Chapter 27 - Chelsea
Chelsea
As we walk down the hall toward the grand entrance, I ask him, “Will you be comfortable tonight?”
He angles his head toward me. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You hate big crowds.”
“This one is small.”
“So you hate it less.”
He barks a laugh, and seeing his smile brighten his entire face makes my heart drum against my ribs.
I look away.
“I know these people,” he explains. “Strangers are different.”
“Judgmental.”
He eyes me with surprise, as if he just noticed I was standing beside him. “Yes. Exactly.”
Eryx studies me for another moment before we reach the entrance.
Stave tugs on the cuffs of his dark suit. “Evening. Mistress, you look spectacular.”
“Thank you.”
Eryx’s hold on my arm tightens. “Are you ready?”
There’s a beat where I realize I’m crossing a threshold. In this moment there are two choices: nod my head meekly and stew in insecurity.
Or raise my head and own this.
With Eryx beside me, dressed so spectacularly, and with the heat wafting off his body, there’s no part of me that wants to deny the truth.
I lift my chin. “I’m ready.”
He leans in and says only loud enough for me to hear, “There’s still time. You can turn back.”
It’s my turn to press my lips to his ear. He shivers, sending a little thrill zinging down my body. “That moment vanished yesterday.”
He swallows and pulls back. “Announce us,” he tells Stave, though he keeps his gaze on me.
Stave throws open the double doors, and I force myself to look away from Eryx and not sink into those crystal blue eyes.
The first thing that strikes me is the candlelight. Eryx has replaced the amethyst magic swirling inside the globes for amber light.
The white marble floor glistens, and a line of mirrors along the back wall make the space feel open.
And nestled on the credenzas and tables are roses—black and gold roses, a hillside of them.
My breath catches and I shoot him a questioning look. He’s not looking at me, but one corner of his mouth ticks up as if he knows what I’m thinking.
He’s showing the world our roses. Even if he didn’t announce that they came from us, he’s displayed them.
Him doing that makes my chest warm.
I bite down on my bottom lip as he escorts me to the top of the stairs. We look out and there’s my family—including ghost Nana—and other people I don’t recognize but who must be important to Eryx.
And I kinda want to get to know them.
Eryx lifts my hand. “May I present my wife, Chelsea Thornrose—”
I clear my throat.
Eryx lifts his brows.
“Nightshade,” I whisper.
His eyes drop sheepishly and he starts again. “Correction—Chelsea Nightshade, the Queen of Nightmares.”
When he says my new name—our name—his voice catches. Just barely. But I hear it.
And something in his eyes shifts. Relief, maybe. Or pride.
A timid smile sweeps across my face as everyone claps. Eryx escorts me down the stairs, where my family immediately surrounds us. He releases his hold on my hand, and I look back at him as my father approaches.
Eryx’s gaze cuts to me, and he nods, silently telling me he’s not going far away.
Why is it that I want him to stay close?
My father shakes Eryx’s hand, and my mother gives me a hug. “How are things?”
“They’re good,” I reply because they are.
“We’ve been worried, but Elmore came and told us you were safe.”
My eyebrows lift. “You’re the ones who let me get married.”
Mama’s gaze flicks to Eryx. “He’s not as scary as we thought he would be.”
I glance over at him as he introduces my father to someone. The edges of my mouth curl into a smile. “He’s not as scary as I imagined, either.”
He’s not scary at all.
My entire family showed up for the party, even Addison and Blair, who are currently married. Addison is married to Feylin, who rules over the fae, and Blair’s married to her high-school sweetheart, Devlin.
Addison even brought her new baby.
“I admit, I was worried when they told me about Eryx,” she murmurs after I say hello. “But from the way he looks at you, you’re in good hands.”
My head swivels to find him. He stands on the other side of the room, talking to guests. Maybe it’s the magical pull between us; maybe he’s just hyperfocused. But as soon as my gaze lands on him, he looks over and gives me the faintest of smiles.
“He certainly is handsome,” Blair adds.
“Excuse me,” her husband, Devlin, chimes in, and we laugh.
“I just want to see the baby,” I say, picking up little Emma and cradling her to my chest. She’s six months old and is so precious.
“What about the nightmares?” Addison asks.
“He doesn’t cause them. He stops them,” I explain.
“So he’s not a monster.”
The baby spits out her pacifier, and I hand it to Addison. “No, he’s not a monster at all.”
