Chapter 5
I t’s three in the morning before Nolan carries me from the deck in a whirl of applause raining down into the lower deck.
When we reach his bedroom, he practically kicks the door open, sweeps me across the threshold, then nudges the door closed behind him with his boot.
I’m not sure if he decorated it or if Charlie snuck down here at some point during the wedding, but the entire cabin is dimly lit with tiny faerie dust lanterns, casting a gentle and flickering glow over the rose petals lining the floor and the bed.
There’s something about the sight that has panic whirling in my chest. And all of a sudden, it’s not me and Nolan alone in the room, but the memory of Peter and every time I locked myself away in my mind to escape from the reality of what was happening in his bed.
What was happening between me and my brother’s murderer.
And then, it’s not just Peter, but every suitor who ever entered my father’s smoking parlor.
They’re all in the room with us, each taking his portion of my wedding night.
My panic must show on my face, because Nolan looks down at me and says, “It doesn’t have to be tonight, Darling. I can wait until you’re ready. I understand.”
And it hits me that of all people, Nolan truly does. Something about that knowledge slows my heart rate, calms me down. Reminds me that nothing that happens with Nolan will be like what’s happened before.
Still.
“You wouldn’t be mad if we just laid in bed and talked for a while?” I ask.
“Mad?” he says, anger flaring once again in his eyes, but he must decide it’s not worth thinking of whoever planted those doubts in my mind because he says, “I never thought I’d get the chance to lay in bed and talk with you, Darling. Why would I be mad?”
I nod, relieved, even if I still feel a little guilty. Nolan walks me to the bed and lays me gently atop it. Quickly, I scramble beneath the covers, suddenly aware of how cold it is in the room.
Nolan enters the bed from behind me, swallowing me in his arms as he tucks my back into his chest. His breath against my ear reminds me of something.
“You always smell like tobacco,” I say, “but I’ve never seen you smoke.”
It’s so long before Nolan answers, I wonder if he’s one of those people who actually does fall asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. But when he answers, he sounds cautious. “I do. I just don’t do it around you.”
“Why not?” I ask. “It’s not like I’m one to judge.
” As soon as I say it, it hits me. I remember the jug of water on the table the first night I dined with him in the cabin.
How at the Nomad’s ball, when Nolan broke the glass in his hand after he saw me kiss the Nomad, the puddle on the floor had been water, not wine.
Even tonight at the wedding, there’d been no ale.
“You don’t want me to have to be around anything addicting, do you? ” I say.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Darling.”
“No,” I say, thinking of all the times Peter pushed faerie dust on me. All the times he drank in front of me, the wine calling to me the entire time. Nolan refusing to smoke tobacco in front of me might be a tad overkill.
But the refreshing kind of overkill.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the flickering lantern light.
Nolan just holds me closer, tucking his chin into my shoulder.
After a moment of quiet, I whisper again. “What are you thinking about?”
Nolan takes a moment to answer, then his voice drawls out, low and deep. “Nothing productive, I’m afraid.”
Warmth skitters across my skin, through my belly. After a moment’s hesitation, I whisper, my voice shaking, “You could tell me, you know.”
A pause, then Nolan presses his lips against my ear and whispers just what he’s been thinking.
“You know,” I say, voice trembling. “Maybe we could try that out tonight after all.”
And after Nolan lets out a relieved chuckle, we do.
The after with Nolan is different than the after with Peter.
With Peter, in the after, there was always a chasm gaping in my chest. A hollowness in my belly I believed nothing would ever fill. And then there was that place in my mind I would escape to, that dark little hole where I could pretend what was happening wasn’t.
With Nolan, I find I don’t need that little dark corner anymore. With Nolan, I replay every touch, every whisper in my mind, long after he’s fallen asleep.
As my husband sleeps, I tuck my ear into his chest. Memorize the push and pull feel of his chest against my cheek. Tuck away the sound of his heartbeat into my mind, memorizing it like a poem I’ll be forced to recite one day.
There’s a happiness bubbling up within me, but it’s so intense, so unfamiliar, it’s just as terrifying as it is pleasant. As high as I am, I find myself keenly aware that I can only float so high for so long before the air gets too thin to breathe, before I come crashing down, falling.
I’m only too reminded of that when, just as I’m about to fall asleep against Nolan’s chest, I notice silence where there should be the beat of a drum, stillness where there should be an ebb and flow.
For a moment, I think I’m imagining things. That I’ve worried myself into a hallucinatory state. I wait, sure that Nolan has just entered that phase of sleep where breathing comes less often.
But that doesn’t explain the fact that I can no longer hear his pulse.
“Nolan,” I whisper into the night, and when I get no response, I shoot up in bed, placing my hands on his shoulders. “Nolan,” I rasp, shaking him.
Nothing.
The lanterns have all died down, so I can’t see his face.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no. I just got you. I just…” My mind whirls, but I don’t know what to do.
“Help!” I find myself screaming, and it sounds like someone else’s voice.
Some mourning widow you feel sorry for as she screams from the streets over a situation for which there is no help. “Somebody help!” I wail.
I’m not sure how long it is before Charlie and Maddox come bursting into the room, lanterns in hand.
They take one look at Nolan, and Maddox says, “Get off of him.”
I obey, scrambling away from my husband as Maddox takes my place above him, shoving his open palms against Nolan’s chest, over and over.
Over and over.
Moments later, and something soft wraps around my shoulders. It takes me a moment to realize that Charlie has fetched me a robe and is tying it around me.
“Do you know how long he’s been like this?” Charlie asks, eyes sharp, discerning.
“Just a few seconds,” I say. “I was listening. I was listening to his heart when it stopped beating. At least, I think I was. I guess it’s possible that I had fallen asleep.”
“You did good, Wendy,” says Charlie, taking my face in her palms and directing it toward her. Vaguely, I’m aware of what she’s doing. Keeping me from watching as Maddox throws all of his weight into my husband’s chest, trying to get his heart to start beating again.
Something cracks. I think it might be a rib.
I choke on my own tears. “I did this,” I say frantically. “I did this to him.”
Charlie opens her mouth to deny it, but she must realize it’s no use denying what we both know is the truth, because she just says, “You did good. You got him help quickly.”
I rip my neck to the side, yanking myself from Charlie’s grip as I kneel over Nolan, conflicted between knowing I need to stay out of Maddox’s way, and wanting nothing more than to throw my body over my husband’s.
Sweat is pouring off of Maddox’s forehead, soaking his golden hair into a dusty brown. “Come on,” he mutters in between breaths. “Come on .”
Another crack, and then the most wonderful sound.
Nolan gasps.
“Nolan,” I scream, throwing myself over him as Maddox launches himself out of the way.
Nolan groans, eyes blinking hazily.
“Wendy,” says Maddox, “he has a few broken ribs.”
I panic, realizing I’ve thrown my entire weight onto his chest, and draw myself away.
“It’s alright, Maddox,” Nolan whispers through rasps. A labored smirk appears on his lip. “It’s not as if my wife hasn’t wounded me before.”