Page 102 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
Standing next to her, a grin on his face, Peter looked out the open door at the vanishing figures of his sisters.
“They shall give Mr. Cooper a heart attack first.”
When Mary and Claire’s shouts and laughter could no longer be heard, Peter and Dahlia realized that they were left alone together.
With their grins diminishing into slight smiles, both searched for something to say.
“Claire’s interpretation of Coleridge’s poem was quite impressive,” Dahlia said.
“Yes, quite. Which is very surprising, for she never showed any inclination towards poetry as far as I know; the poetry books in the library have never been touched.”
“Shehasbeen looking through my poetry volumes. Do you have the modern poets? Perhaps she prefers them over the classical ones.”
“Perhaps you are right; I must order new volumes of more recent poets then. Thank you, Dahlia, for that observation.”
“My pleasure, Peter.” She smiled.
A small white object fell and landed first on Peter’s shoulder then on Dahlia’s arm. Surprised, both looked down at the tiny berry now resting on the floor between them. At once realizing what it was, Peter and Dahlia both looked up.
They stood under the chandelier where the sprig of mistletoe they themselves had put there still hung, quite forgotten.
They looked at each other, no longer smiling.
Peter could see the light in her green eyes.
Those green eyes.
He had never known such yearning, had not known that hecouldfeel such yearning. The loosened chains came off completely, leaving his heart unbound. His hands moved to her face. Cupping her cheeks, he could only think of her.
And what if
In your dream
You went to heaven
And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower
Dahlia.
She filled up his senses, and the yearning man that he was, he marveled at the feeling. He watched her, so close to him, and she was awash with feelings too.
Peter tipped his head, emotions getting the better of him, and felt his lips skim over hers.
“I cannot, Peter.”
Dahlia turned her head away. A tear fell from her eye.
“I cannot afford to lie to myself, to settle for anything less than what I really want. Too long have I lived like that.”
With trembling fingers, she traced his face. Then dropped her hand.
“I am sorry, Peter, but if I cannot have the genuine thing, then I do not want it at all. I do not want you to kiss me because I am the wife that you will soon cast off. No. Neither do I want a kiss borne from a silly holiday tradition. Kiss me because you care for me as I do you. Because your heart tells you to as mine does. Or not at all.”
Still looking at him, Dahlia stepped slowly away.
“Good night, Peter.”
Peter stood where he was. He could not move, even had he wanted to. Her words had shaken him to his core. Her honesty cut him. She would not compromise, and though he suffered for it, he also admired her for it. She meant every word, knew every word to be her truth. He could trust Dahlia to always tell him the truth.
