Page 13 of Straw and Gold
She turned back to her trunk, continuing to drag it across the floor. “I live here,” she said with a grunt, adding, “With you.” She backed into me as I blocked the door. “We’re married, lest you’ve forgotten in the six hours it’s been.” Adopting a saccharine grin, she cooed, “Be a dear and open the door a little wider, husband.”
“Morella,” I gritted through clenched teeth, “I don’t want you to live here.”
Her frown pursed into a pale thin line. “I gave my vow that I was sharing your bed and that makes it my bed as well.” She pointed into the room. “Just look at the thing! We’ll each stay on one side and practically have our own estates.”
Her wings were stronger than I expected, unfurling into my face and forcing me back. Quickly, she pulled her trunk the rest of the way inside before taking a look around.
“This will do nicely. I assume we have a bathing chamber?” She waved a hand flippantly in my direction. “Never mind, I’ll figure it out.”
She padded across the room, taking in every piece of me that was evident. Reaching the bed, she leapt across the sheets, tucking herself into one side.
Still in a stupor, I stood in shock, glancing from her trunk to her in my bed as if I couldn't quite understand how they’d gotten there.
“Morella?” I whispered harshly, shutting the door behind me.
She didn’t answer in the consuming dark.
And in my stupidity, I didn’t insist she answer back.
CHAPTER 11
Morella
The soundof birds chirping incessantly woke me, and as much as I struggled to tune them out, the singing came with my name beside the bed.
“Morella.”
I blinked blearily, rubbing my eyes.
No, I was not mistaken.
My mountainous husband peered down at me from the side of the bed. His face was close—too close to not have a purpose, and I grinned, unable to stop the warm excitement that burst through my veins.
I wasmarried. Tothisman.
I stretched my arms over my head and let out a groan. “Good morning,” I cooed, ensuring I was not at all covered by sheets in my thin nightgown. “Did you sleep?—”
“Why didn’t you break the contract?” His voice was dark and deep, matching the frustration on his face.
“What?”
“Our marriage contract, Morella. Why didn’t you break it?”
“I…” Sitting up, I pulled the covers a little closer.
In the early light, it was easier to make out the details of our room. Dark midnight blue accents in the curtains and tapestries left a feel of old secrets and rich history.
“Morella,” he commanded, grabbing my chin and turning my head to face him again.
“I didn’t want to break it,” I answered truthfully.
“Why? You were fifteen. Fifteen-year-olds don’t just willingly give away their futures to men they’ve never met.”
I frowned, wiggling out of his hold. “Didn’t you read my letters?”
“I burned your letters.”
“But why?” I whined. “I wrote them for you to get to know me.”
