Chapter 11 #2
I locate my size quickly, and I can’t help but smile once I’ve slid the fabric over my body.
It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever worn. The sweetheart neckline will do wonders for my bust once I’ve figured out how to tighten this corset by myself, while the skirt has an airy, lightweight feel. Tiny beads sparkle along the hem.
Unfortunately, my predictions about corset trouble were correct, because the ties are on the back.
I reach around, fingers grappling for the string, my body attempting to twist in a direction it simply cannot go, and honestly, whoever designs these dresses don’t have single people in mind.
Some of us are too alone to have anybody to ask for help.
Except a rap at the door tells me I’m not as alone as I thought.
‘You’ve only just left,’ I say, keeping the loose corset clutched to my chest as I wrench the door open. ‘I need at least . . .’
I trail off when I realise Astin is also in party attire.
My brain freezes. Astin wearing new clothes is like him suggesting a Souleater isn’t evil.
It simply doesn’t happen. Worse, it transpires that Astin looks good in other forms of clothing.
The crisp white shirt contrasts with his dark hair and tanned skin, while the jacket, a shade of green so deep it’s almost black, is more form-fitting than the battered one he refuses to replace.
My gaze travels lower to discover his trousers are equally tight, emphasising his thighs in a way that has me clenching mine.
Abruptly, I step back. My mind may have committed to my spinster plan, but once again, my body hasn’t caught up. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’
‘Same reason you’re dressed like . . .’ Now it’s his turn to assess me, scanning my exposed collar bone before dipping lower to the curve of my waist, where it lingers on my hips for several beats before flicking back to my face.
His pupils are dark. My thighs clench harder.
‘Like that.’ He unfastens the top button of his shirt and tugs on the collar like it’s choking him. ‘This outfit’s too tight.’
‘Oh dear,’ I say faintly. I’m sure I’ve seen his exposed throat before, but everything feels unfamiliar in this strange place; we’re two jigsaw pieces that were removed from a complete puzzle and now can’t find a way to reconnect. I fan my face. ‘Is it warm in here?’
‘A little,’ he huffs. ‘How much longer are you going to be?’
His trousers bunch harder around his thighs as he leans against the door frame, one leg crossed in front of the other.
‘Uh-huh,’ I say, trying not to stare.
I am absolutely staring.
‘Daisy.’
‘Mm?’ I think there’s something in his pocket. I hope there’s something in his pocket. Oh, hexes. What if there isn’t something in his pocket? What if I’m blatantly staring at . . . I whimper.
‘What is wrong with you?’ The tetchiness in his voice slices through my increasingly panicked deliberations about what may or may not be in his trousers.
‘Nothing,’ I squeak. ‘I told you, I’m hot. I got in a bother with –’ I make another attempt at pulling the corset’s strings. ‘Could you help me?’
He blinks several times as though the request is confusing in some way, then clears his throat and crosses the space between us.
With surprising deftness, he begins fixing whatever mess I’ve made, his knuckles brushing my back as he loops the string through the correct grommets.
The touch is feather-light, but I feel it in my bones.
Instinctively, I lean into him, and despite my complaints I’m too warm, the heat searing from his chest is like peace, like sinking into a hot bath after a hard day.
He tenses behind me, but doesn’t shift away, even though I must be making his job difficult.
One sharp tug later, and the corset is firmly in place, before the string is tied into a knot at the base of my back.
When he’s finished, he still doesn’t move. His hand lands on my hip.
I freeze, all my focus going to that hand, to the way it curves around me, the way it squeezes ever so slightly.
The only sound in the room is our united breaths, both a little too quick, and I try to tell myself the added constraint from the corset is the reason my lungs are struggling.
The reason my heart pounds against my ribcage.
His other hand runs over my shoulder, brushing away hair that’s come loose from my plait, before sliding down my arm until he’s holding my wrist in a loose grasp. I can’t bring myself to move an inch.
We’re only stood like that for a few seconds, and yet it feels more impactful than any hour we’ve spent together at the inn, and when he steps back it feels as though I’ve had something torn away from me.
He rakes a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me. ‘What did you and Damian talk about? You were in there ages.’
‘Um. He said . . .’ The words catch in my throat.
If Astin knows Damian is after the Souleater, the one who killed his sister, he’ll be determined to make the killing blow.
He won’t let the cure out of his sight until Damian has led us straight to them, which means I won’t get my chance to take it.
Or, worse, he won’t want to wait for the cure at all.
But if they’re as dangerous as Damian says, Astin won’t have a chance against them if they’re at full power.
I have to keep him out of harm’s way. ‘He said he didn’t want anyone causing trouble at the party. What did he say to you?’
‘The same, mostly. Asked about my motivations for entering. Promised me he’d get me everything I wanted if I succeeded.’
Interesting. He probably said the same to everybody he met, apart from me. He never asked me about my motivations because he saw my hexmark and assumed I’d prioritise revenge over anything else.
But I won’t. I’ll never.
‘Dais? Are you sure that’s all he said to you? You’re shaking.’
‘I’m fine.’ Astin gave me zero time to do anything about my hair, so I settle for pulling it free from its braid and fluffing it with my fingers, which I’m not sure helps, given the way Astin can’t stop looking at it tumbling over my shoulders once I’ve finished.
For a final touch, I pull a thick bracelet from my bag to cover my hexmark.
‘Let’s go. I can’t wait to see what a joy you are at parties. ’
‘I don’t dance,’ he says flatly. ‘Just so you know.’
I grin and pat his chest. ‘We’ll see.’