Dinner is amazing—it’s a roast and lobster, and by the time we get around to cutting the cake, I’m pretty much stuffed. But when Stave wheels it out, I nearly fall over.
Three tiers tall and beautifully iced—simple white, elegant, regal.
Eryx, who’s seated beside me, offers his hand. “Would you like to do the honors?”
“We’re just cutting the cake, right?”
“Right.” He winks. Winks! The Nightmare King winks! “No magic. I promise.”
The line is a throwback to when we first danced, and even though the words are simple, they feel so charged my cheeks heat.
I slip my hand over his. Electricity shoots up my arm, and I swallow down the buzz that’s taken over me. But it’s impossible to ignore how my body responds to him, how it comes to life when he’s near.
Stave hands me the cake cutter, and I hold it just over the top tier.
Eryx stands so close to me I stop breathing, and when he gently pushes the knife into the cake and we dish up one slice, the whole time I’m not focused on cake.
All my concentration is on Eryx—his soap and musk scent, the heat of his body, how his touch brings me to life.
My mind is reeling by the end of the party. We say good night to all the guests, and I hug my family. It’s then I realize that Ovie didn’t come.
“Where’s Ovie?” I ask Mama as she slips on a light coat.
She shakes her head. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
I drag my teeth over my bottom lip, contemplating what to say. After a moment I spit out, “I saw Charlie here the night of the ball. He was talking to a woman. Like he was…”
“Flirting?”
I nod.
Mama sighs. “That’s Charlie for you. Thank you for letting me know.”
“Are you going to tell Ovie?”
“No.”
My jaw falls. “What? Why not?”
“Because I didn’t see it, so it’s not my story to tell. It’s yours.”
Wait. “I can’t say anything.”
“Because you don’t want to hurt her? I understand that, but sometimes you have to do scary things.”
Don’t I know that? I just married a stranger.
Did Ovie feel this way when she married Charlie? This hopeful? This certain he'd be different?
And look how that turned out. My eyes find Eryx across the room, laughing at something my father said. He catches my gaze and his expression softens.
Eryx isn't Charlie. I know that. But how did Ovie not know? How do you ever really know?
Mama gives me one last hug. “Maybe you can bring your husband by for Sunday dinner.”
I force a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
My family leaves and I turn to Eryx, who stands just off to the side, his hands in his pockets.
His blue eyes are fixed on me. His gaze feels like a caress.
“How do you think that went?” he asks.
“Good. My family likes you.”
He nods. “And you?”
“I think you’re all right.”
He huffs a laugh. “Time for bed.”
Echo follows us through the manor, and even though I’m tired, the urge to soak up as much Eryx as I can makes my stomach flip. “The food was amazing. And that cake! How did Darla find time to make it?”
“She’s incredible.”
“She really is. How long has she been here?”
“Since before I was born.”
Our footsteps bounce off the gray stone walls as we slowly walk. I wonder if Eryx is thinking the same thing I am, that I hope this night never ends.
“She sounds loyal,” I tell him.
“She is. They all are. Nancy, too.” He’s silent for a moment. “I was thinking…” He rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe the manor could use some color.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a lot of gray and silver. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t think you can have too much gray or silver.”
He smirks. “It could use some red, maybe?”
“Red?” I reply, my tone disapproving.
“Blue?
I frown. “Blue?”
He sighs. “Pink?”
“Now we’re talking.”
“But not too much.” We’ve reached my door and he stops. “Maybe a few pops of color.”
He stares down at me, and the corners of his eyes are soft as if whatever shields he usually has up have vanished.
“Pink is a good idea.”
“But just a few pops,” he says again, as if trying to make sure I don’t go overboard.
I will for sure go overboard.
“Not too much,” I say, pretending to agree.
He studies me for a moment, and the air around us buzzes. His eyes drop to my lips. My eyes drop to his, and I think, This is it; he’s going to kiss me.
He bends down and I ready myself.
When his mouth touches my cheek instead of my lips, disappointment floods through me.
But then his lips linger. Warm. Soft. His breath ghosts across my skin. And somehow that makes it more intimate than if he'd kissed my mouth.
I lean into it, eyes closing, memorizing this—how he smells, how his hand steadies my waist, how my heart drums so loud I'm sure he can hear it.
And then it’s over.
He pulls back and his eyes flick to my door. “Keep it open?”
I nod. “Keep it open.”