Page 95 of House of Roots and Ruin
I smiled. “Very, very glad.”
Alex breathed out a sigh of relief. “I was so nervous you’d say you wanted to stay at Chauntilalie. It’s a lovely old house and I can’t wait to grow old here with you, but…”
“But first we need a home, for just us.”
“I agree. Just us.” His eyes were warm, his pupils dark anddilated. “Verity? Might I…Would it be all right if I…Could I hold you?”
“Hold me?” I echoed, uncertain of what he was suggesting.
He nodded, his eyes hopeful and earnest.
“How?”
Carefully, he brought his chair forward before reaching out to scoop me into his lap. I laughed, too surprised to feel uncomfortable with our closeness. He folded my skirts out of the way of the wheels. For a moment, his hand rested on my upper thigh, perched as lightly as a question. Then he embraced me, pulling my side flush against his chest. I could hear his heart beat and breathed in his scent, a combination of his soap and aftershave, something green and wholly Alexander.
“We’ll need a studio,” he mused thoughtfully. “In our house. A room with bright, big windows overlooking some water. I don’t want you ever to be far away from the waves.”
“Our house,” I repeated, a smile playing fondly on my lips. “And there will be a library for you. Low bookshelves lining all the walls. You’ll be able to reach them all.”
“I like that idea.” His voice was low and dreamy and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close.
I liked this. I loved us.
It felt as though we were wrapped up in a sunbeam, warmed by thoughts of a future together. I was comfortable and happy and didn’t feel pressured to do anything but this.
I snuggled closer to Alex, pressing an experimental kiss to his cheek.
I didn’t stop to overthink it.
I wanted.
And I did.
And it felt…nice.
Easy.
Right.
Finally.
“This is perfect,” I whispered.
All of the vexations and slights I’d felt since the engagement slid away. It didn’t matter that his mother thought I was unsophisticated and lacking in style. It didn’t matter his grandmother thought me cursed.
Alex was the only one who mattered. The only one I trusted wholly and implicitly.
We’d be the ones writing our story.
Us, on our own.
Together.
“This is us,” he promised, kissing my forehead with a tenderness so sweet I ached for another. “For the rest of our lives.”
Later that night, the peacocks woke me once again.
A giant full moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly blue glow over my bedchambers.
