Episode 125 The Way It Should Have Gone
The Way It Should Have Gone
When Cerian leads Arisanna to the table near the front of the empty reception hall, he holds out a chair. She sits as he pushes it in for her and takes a seat beside her.
“Now what?” she whispers.
“Now you imagine a wedding feast with all your favorite foods.”
“My favorite foods? What about—”
But he cuts off her words with a kiss.
“Yours,” he whispers when he pulls away, leaving his forehead pressed to hers. “I want to know what you love.”
“But—”
He kisses her again. Is he going to do that every time she protests?
The hint of berries hits her tongue just before a vine slithers around her ankle, and he pulls back and laughs a little breathlessly. “My magic wants you. Forgive me.”
“Just your magic?”
“Is it ever just my magic?” His thumb grazes her ear, and he takes a slow breath before straightening in his chair. “I wish for all of Arisanna’s favorite foods.”
“Cerian—”
He tilts his head toward her, his lips in a lopsided grin. “I can keep this up all night.”
When he finds her in another gentle kiss, she struggles not to laugh.
A full spread of food sits on the table when he lets her go.
“See?” Cerian says. “The heartlanding is on my side.” His brows wrinkle as he studies the platters and bowls on the table. “You really love soup, don’t you?”
“Maybe. It makes me feel—”
“Warm?” He wraps his arm around her bare shoulders. “You don’t need soup for that. Not anymore.” He floods her with his own heat, and she leans her head on his shoulder.
He’s so happy tonight. It’s hard not to smile in return.
“So, tell me what everything is,” he says, not letting go of her.
“All right.” She names and describes each dish the heartlanding provided. Clearly, the heartlanding knows her well.
“I am going to start with...this.” He reaches for the lobster bisque. He’ll probably end there, too. Everything else has chunks in it. The thought makes her smile, as does the fact that he’s acting perfectly happy to be surrounded by foods that might upturn his stomach if he tried them.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“I believe I will have what you’re having.”
He ladles the soup into a bowl for her as well, and with a glance his way, she reaches for her spoon. He seems a little hesitant as his own spoon hovers over the bisque, but he draws the smallest sip to his lips as she tries to focus on her own bowl and not on him.
Which is impossible since he’s all she can think about right now.
“This is edible,” he says as he stares down at his soup, and Arisanna chokes. He turns sheepish eyes toward her. “Forgive me. I should have kept that to myself.”
She laughs as she reaches for the glass of what looks like champagne beside her plate and takes a sip. Then she almost chokes again. “This is not champagne.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” She takes another sip and smiles. “I know what it is. You should try it. I think you’ll like it.”
Hesitantly, he lifts his own fluted glass. “What should I expect? Besides the bubbles?”
How he hates being surprised.
“Apples,” she says softly, and he draws it to his lips.
“It’s fizzy cider,” he breathes after he swallows.
“I believe so.”
“Is that a real thing? Because if it is, I would like to bring some home with us.” He takes a longer drink, and she smiles.
“If it isn’t, we’ll have to suggest it to someone. Because it should be.”
“I wholeheartedly agree.” He takes another sip before setting down his glass. “How hungry are you?”
“Not very. Are you suggesting we be done eating, my elven prince? Eager to move on to other things?”
His lips twitch into a smile, and he laughs. “Probably too eager for my own good.”
She angles toward him and gently plays with a lock of his dark hair. Then she slides her hand behind his neck and pulls him into a simmering kiss. When she runs her thumb along his ear, he groans and deepens the kiss.
He definitely tastes like smoke and berries now. The thought pools heat in her belly.
Especially when his hand finds her knee exposed by that scandalous slit he added to her gown.
He pulls away, breathing out slowly. “I’ll need water soon if you keep kissing me like that. And it’s not time for that yet.”
The “yet” just adds to her own heat. Hopefully, the heartlanding doesn’t pull them out of this night any time soon.
“Dance with me, Arisanna,” he whispers, his hand still on her leg. “The way this should have gone.”
“I would love to.”
As he stands and holds a hand toward her, the intensity in his eyes makes it hard to breathe, but she places her hand in his, and he helps her to her feet.
After leading her to the middle of the dance floor, he takes her perfectly in his arms as if he’s been doing this his whole life.
For a lingering moment, she gazes into his gorgeous eyes.
Then music fills the hall, and he steps into the dance without hesitating.
His hand is gentle on her back, the pressure perfect as he signals his movements to her, and they get lost in this dance.
He spins her right on cue, pulling her back into his arms with so much heat in his gaze that her mouth runs dry.
But he keeps going, dance after never-ending dance as they forget everything waiting for them back in the real world and just exist in this place where it’s only them, and she follows his every step.
