Page 80 of The Dandelion Princess
Alix makes a sound of disgust. “Teach him some manners, friend, or he’ll be a monk until he dies.”
I hold the door for Ella, and as soon as she walks through, I shut it behind us, catching her by the wrist until it’s just her and me and the ancient paneling of Lindenholm. It’s been a week and I can’t live this way. She gives a light laugh and returnsthe kiss, amused by my urgency, perhaps. I don’t apologize. Contentment, heavy and sweet, settles in my limbs because she belongs here, our strange edges somehow fitting together.
“Marc,” she whispers, when I come up for air.
I know. We’re taking too many chances. I pull away but hold her hand, leading her to the mudroom, where I supply her with a change of footwear and a rough coat. She hops on the back of my quad, and we set off, first touring her past the BLUSH excavations and then driving deep into the parkland. The weather is windy, and I head straight into it, skirting fields with Ella’s arms banding my chest and her head nestled between my shoulders.
“Are we really inspecting fences?” she asks when I come to a halt atop a rise and cut the engine. A cool breeze from the North Sea buffets against us, and she buries herself into me, snuggling against my back. “Nothing else?”
My arm covers hers. “I can multitask.”
“Why are you irritated with Alix?” she asks, nipping at my waist. “Is it really the dress?”
I shake my head. “It’s not a dress. It’s scraps of fabric that barely cover—”
Ella laughs, slipping under my arm, and negotiates her way to the front of the bike. It’s not seductive—not with messy hair and a muddy jacket—but she never has to try to make me want her. I just do. We’re like kids on a swing, rubber boots making us clumsy. Her nose is rosy, and I press a kiss on the end of it, wishing I could bend time back to the moment I told her this wouldn’t be serious.
“Stop being grumpy,” she scolds, smoothing the line between my brows. She burrows her head under my chin. She cuddles. “Alix values your approval.”
“She has it.”
I pull away and give in to the desire to kiss her. The wind gusts against us, but I hold her tightly, wrapping her into my jacket and warming her where we touch. As usual, I lose my head, but Ella lifts hers.
“Marc, what if someone—”
She shouldn’t be thinking at all. I should be capable of kissing every thought out of her head or I’m not doing it right. I glance around. There are Jutland cattle a few pastures over, but I’m not going to be thwarted bycows. I pull her close again and try to make her forget herself.
She does for a time. When she breaks off, she rests her brow against mine. Shaken. Finally.
“You’re supposed to be teaching me manners,” I say, tracing her jawline with the edge of my thumb.
I realized some things in London, filled with long days without the promise of seeing Ella at the end of them. In another minute, I’m going to cross a line and tell her what they are. But Ella hops off the quad and wades through knee-high grass. For a second, I think she’s going to say something serious, but she only laughs. “Will you miss me when…when I’m gone?”
“What is it this week?” I ask, catching her from behind. “Are you going to move to Florida and launder money through real estate?”
She sinks against me, and the beat of her heart seems to sync with mine. “California has better weather. I’ll wear muumuus and clacking jewelry, and drink the same cocktail everyday at precisely 4 PM.”
My arms tighten and I look over the wide horizon. If she wants privacy, I can give it to her. If she wants a place away from the glare of the Summer Palace, Lindenholm is right here. If she wants to sunbathe in her birthday suit, I could plant a thick stand of trees and sue any intrusive paparazzi back into the stone age.
I open my mouth to say so, take a breath, and close it again. Ella doesn’t want me—not forever—and the great wish of her life is to leave Sondmark. How can I fail to grant it when I love her?
I swallow thickly. I’m in love with Ella. The thought is new enough that it isn’t painful yet, though that will come. It’s been building this whole time, crashing like a wave I can’t escape.
“You’re going to be lonely.” I soften my words with a kiss on the top of her head.
A gust of wind buffets against us, and I hold her tighter. “I have a pile of stuffed racoons to keep me company.”
She hasn’t said anything about missing me.
“Marc?”
“Yes?”
“Are you a vault?”
“Hmm?”
“You won’t go tattling to Noah?”
