Page 9 of Caged in Desire
“I don’t know, KitKat. I think Island Sand is a better shade than Pale Beige. If I were you, I would re-order all these linens.”
Fixing my soon-to-be-deceased cousin with a glare, I smack his arm. “The queen herself couldn’t get me to change a single thing about any of this at this point. I might not have had a say in most of the wedding planning, but I firmly believe in Pale Beige superiority. Now. Are you going to stand there rifling through things and vexing me, or are you going to braid my hair for the rehearsal dinner?”
Sasha rolls his eyes at my exaggeration, but still comes to sit with me and work on my hair. Although I’m sure that Mrs. Nixon’s chosen hair and makeup minions will have me looking like a Miss America contestant tomorrow, for the rehearsal, she surprisingly agreed to let me handle simple hair and makeup on my own.
I smile, thinking of picking out things that I like, rather than Mrs. Nixon. Her style tends to be monochromatic and bland, and she moved through our home when she arrived to rip out wallpaper and paint everything gray. Father agreed whenI appealed to him that the library was off-limits to her re-designing scheme. My rooms, unfortunately, weren’t, and my bedroom has looked like a modern art museum for years now.
“Excuse me? Earth to KitKat! Is this braid okay?” Sasha gives his finished work a teasing tug as he snaps me out of my reverie.
“Sorry. Yes, it’s beautiful. Your best work ever, I think.” My smile falls, thinking that this very well may be the last time he ever braids my hair.
I move to sit at my vanity, bypassing the velvet chair to instead sit cross-legged on the counter, and face the mirror to get started on my simple makeup for the evening.
“What were you thinking about, anyway? You were smiling at nothing the entire time I was braiding,” Sasha asks, taking his usual spot on the counter next to me, feet dangling off the edge as he watches me work. We’ve assumed these positions countless times before as I got ready for the day, always required to be dressed and painted, even if I was never going anywhere.
“Wallpaper,” I answer dryly, laughing at his confused look. “I really was thinking about wallpaper! Wallpaper in the context of…freedom of choice, I guess. You know I’ve never been one for thinking too much about what-if. I’ve lived here, done my lessons, read, frolicked in the gardens, and generally enjoyed my life. You’re the reason I’m still sane, of course, but overall I’ve refused to wallow or complain.”
Sasha rolls his eyes, ignoring my censorious stare. “Yes, yes, you’ve been the picture-perfect princess in her castle, resigned to your fate. They should write an opera about you. Do you think you’re up for singing an aria?”
Booping his nose with liquid blush as revenge, I cackle as he tries to wipe it off, only to make things worse.
“If you’ll stop teasing me, I’ll help you fix that. Otherwise, you’re destined to have a red nose all evening. That’s a long-lasting blush stain.” Hearing this, he gives me his solemn attention.
“As I was saying…happy here, caged princess, blah, blah. Yes. But. I was smiling, thinking about designing my own living space. Now that nobody is trying to kill me, I’ll be able to get out and about undisguised. And…” I blush, realizing Sasha might not want to hear any more of the things I’m excited about.
His eyes brighten, though, and I should have known that he wouldn’t let me off the hook.
“Anndddddd…?” he asks with a devilish grin.
“I’m excited to have sex! There, now you know. A woman has needs! I know for a fact you haven’t been living the celibate life in solidarity with me. Even with all your tattoos, your neck always looks like a vampire has gotten ahold of you!”
Before he can defend himself, I move on, wanting to voice a tiny fear inside me that’s been growing as the wedding date has approached.
“More than sex, though…I’m really hoping Mr. Sincl...Henry likes me. We have fencing and chess in common, I know, and I think from hearing him speak to Father that he’ll be kind and respectful to me. It’s probably foolish. But it would be wonderful for us to care for each other. I’d quite like to be cared for—”
Sniffling, he tries to interrupt again, but I soldier on. “Not that I’m saying you don’t care for me! I know you do! But you know, hopefully, you’ll have your own person soon, and I can’t be your number one girl forever. I guess, it might be foolish to hope that he’s all he seems to be: smart, kind, interesting. I hope he’s not too good to be true.”
Finally, I take a deep breath and dab the corners of my eyes before moving to start on my eyeliner. Sasha, seemingly convinced that I’ve finally finished my word vomit, surprises me with a quiet tone, not to defend his liaisons or tease me for beinga horny nineteen-year-old virgin, but to address my fears that my Prince Charming might be a frog in disguise.
“He’s not,” Sasha says softly, meeting my gaze in the mirror and distracting me from my eyeliner. “I didn’t necessarily know when or if to mention this, and he kind of asked me not to, but I don’t see the harm in it. My loyalty is to you and not him.”
I fully turn to face him, makeup completely abandoned.
“Mr. Sinclair…uh, Henry, I guess…approached me after your father withheld the information he requested. You know, several months ago, he asked for more information on you than what was sent in the dossier. Less of your accomplishments, and more of your interests, desires, things that make you…well, KitKat.”
Closing my mouth from where it was gaping like a fish, I feel a dark corner of my heart, filled with cobwebs from disuse, lighten up, just a bit.
“So you…”
Blowing out a heavy breath, Sasha clearly decides word vomit of his own is in order.
“So I sent him information, yes, and I would be sorry if I didn’t think it was the absolute right thing to do. He came to me and just wanted to know more about you. I didn’t tell him too much, honestly, because you’re a treat that’s best experienced live and in person, and you deserve to surprise him yourself.
“I also got to know him a bit, and I’m impressed. He’s got his quirks, and he can be intense. I don’t know how else to put it, and that’s coming from me having grown up around our family.” He joins me, laughing at this, and reaches out to hold my hand.
“I think you’ll be happy with him. He’ll be good to you. Plus, you can finally have someone to beat at chess all the time instead of having to lose to me!”
Having successfully lightened the mood after making me feel better, he runs away before I can smack him. “Alexsandr Ivanovich Taranov, you havenever oncebeaten me at chess!”