She really would follow him anywhere, especially on a dance floor.
As the song winds down, he pulls her to his chest. His hands are so warm. All of him is warm where her body molds to his.
“Cerian,” she breathes.
And no more words are needed. They’re all contained within a glance full of desire and devotion.
“We need to cut the cake next,” he murmurs near her ear, and his words pull her out of the spell he holds over her.
“Cake?” She doesn’t want to cut cake. She just wants him. “We don’t need to cut the cake, do we?”
“I think we do.”
She barely resists a whimper.
“The heartlanding agrees. Look.”
She follows his gaze to the cart holding a re-creation of the cake they struggled to cut and eat at their wedding feast.
“That’s a lot of cake for the two of us,” she says.
“We won’t eat much. Just a few bites. Come on.” He grabs her hand and pulls her toward the cart, and she follows.
The sooner they finish this, the sooner they can move on to other things.
He offers the knife to her, and once she takes it, he covers her hand with his own. He must remember this part.
His chest is warm at her back as they use the knife together to cut a small slice out of the cake.
“Do you want a fork?” she asks softly when she turns to face him, but he shakes his head.
“The cake isn’t even real. It won’t harm me to touch it.” His tone is much less sure than his words are, but she refrains from pointing that out.
For her. He’s doing all of this for her.
“You are amazing,” she says as she caresses his cheek. Stars above. There’s frosting on her fingers.
And on his cheek.
Maybe he won’t notice.
She pulls her hand back and lowers it to her side, and he frowns.
“Did you get frosting on me?”
Clearing her throat, she hides her sticky fingers behind her back. “Frosting?”
He’s quick, though, and he grabs her wrist, holding it up between them. There’s definitely frosting on her fingers.
“Sorry?” She offers him a sheepish smile. “It was an accident. I’m a disaster.”
He leans close to her, and her heart speeds up. What is he doing?
“My disaster.” He pulls away and gazes into her eyes as he trails a finger down her cheek.
A playful grin fills his face, and her eyes narrow as she feels her cheek and pulls back a hand covered in frosting.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
He shrugs. “It’s not real. At least that’s what I keep reminding myself.”
“So we can just wish the stickiness away?”
“I hope so.”
“Then you won’t mind if I do this?” She takes a finger full of frosting and flicks it at his cheek.
“That was an act of war.”
“You started it, my elven prince.”
“I believe you started it.”
“That was an accident.”
“I’m not certain it matters.” He leans close again. “You might wish to run.”
Run? Stars above.
There’s no way she can outrun him, but she kicks off her shoes, hikes up her skirt, and takes off anyway.
She doesn’t get far before a glob of cake and frosting hits her shoulder.
This is definitely war.
Circling back, she barely dodges another glob of frosting before digging her hand into the cake.
Mother would be horrified.
Arisanna flings the cake at Cerian’s face, but he obliterates it with his fire magic before it even gets close.
“No fair using your magic!”
“It’s an instinct!”
She flings more cake at him, but he dodges it.
He’s better at this than she is.
Faster than she can move, he lobs more cake at her, and it hits her upper chest as frosting drips past the sweetheart neckline inside her gown.
“Cerian!” she laughs. “Was that on purpose?”
“I refuse to answer that question.”
“Uh-huh. Are we done cutting the cake yet?” She wanders toward him, and he wraps his arms around her waist as she sets her hands on his chest and gazes up into his eyes.
“Are you surrendering?”
“To you? Always.”
His smile grows, and he steals a kiss.
That may have been a bit brazen, but she can’t bring herself to care. Not tonight.
“I wish we weren’t sticky or covered in frosting,” he whispers.
When nothing happens, his smile fades.
“I wish the cake would go away,” she tries.
What’s left of the cake on the cart vanishes, but the frosting coating them both remains, and Cerian’s eyes grow wide with the beginnings of panic. His heart even speeds up.
“Deep breath, my elven prince. It’s just sugar.”
“But I’m sticky. The heartlanding is a cruel place.” He says it as if being sticky is the most horrible fate imaginable, and she does her best not to smile.
“I suppose we’ll have to wash up.”
He exhales slowly and nods. “Then we can continue our night.”
“No, Cerian.” She pulls him into a soft kiss. “We should wash up. Together.”
He stiffens against her before relaxing and finding her lips again in a kiss full of all the heat he must have been suppressing.
“Run, Cerian,” she says breathlessly when he comes up for air. “And take me with you.”
His smile returns, and he somehow looks even more perfect with frosting coating his face. Without a word, he laces his fingers with hers and takes off, drawing her along with him as she hurries to keep up.