Page 118 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"This is you drunk and finally saying what you really think."
"This is me drunk and saying far too much." But he didn't stop. The words seemed to pour out of him like the brandy from the bottle. "Do you know what I thought when I saw you at the altar?"
"That you'd made a terrible mistake?"
"That you looked like hope. Even terrified, even about to be sick, you looked like hope. And then you were sick on me, and somehow that made it worse because you were human and real and not some distant idea I could ignore."
"Being sick on you made me more attractive?" Ophelia laughed, that snorting laugh he'd mentioned.
"There! That! That sound!" He pointed at her accusingly. "That's what I mean. How is that endearing? It shouldn't be endearing. It should be annoying. But instead, I sit in my study thinking of ways to make you laugh just to hear it."
"You do?"
"Constantly. It's very distracting. I'm trying to review accounts, and instead I'm wondering if you'd laugh if I told you about the time Frederick got his head stuck in a vase trying to retrieve a wager he'd dropped inside."
"Did he really?"
"We had to break the vase. It was worth a fortune. My father was furious." He smiled at the memory, then seemed to realize he was smiling and frowned instead. "See? You're making me tell amusing stories. I don't tell amusing stories. I tell boring stories about parliamentary procedure and estate management."
"Tell me another one."
"About parliamentary procedure?"
"About your cousin."
"Oh, Frederick's an endless source of disasters. Once he decided to serenade a girl he fancied, but he got so drunk beforehand that he serenaded the wrong window. Woke up her father, who chased him through the garden with a riding crop. He had to hide in the fountain until dawn."
Ophelia giggled, and Alexander looked triumphant. "There! I made you laugh. On purpose. With a story."
"You're very proud of yourself."
"I'm very drunk is what I am. This is all your fault too."
"Everything seems to be my fault tonight."
"Everything is your fault since you arrived. The flowers everywhere...your fault. The servants humming while they work...your fault. Me lying awake at night wondering what you're thinking...definitely your fault."
"You lie awake thinking about me?"
"Constantly. It's very annoying. I'm trying to sleep, and instead I'm replaying conversations, wondering if I was too harsh, too cold, too... me."
Ophelia stood, swaying slightly herself, and moved to sit on the arm of his chair. "You're not too you. You're just... very specifically you."
"That made no sense."
"I'm drunk too. I'm allowed not to make sense."
"You're sitting very close."
"Is that a problem?"
"It's a proximity issue. When you're close, I want to touch you. When you're far away, I want you closer. It's very inconvenient."
"Then touch me."
The words hung in the air between them, charged with possibility. Alexander set down his glass carefully, then reached up to touch her face, his fingers gentle against her cheek.
"Your skin is soft," he said wonderingly. "I've wanted to know if it was soft."
