Chapter 28 #2
Tristan clicks his glass with mine. “They can, but everyone knows they only have eyes for each other. Especially at a love-themed ball like this one. If I came with a… guest, no one would question why ‘I’m lavishing them with attention.”
I tighten my fingers on the cherin, then lift it to my lips with both hands.
I’m so unreasonable where Tristan is concerned…
“I noticed you’re very popular,” I say, finally lifting my gaze. His is so intense, so bright and golden. I feel like a rabbit caught in snares, and yet it doesn’t hurt. Maybe the teeth of the trap are rubbed with some sweet drug to bliss me out?
“Well, I’m an experienced dancer.” When he winks at me, I wonder if he’s also trying to imply experience in other matters. He definitely knew what he was doing in bed and on soft moss. Tristan downs his drink, and bows, holding out his hand. “Would you like to see for yourself?”
My breath catches, and our cozy little apartment filled with books and tapestries seems brighter, louder with the sound of music coming in from the gardens below. My heart races. My temples pulse. And, somehow, I find myself reaching out.
I catch myself, spooked like a deer barely missed by the hunter, but then my gaze settles on Tristan’s face, taking in the flush on his cheeks, and the soft smile he has for me, and I touch his palm.
Sparks erupt where our skin touches, and some of the cherin spills down my hand as my fingers tremble. I need the liquid courage, so I down the sweet alcohol and let Tristan pull me in.
He’s all regal elegance and grace while I’m in a sweater covered in dog hair and saliva. Tristan doesn’t seem bothered by it as he grabs my other hand as well, and when we’re chest-to-chest, he guides me with his body.
I’m not a complete newbie to dancing more formally.
My grandparents taught me some of their favorite swing moves, but the way he glides with me across the floor takes my breath away.
I don’t know if it’s the liquor going to my head, the intense violin in the music, or simply the way he smells, but I’m getting dizzy with how badly I want him.
It’s undeniable, no matter how desperately I attempt to divert my thoughts whenever they turn to romance. It’s been an uphill battle even when I refused seeing him, but since he stepped back into my life I—deep down I know that eventually I will succumb to my weakness for him.
I might keep my distance in real life, but in my sleep he comes to me with hair like burnished copper and eyes the color of old gold, bright and luminous as if they hold the power of a small sun.
It’s then that my mind recalls him in a series of details I’ve collected the way a magpie steals shiny things.
The way his hair flows when he moves. The exact shade of his gaze when he cocks his head and listens, or the quiet confidence in his shoulders.
I could rearrange my entire world around him.
I almost did when I took his hand and followed him to the Nightmare realm, but despite the pain and horror I’ve been through, I still dream of his warm scent enveloping me like the warmest, softest of blankets.
And just like that, I follow him into a courtly dance like a moth fluttering around the flame.
Is that what obsession is? A burning desire that can’t be extinguished regardless of the risk or cost?
“You’re not a bad dancer yourself,” Tristan laughs after I step on his foot.
It’s hard to focus even on following his lead when I want to press my face under his jaw and lick. I know it’s unreasonable, and because I made the topic of courting me taboo, I don’t even know where he stands by now. Have I pushed myself into the friendzone? Isn’t that what I wanted?
At least Lady is a distraction as she bounces around us with so much excitement two books fall off a shelf, and the glasses tremble on the table.
I laugh, briefly hiding my face in the fine embroidery at the front of his shirt. “Sure. If destroying your toes is the goal of this dance, I definitely am.”
“The song is called “The War of Love”, so maybe that’s how you’re waging it?”
Does he have to also be funny and make me feel so at ease?
“So you’re saying that you’re the one losing?” I tease.
“Depends how you define winning the war of love,” Tristan says, and at the crescendo of the violin music, he tips me back abruptly, in complete control of the move.
His breath smells of sweet cherin, and his hair slides over my cheek, and I want… I want…
Lady bumps into our legs as if she wants to join us, but she’s too big, it’s too abrupt, and we topple.
I brace myself for incoming pain, but Tristan somehow cushions the back of my head with his hand before it can hit the floor. The reality of our position hits me instantly. His leg presses against my crotch, burning my inner thighs, but he’s cradling me, careful not to put his weight on top.
He’s always so protective.
“Tristan,” I rasp, my voice soft and breathy as I spread my palms on his torso.
“I’m sorry. Lady can be so naughty.” He frowns and points his finger at her. “Bad!”
But I have eyes only for him, for the flush on his pale skin, the copper eyelashes, for the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. He’s not making a move on me, at least not an obvious one, but I sense his heart beating frantically under my fingers, as if it wants to leap into my hands.
And while the desire, the yearning, have been constant companions, fear is noticeably absent, as if my knight has managed to drive it away.
He laughs, once again looking down at me, and I lean in, my lips meeting his in an electric kiss.