Chapter 28
twenty-eight
HENRY
Morning found Amanda wrapped around as the sun peeked in through my curtains. With no one to see, we’d slept long.
Merv would be eager for breakfast, but I wanted just a little longer pressed up against my girl before heading out into the slushy garden. I’d also need to drop a bottle of the expensive champagne the clients had left with Lisa to thank her for watching my donkey-friend while I went home.
The sun crept in through the half-drawn curtains, dusting everything in pale gold. Sliding a dark tress from her face, I admired my sleeping beauty. So serene. You wouldn’t suspect that the night before we’d been playing fuck-chase through the halls, with her begging to be filled with cum.
Two weeks ago, you couldn’t have convinced me that someone so utterly perfect, so witty, and charming and devilish could walk into my life and upend it so thoroughly. I wanted to keep her. To wrap her in my arms and make her smile every single minute of the day.
She lay curled against me, impossibly peaceful with one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
It had been late by the time we fell asleep.
After our rough first time together, powered by pure need, we’d lain in bed exploring each other at a more leisurely pace.
Finding each other in a slowed, sweeter but no less satisfying way.
Her hair spilt over the pillow in a dark waterfall, mussed where I’d tugged and twisted it. A faint flush lingered across her cheeks, her lips still pink and swollen from endless kisses. And other uses of her pretty mouth.
Looking at her made me ache. How could I be in bed with her and yet yearn for her so thoroughly?
It was like she still lingered in the temporary, the end of her time at Bayview Maor quickly approaching.
She wasn’t a fragile kind of beautiful. She was the type of beautiful you wanted to worship and tease, bite and kiss, pin and torment.
The type that burrowed deep and left a lingering bitemark on your soul.
My finger brushed along her temple, dipping down over her jaw. She shifted, settling closer, seeking my warmth.
My chest tightened with a fierce tenderness I wasn't prepared for
Last night had been…
Christ.
There were no words for it.
She'd given herself to me in ways I'd only imagined in the quietest, most devious corners of my mind.
She'd run from me, bit me, and finally surrender beneath me, taking pleasure like she was born for it.
She'd trembled under my hands and whispered my name into the early hours, branding the night on my bones.
Was it a fling?
Fuck, no.
There existed no universe in which this woman was temporary. I couldn’t fathom it.
I wanted to keep her.
To love her.
To take her home every year, and build our own traditions. To build a life. Was it too fast? Maybe. But I no longer cared. How could you put a timescale on the feelings swelling in my chest?
I wanted her mornings and her evenings, to know her favourite things and her worst habits. I wanted her rolled eyes and bright laughter. I wanted to know every inch of the life she'd lived before she stepped into mine.
The weight of it hit me so swiftly that I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her throat, right where her pulse beat beneath the skin.
She let out a small, sleepy noise that made my stomach clench.
Another kiss, along the curve of her chest.
Another, lower.
She stirred, eyelashes fluttering before she finally cracked one eye open, squinting at me with that half-conscious irritation she got when pulled from sleep.
‘What are you doing?' she said huskily. ‘Why are we waking up when we don’t need to?
I grinned. 'Because I'm very bored without you.'
She made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh, burying her face in the pillow as I grinned like an idiot.
'So, serious question,' I said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back flush to my chest. ’What’s your favourite food?'
‘What?'
'Favourite food,' I repeated, grazing my fingers over her hip. 'And your favourite colour. And an animal. And season. And book. And childhood toy. And smell. And—'
'Oh my God.' She tried pulling the blanket over her head. ‘It’s too early for twenty bloody questions.'
‘No, it’s not. I want to learn everything about you. Right now. I'm starting from the basics. Favourite food. Go.’
She blinked at me, an edge of amusement and horror in her eyes. 'You’re so weird. '
'Thank you,' I said, leaning in to kiss her shoulder.
She groaned, then gave in and laughed. 'Pasta. Blue. Bears. Autumn. Kushiel’s Dart. A stuffed penguin I cried over when my mum threw it out. And cinnamon.'
‘Your mum threw your teddy out?’
‘Mmhmm. When I turned twelve. Apparently, toys are for babies.’
‘Well, you’re my baby. I’ll get you a toy.’
She rolled her eyes, exasperated. ‘I have plenty of the type of toys you’d be interested in.’
‘Filthy bitch,' I said, tugging her on top of me and kissing her.
‘Takes one to know one,’ she said against my lips.
The village hall shone like it was part of an M&S Christmas ad.
Half the village was already gathered inside, confused about the aisle between the usual tables that opened onto the dance floor.
