Chapter 8 Azalea
Azalea
To my utter annoyance, Braxton was nowhere to be found yesterday. I even hunted down Gravesley to see if he could point me in the right direction, but the only information he could provide was that Braxton was busy with a private matter.
At first, I was worried that he somehow caught wind of the plan Rhoden and I hatched, but when he didn’t show up for dinner, which was a first, I knew that wasn’t the case.
This morning, I’m refusing to let him avoid me again.
I pick out a flaxen-colored dress with gold detailing adorning the bodice.
At first glance, it appears the detailing is an array of swirls, but upon closer inspection, it becomes apparent that it’s actually tiny bunches of flowers.
The skirt of the dress flows down to the ground, and the ruffle sleeves slip down off my shoulders, exposing my neck and chest. This dress shows far more skin than I typically do around Braxton, and I’m hoping it will get his attention.
I refrain from wearing any jewelry to keep myself looking as bare as possible, and when Rhoden comes to help me with my hair, I decide to let my freshly washed and styled curls flow down my back.
After I paint a soft blush color on my lips and cheeks and smudge a small amount of kohl around the corners of my eyes, I get ready to find Braxton.
While I hate most aspects of living in this castle, I would be lying if I said getting to dress like this isn’t one of the perks.
On occasion, I’ve even wondered if, after I break the curse, I’ll be allowed to take these clothes with me back home.
I’m not sure where I would wear the lavish gowns hanging inside my wardrobe, but I fear I would miss them too much, and I could never leave any of them behind. They’re all too pretty.
I don’t realize how much my daydreams of breaking free of this castle and taking all of my dresses with me have occupied my thoughts until the door to Braxton’s study bursts open in front of me, and I realize I must have been standing there lost to my thoughts instead of knocking on the door.
Quickly hiding my startled expression, I do my best to replace it with a smile that I’m hoping doesn’t look crazed. I try to recall if I’ve ever smiled at Braxton before, and by the worrisome widening of his eyes, I’m guessing I haven’t.
“You’re smiling.” His tone holds a question, but I’m not entirely sure how to answer it.
“I am,” I confirm, not wiping the strained smile from my face.
“Are you well?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. The smallest hint of amusement laces his question.
As per usual, his hair is perfectly pushed back and out of his eyes, with the exact right amount of strands falling in front of his face to look annoyingly attractive. He has his sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons of his cream-colored shirt undone.
Squinting my eyes, I look more closely and see a multitude of wrinkles lining his shirt, and when I bring my attention back to his face I can see the faintest hint of purple rimming underneath his eyes.
“It appears I should be asking you that question?”
He scoffs before leaning against the doorway and studying me.
“You’re all dressed up.”
“I thought I might walk the gardens.”
“Not too cold for you?” he taunts, lifting a brow.
I bite back the retort I want to throw in his face and attempt another smile. Based on his pinched brows, I imagine it doesn’t look much better than the first.
“I thought maybe you could accompany me. If you’re not too busy with your personal matters.” I can’t help the edge I let slip into my voice, clearly showing my annoyance at being avoided yesterday.
Braxton reaches forward with the back of his palm coming toward my forehead. I immediately step away from him, my features contorting with confused frustration.
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Good to have you back.” He smirks. “I was only going to check to see if you’re running a fever.”
My lips form a hard line, and I say nothing as I continue to glare at him. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. How am I supposed to tolerate him, nonetheless pretend to like or even love him?
Taking a deep breath, I try to find a sense of calm and balance, reminding myself that if I succeed, I get to go home. Clearing my throat, I look up at him with the nicest expression I can muster.
“I thought if we are going to be spending so much time together, we might as well try to at least tolerate one another’s company.”
“You sure do know how to make a guy feel special.”
“I didn’t realize my job was to make you feel special,” I snap. I know I’m failing horribly at being nice to him, but I don’t understand why he has to make it so difficult.
“It’s not.” Braxton leans in so close I can smell his familiar musky cologne waft around me before he says his next words. “Your job is to do whatever the fuck I tell you to.”
My jaw hardens to the point where I swear I hear a pop. I refuse to let him bait me. Deciding to try a different approach, I replace my hardened expression with one of disappointment. From my experience, men hate to see a woman on the verge of tears.
“I just thought I’d make a suggestion. I apologize if I disturbed you.” The apology tastes like bile on my tongue, but I force it out all the same. Turning away from him, I give him one look over my shoulder. “I’ll see you at dinner then.”
As I walk away from him, I get one… two… three steps before I hear him curse under his breath.
“Azalea, I’m sorry.”
I stop walking, curious if his apology tasted just as bitter as mine had. I don’t turn around because I don’t want him to see my triumphant smile. This worked so well that he even dropped that dreadful nickname he has for me.
“It was a rough night,” he continues when I don’t say anything in response. “A walk in the garden does sound… nice.”
I notice the hesitation in his voice, and I momentarily wonder if Rhoden had it all wrong and he finds being civil with me to be as uncomprehendingly difficult as I find it to be with him.
“But not today. Maybe at dinner we can come up with a plan for a different day to walk the gardens?”
I realize I actually have to respond to that since it was a question. Turning around, I feign the same hurt expression, finding it far easier of a facade to keep up than being happy, and I nod. “I’ll see you at dinner.” I give a sad smile before turning around again to walk away.
“See you at dinner,” he says, and I can feel his eyes watching me the entire time I’m walking away until I turn the corner.
The moment I’m out of his sight, I exhale a sigh of relief. I’m definitely going to have to brush up on my acting skills if I have any hopes of succeeding in this, but that first interaction went far better than I could have hoped.
Smiling to myself, I shake my head as I think about how men are so easy to manipulate. A couple of sad expressions, and I had him completely fooled. For the first time since concocting this plan, I think I might actually have a chance of pulling it off.