Page 36 of Charlotte's Story
“There is no need to concern yourself about the bed. You can have it if you want. I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ve done it before and experienced no serious side effects.”
“No, you don’t need to sleep on the floor. I’m the one who dragged us here. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
He frowned. “Yes, but I’m the reason we can’t be at home tonight in our own bed… beds?” He shook his head. “Anyway, the point is it’s my fault, so I’ll sleep on the floor.”
I blew out a breath and turned to face him. “It’s fine. No one has to sleep on the floor. We can share it.” My heart pounded a mile a minute as I said it, but it wasn’t the same discomfort that filled me when I thought of Hugh. It wasn’t William I didn’t trust—it was me. I’d let my guard down once before, and it had nearly broken me.
He caught my hand as I started toward the bathroom. “You’re safe with me, Charlotte.”
My breath hitched, but I swallowed down the butterflies. “I know.”
We grabbed our suitcases from the car and brushed our teeth in silence—but even that felt strangely intimate. The reality of our marriage hit me again. William was my husband, and things like this would be the new normal.
We finished getting ready in silence, and I changed into pajamas in the bathroom while William changed in the room. I caught him scribbling in his notebook once more before we climbed into bed.
The rustle of the sheets was extra loud in the silence.
“Charlotte?”
“Yeah?”
“I know none of this is how you imagined, and maybe I’ve already failed at being a husband by making you feel like this was a marriage of convenience, but I don’t think it is. Not anymore.”
“You don’t know what you feel,” I said. “You’ve only known me for twenty-four hours.”
“Time isn’t the only metric that matters in relationships.” The sheets rustled as he moved onto his side and stared at me in the dark. “We’ve been through several high-stress events together already and statistically bonding accelerates under those conditions. I think I’ve seen more of you in the last twenty-four hours than many couples might see in a lifetime of marriage.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re being silly.”
“I’m not.” His hand reached out as if he was going to take mine again.
I stiffened but didn’t move away, though I wasn’t sure why. The easiest thing would be to stop him there.
William lightly touched the back of his hand to mine. “You decided to solve this murder even though you know it’s dangerous. You care about your friends and family. You’re a good person, and whatever the old William might’ve felt, this new William doesn’t want to have to keep pretending. Being with you makes me comfortable. When you’re here, I don’t feel overwhelmed. I can think clearly. I don’t get that with most people.”
My reply got caught in my throat, strangled by my fear of would-haves and could-bes.
But even that William seemed to sense. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know how I feel. I know our marriage began as a functional agreement. But if I’m honest, I’ve found the emotional component unexpectedly meaningful. I don’t want to go back to pretending it doesn’t matter.”
“Thank you for telling me how you feel,” I whispered.
With that, silence fell over the room. The crash of the waves outside created a natural sort of white noise, but I still couldn’t sleep. Especially not with William’s cinnamon scent filling the air. How dare he smell so nice.
He was so close, yet in other ways so far.
I reached out and laced our fingers together, closing the distance between us. “I’m glad you’re here with me too,” I whispered, echoing his earlier statement.
William stiffened slightly, and I started to pull away, but then he tightened his grip, his touch reassuring and warm. “And I’m not going anywhere.” He was silent a beat, then added, “Even if I forgot you again, Charlotte, I still think I’d fall for you. Over and over. Rationally speaking, the odds of forming this connection twice are low… but emotionally, it feels inevitable.”
My pulse quickened at his sweet words, but silence settled between us, comfortable and familiar.
Eventually, my eyes drifted shut, but it wasn’t because I was comfortable. It was because ChiyoObasan’smattress was simply better than what I was used to and the garland of pine wrapped around the bedpost rustled softly like it too was settling in for the night.
And it definitely had nothing to do with the fact that I might have been falling for the fae next to me.
Chapter 9
Idriftedintowakefulness,the transition as gentle as the winter snow. I snuggled deeper into the pillow, not wanting to open my eyes and face the day. ChiyoObasan’sbed was much more comfortable than mine. It was warm and soft and smelled like cinnamon.