Morag elbowed Isla, Owen’s sister, so hard she nearly toppled over.
‘Something's afoot,' she said, smug as anything. 'I told Alistair over breakfast. Have you ever seen the place decorated to the nines like this?’
Alistair nodded the way men do when they're not entirely sure what they're agreeing with. ‘Aye. This is a lot for the ceilidh. We’re usually lucky if we have a couple of strings of lights. I hope the committee hasn’t footed the bill for this.’
‘We’d need a lot of bake sales to cover it,' Morag added.
Eilidh, wrapped in possibly the sparkliest, pinkest dress I’d ever seen, stood beside Amanda, on the other side of me. ‘Why’s the bar closed?’
Scruff trotted between everyone’s shoes, wearing a tiny tartan bowtie and looking very pleased with himself. For once, Morag’s dog was stickless. A rare occurrence.
Meanwhile, Meowrse, Owen’s selectively favouritism-offering cat, had appeared on the edge of the stage, clearly not one to miss the festivities. Scruff passed him and growled, and with one look, Meowrse sent him packing.
The canopy of lights and foliage about had held up well overnight and, through the day, shimmered like a distant galaxy.
Ivy and holly curled around the beams, a few sprigs of eucalyptus poking through the cedar.
The lanterns cast a honey-warm glow over the wooden floor that had definitely seen more ceilidh dancing than weddings.
Jean stood in the corner bossing around three grown men.
‘No, Kenny, not there. Honestly, if I left you alone for five minutes, this place would look like a jumble sale.’
The ceilidh band broke into a charming folk version of All You Need Is Love. Slightly odd with an accordion and a fiddle, but it did the job.
Amanda's hand found mine as the doors opened, and like magic, the humanist appeared from the side kitchen, taking her place on the dance floor.
Claire walked in on Owen's arm, her dress like something straight from the faerie glens. A deep sage green, covered in tiny amber blooms, with dramatic sheer sleeves.
Gasps and cheers filled the air. A noise from Jean that sounded akin to a ferociously boiling camp kettle.
Claire glowed, her red hair pulled into a loose braid, similarly studded with amber flowers, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Owen was beaming, proud as punch to be marrying his best friend. His soul mate. His kilt swished as he walked through the crowd, hands clapping his shoulders as he passed.
My chest tightened as I fought back a wave of emotion. For Jean, who had joined Jim and beamed at her son. For Owen and Claire, having pulled off their perfectly planned, yet unplanned, wedding. And with the knowing that I wanted that. With Amanda. Come hell or high water.
Scruff barked and chased after Claire’s train until he was scooped up by Eilidh, who gently chastised him.
Meowrse watched from the stage like some epic overlord. Looking ready to give his blessing to two of the few people he actually liked.
Amanda squeezed my fingers.
‘This is perfect,’ she whispered.
'You helped make it perfect.’
‘You look damn fine in your kilt, by the way.’ Amanda said under her breath. I swallowed down my laughter and nudged her.
The ceremony itself was peak Otterleigh.
Jean dabbed her eyes with a tissue that emerged from her sleeve. Jim passed over the rings with all the solemnity of a man with a very important job.
Isla loudly whispered, 'Told you he'd cry,' when Owen's voice wobbled.
Eilidh openly bawled into Scruff’s fur.
When Claire and Owen finally kissed, the room exploded with noise. The fiddler launched into an enthusiastic tune, the rest of the band joining him with gusto. Scruff howled in celebration and then howled again because someone tried to shush him.
Meowrse took that as his cue to bugger off.
Then the ceilidh kicked off in style.
And sparkling, tartan-swirling chaos took over. I spun Amanda around the dance floor until we both grew sweaty and tired.
People spilt across the floor in happy mayhem. Kids darted between dancers, risking life and limb to alleviate boredom as the night wore on. Isla’s husband spun too hard and careened into a table of tablets, sending sugary confectionery flying, much to the joy of the children.
Scruff zigzagged, collecting fallen napkins like they were and tearing them into tiny pieces below the tables.
And right in the middle of it Amanda let me pull her close. She fitted against me so perfectly as we danced, her cheek against my jaw as we spun beneath the lights. Her laughter erupted bright and addictive, and I basked in every second of it.
While we swayed and spun, reeled and bobbed, my mind raced to find a way to convince her to stay. Or to take me with her.
As the night wore on, Claire and Owen danced together, their love so open and easy that it made me ache. My joy for them only increased, having had a sliver of what they’d found.
I wanted it too.