Chapter 10
Chapter ten
A Few Hours Later
After the most decadent sexual experience of my life, Sky and I arrived early afternoon.
Together, which our friends expected.
Nobody knows what happened on the plane—yet. We were provided with separate rooms. Her room is down the hall from mine. I nearly spoke up, but Sky stopped me. She doesn’t want our news to overshadow the wedding, which kinda makes sense.
I’ll play along for now, but I’m not relegating myself to the shadows when it comes to her.
I can be patient for a few days. Not longer.
I’m waiting for her in the gallery above the entry to this ridiculous castle, which runs the length of the east wing. I watch the activity below while footsteps echo faintly from the corridor behind me.
Sky appears. The navy dress she’s wearing is dark and follows the shape of her waist before falling smoothly to her knees. The fabric shifts in quiet folds as she moves. As always, she’s elegant, but not formal enough to appear ceremonial.
Then I notice the heels. They make her legs, which were wrapped around me eight hours ago, look incredible. The memory of how she cried out my name in the cabin of the jet makes me hard.
“You clean up well.” I give her the once-over when she stops in front of me.
This ignites a spark of amusement. “Careful, Zach. Someone might think you’re flirting.”
“Dangerous rumor.”
Stone walls rise on either side of the grand staircase descending toward the dining hall. Lanterns cast warm pools of light on the masonry, smooth from centuries of footsteps. Voices drift upward through the stairwell in soft layers, echoing along the stone before fading into the quiet above us.
I have to admit, it’s regal and princess-y, which is exactly Marisol’s vibe.
Sky walks one step ahead, her manicured hand trailing along the cool stone railing as we move downward. When we arrived earlier, Marisol whisked her to pull her into whatever private rituals brides require before a wedding weekend begins.
I was quickly claimed by Julian and Irving, who insisted I needed to “see the place properly,” which apparently meant a tour of the bar followed by a lengthy discussion about music for the reception over whiskey.
Now those separate currents are flowing back together.
Irving bounds down the stairs behind me. Sky pauses and glances back. I force my attention to the scene below before my moony expression gives anything away.
Irving, who misses nothing, inclines forward. “Subtle.”
“I’m admiring the architecture,” I reply without turning around.
He snorts.
Sky waits for us at the bottom of the staircase. The lantern light catches the violet streak in her hair for a brief moment before it melds back into the darker strands. Our eyes meet again and a flicker of awareness passes between us.
She knows exactly what I’m thinking.
I’m pretty sure she’s thinking it too.
Sadly, we have other obligations tonight. The doors to the dining hall are already open. Accompanied by the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses. Julian and Marisol are waiting for us.
Once we walk through the ornate archway, I’m delighted to discover it’s exactly what I pictured.
A long, wooden table stretches almost the entire length of the hall beneath dark timber beams blackened with age.
Candles flicker down the center beside bowls of flowers and decanted bottles of wine.
Tall windows line one wall, their glass reflecting the movement inside while the countryside beyond fades into the night.
Julian stands near the fireplace, talking animatedly with one of the staff members.
“Symmetry matters,” he insists.
Marisol amusedly watches the exchange with a glass of wine in her hand.
She notices us first. “There you are.”
Julian turns immediately. “Finally.”
Irving has already drifted to the sideboard, studying the line of wine bottles with the focus of a man about to make an important life decision.
A member of the staff appears and gestures politely. “Dinner is ready.”
We all move to take our places. Chairs scrape the stone floor as everyone takes their places. I take the seat directly across from Sky, because it’s the safest option to ensure I keep my hands to myself.
She settles into her seat, smoothing her napkin on her lap as the first course arrives.
A server sets a wide ceramic bowl in front of each of us, steam curling upward into the candlelight.
Brambora?ka, he explains, is potato soup thick with root vegetables, mushrooms, and marjoram. The smell alone is incredible.
“Okay,” Sky lifts her spoon and tastes it, closing her eyes briefly, “I’m sold.”
The second course is pe?ená kachna. Slow-roasted duck, skin crisp and dark with caraway seeds. Braised red cabbage glows deep crimson beside thick slices of potato immersed in rich gravy.
Conversation flows as everyone digs in. Stories overlap. Glasses refill. Irving launches into a description of the band’s rehearsal earlier in the afternoon while Marisol tries unsuccessfully to keep Julian from reorganizing tomorrow’s seating arrangements again.
Sky listens intently, one elbow resting near her wine glass. Every few minutes, her eyes flick back to mine.
Quick. Careful. Electric.
Sví?ková, the next dish arrives. Braised beef sirloin in a creamy root vegetable sauce, garnished with cranberry and whipped cream. Bread dumplings are arranged neatly along the side.
My focus is hardly on the food. Sky looks incredible. From the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she laughs to the faint flush lingering along her collarbone. Our eyes meet again. She holds my gaze this time. Then her foot slides forward under and brushes mine.
I freeze.
She pulls it back immediately and reaches for her wine, pretending nothing happened.
“Zach.” Irving’s voice snaps me back. “You’re staring.”
Sky coughs into her napkin.
“I’m admiring the architecture.” I raise an eyebrow.
Irving glances at the beams overhead. “Again? You seem to be quite taken with this castle.”
Sky’s heel connects sharply with my shin. I almost smile.
Dinner continues in warm waves of conversation as Vep?o-knedlo-zelo, the final savory dish arrives. Roasted pork with sauerkraut and bread dumplings.
Wine flows. Stories stretch. Sky keeps looking at me the same way I’m looking at her. Remembering exactly what we were doing last night and this morning. Planning how and where we’re going to do it again.
Her foot finds mine again. This time it lingers. Then it retreats.
I glance up and she’s turned toward Marisol, nodding along to something about tomorrow’s schedule. She glances over.
The smallest smile appears. Just for me.
Patience.
The word passes between us without a sound, hidden beneath the easy noise of old friends and full glasses of wine. On the surface nothing has changed. Sky chattering animatedly. Me pretending not to stare.
Once this dinner ends and the castle corridors fall quiet, none of the logistics matter.
Not the band. Rehearsal dinner.
Or the seating chart.
Most certainly not the bedroom assigned to me.