Page 11 of Straw and Gold
Shaking off my rudeness, she offered her hand. “Will you not dance with me, husband?”
“I do not dance,” I replied.
“Even on your wedding night? With your bride? You do not dance even then?”
“What bride wears red to her own wedding?” I asked before I could stop myself.
She frowned, looking down at her skirts and pulling the dark fabric out on display. In a pout she said, “I love this color. And I look good in red.”
“Didn’t say you didn’t.”Shit.
Another flush crept up her cheeks.
Three months.
I had three months left of this and she had hundreds of years.
What was the harm in one dance?
No. I shook my head.
She wouldn’t know the harm in one dance. She wouldn’t know the invisible dagger in one slip of my hand across her waist, one brush of breath across her temple.
Plan A was for her to back herself out of the contract.
Plan B was to ensure she wouldn’t miss me when I was gone.
CHAPTER 9
Morella
I droppedthe fabric of my skirts in the silence that followed. So far, that was the nicest thing he’d said to me.
I cleared my throat, my heart hammering with a new tactic to hear more kind words from my husband’s lips. “I’ll admit, I’m exhausted after three days of travel.” I laughed lightly. “Would it be rude for us to retire a bit early?”
Looking relieved, he offered his arm. “I will escort you upstairs, then.”
Giddy at the prospect of getting him alone in our room, I quickly folded myself into his side, unable to deny how well we fit together.
Loud whistles and cheers followed us as we walked through the crowd. I didn’t miss the wink from Captain Fedir, nor the scowl on my husband’s face. He did smile occasionally on our stroll through our guests. I caught each of his small grins, wondering what I could do to get him to smile like that at me.
The halls of the castle were well lit by the copper sconces along the stone walls. Servants and more than a few couples from our wedding darted in and out of rooms and dark corners of the castle.
He didn’t say a word, only led us toward the staircase that fed us to the long corridor where our room awaited. Excitement pumped through my veins.
This was my first night as a married woman.
Goddess, it had been what felt like centuries since I’d been touched by a man. Not that I expected him to touch me. More than likely, I’d guess he’d rather wait until we were more comfortable around each other.
But if he did want to touch me, I wouldn’t have a single hesitation.
My wings shifted of their own accord at the thought, the left one smacking him in the back of the head.
“Sorry,” I rushed, lifting my hand to pat his hair. “My wings have a mind of their own sometimes.”
He stopped in front of our door, rubbing his head. “It’s fine.” He opened the door with a copper key before pressing it into my hand and gestured for me to enter.
“Thank you.” I lifted my skirts and stepped inside, recognizing my large wooden trunk, still packed as I had requested.
