Page 101 of Love & Letter Charms
He drew back slightly. After another few moments, her eyes fluttered open, the world slow to return, only to find his gaze already waiting for her—steady, reverent, as if he’d been memorizing every breath she took.
She lifted one trembling hand and let her thumb trace the curve of his lower lip, soft and warm beneath her touch. Themotion drew a faint hitch in his breath, and for a heartbeat she forgot how to breathe at all.
Then she met his eyes again—so close, so impossibly full of everything she felt—and the words slipped out on a whisper, fragile but certain. “I love you.”
He stilled at her words. For a moment, he only looked at her, eyes shining in a way that made the breath catch in her throat. Then, very softly, he said, “I love you, Lady Aurelise Rowanwood, more completely than I ever knew one heart could hold.”
Her lips curved, trembling between laughter and tears. “Now that I’ve been brave enough to say it aloud, writing it in a letter should be easy.” She paused. “That is … if we’ll still be writing letters to one another?”
“Of course.” His eyes sparkled with mischief now, the solemnity giving way to familiar playfulness. He leaned in, his mouth close enough that she could feel the smile in his words. “Dear L,” he murmured, “you kiss nicely.”
A surprised laugh escaped her. “Nicely?That’s all?”
“Very nicely,” he amended solemnly.
“Dear R,” she said, chin tilting up in mock offense, “your compliments could use work.”
“Dear L,” he countered, lowering his forehead to hers, “your wit remains as dangerous as ever.”
“Dear R,” she whispered, her voice softening again, “I dare you to kiss me again.”
“Oh, a new dare? How positivelyboldof you, my lovely Lise.”
“I believe it’s only fair if I write a few of them now. You’ve been monopolizing all the dare space in our letters. And now that I’ve completed the original list, it seems we are in need of a new challenge.”
He smiled then, that slow, devastating smile that made her heart trip over itself. “I would be delighted for you to write asmany dares as you’d like. For now, I shall gladly accept the first one.”
And with that, he brought his mouth down to meet hers again.
Epilogue
Dear R,
It is nearly midnight, and tomorrow I will marry you.
I should be sleeping. My lady’s maid has already scolded me twice for still having one of the faelights glowing, warning that I’ll have shadows beneath my eyes tomorrow. But how can I possibly sleep when every thought is of you? When tomorrow, after all this time of letters and longing, I will finally be yours in every way?
Do you know what is strangest of all? I’m writing to you from the very same room where I penned that first letter, thinking I was pouring my heart out to enchanted paper. The room where I first called you ‘Not-So-Imaginary’ and you called me ‘brave’ when I felt anything but.
I hardly recognize her now, that terrified girl who wrote to an enchanted box, convinced she would shatter under the weight of her own magic, convinced she could never love anything as much as her music.
But you were right, weren’t you? (Yes, I know, you are R for almost always Right About Things.) That day you asked if there might not be room for different kinds of joy, different colors ofthe same light. I was so certain nothing could shine as brightly as the feeling of my own musical creations flowing through me.
I was wrong.
You shine brighter. You shine so bright sometimes I can scarcely breathe for the wonder of it And tomorrow I am going to promise to spend the rest of my life basking in that light. I will walk toward you—not run away, not hide, not flee to the kitchens or the music room or the gardens—but walk steadily forward to take your hand.
With my whole heart,
L
P.S. My mother insists on an elaborate hairstyle tomorrow with approximately three thousand pins. I do hope someone will be available to help remove them all tomorrow evening. Someone patient and gentle, with clever fingers. Any suggestions?
My Dearest Soon-To-Be-Princess L,
Midnight finds me equally awake, sitting at my desk composing a reply to the woman who altered my very existence with a single letter, whom I can scarcely believe I will have the right to call my wife by this time tomorrow.
And speaking of this time tomorrow—you asked for suggestions regarding the hair pin situation. I might know someone. Devastatingly handsome fellow. Legendary charm. Has been dreaming about running his fingers through your hair since approximately the sixth letter you sent him. I could make introductions if you’d like?
