorian is quiet for a long time afterwards, his eyes shining. “He would have liked you,” is Dorian’s eventual reply.
“I am sure that I would have liked him.”
Dorian twirls Selene under his arm.
“In a very different way from how I like you,” she tells him.
Dorian misses a step, but quickly recovers. Selene seizes her moment as soon as the song ends. “Dorian,” she whispers. “Come away with me.”
“Where?”
“You know where.”
They don’t even make their excuses. One glance is enough before they slip away from the dance floor, fingers brushing, then tangling together as they move faster. Their footsteps echo through the corridors, breathless laughter spilling between them like a secret. Selene nearly trips on the hem of her gown; Dorian steadies her with a hand on her waist, but neither of them slows. The anticipation buzzes, thrumming in their veins as they reach the stairs, taking them two at a time, dizzy with something far more intoxicating than wine.
They reach their room. Selene fumbles with the door—or maybe Dorian does. It hardly matters now. The moment it’s shoved closed, Dorian is on her, his hands cupping her face, his mouth crashing into hers. She barely has time to gasp before her back meets the wall, the breath knocked from her in more ways than one.
She grabs his face and pulls it onto hers. There’s a brief fraction of a second where she hardly knows what’s happening, and then she’s melting into his kiss, more than melting—dissolving. It’s like she’s never existed until this moment. Gods, how good can his lips feel? Sensation ripples along her body. She isn’t used to this. It’s more than heat and pleasure. It’s deeper than desire, it’s soul given form. She wants to consume him, to be consumed.
Dorian pulls back, just a fraction.
“Are you still mad at me?” he whispers.
Selene kisses him instead, grabbing his hair, his shoulders—any part of him that keeps him tethered to her.
“Wait.” Dorain pulls back, Selene’s face in his hands. “Are you just kissing me to avoid answering my question?”
“I believe our contract specifies hugs rather than kisses, if we cannot speak the truth…”
“Please, Selene. I need to know. Are you still mad at me?”
“I don’t think I was ever mad at you,” she tells him.
Dorian curls a lock of hair around her ear. “No?”
“No,” she says. “I was mad at myself, I think, for not seeing things I felt I should have seen. And mad a little at the world, too. I don’t like—I don’t like being kept in the dark.”
“I’m sorry,” Dorian murmurs. “I won’t do it again.”
