Chapter 22 Same Room
The car was quiet.
Kaelen waited. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then away. He knew better than to push. He had worked for Dorian long enough to understand that some questions did not get answers.
Dorian watched the city pass by. The lights blurred together. Red and gold and white.
"That’s not a question I’m going to answer," he said finally. "Not tonight."
Kaelen nodded. "Understood, sir."
"Some things need to stay secret. For now." Dorian’s voice was low. "The timing isn’t right."
He did not say anything else. Kaelen did not ask again.
The car drove on through the night.
*
Midnight came slow.
Veyra had fallen asleep on the bed in the second-floor bedroom. She had not meant to. She had only lain down to rest her eyes for a moment. But the day had been long. The fire had been warm. And her body had given up.
She dreamed of her mother.
In the dream, her mother was young. Healthy. Her hair was dark and thick. Her hands were soft. She was baking something in a kitchen that smelled like cinnamon and sugar.
You’re going to be okay, her mother said. You’re stronger than you think.
Veyra wanted to answer. But the dream was fading. Something was pulling her back.
A knock on the door.
She sat up. Her heart was pounding. The fire had died down to embers. The room was dark.
Another knock.
"Veyra."
Dorian’s voice was low.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor. She walked to the door and pressed her ear against the wood.
"What?"
"The door is locked."
She blinked. Locked? She had not locked it. Had she?
She turned the lock. The bolt slid back with a click. She opened the door.
Dorian stood in the hallway. His tie was loose and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. He looked tired. His gray eyes moved past her, into the room.
"This is my bedroom," he said.
Veyra’s stomach dropped.
"What?"
"My bedroom." He stepped past her into the room. "Solene must have put you in here by mistake. The other guest rooms are being cleaned."
Veyra turned to look at him. He was standing by the fireplace now, his back to her, his hands in his pockets.
"I didn’t know," she said. "No one told me."
"I know." He turned to face her. "It’s fine. You can stay."
She looked around the room. The bed she had been sleeping in. The dresser against the wall. The suitcase by the door. Her suitcase. His room.
"We’re married," she said slowly. "In the eyes of everyone else, we’re supposed to share a room."
"Yes."
"So if I leave—"
"People will talk." He finished her sentence. "Servants talk. Family talks. News gets back to my grandmother."
She understood. The old woman was fragile. The old woman had almost died today. If she found out that her grandson’s new wife was sleeping in a separate room, it would cause questions. Stress. Maybe another episode.
"Fine," Veyra said. "I’ll stay."
She walked back to the bed and sat on the edge. The mattress dipped under her weight.
Dorian did not move.
"You can have the bed," he said. "I’ll take the sofa."
The sofa was on the other side of the room. It was small. Too small for a man his size. But she did not argue. She was too tired to argue.
"Okay," she said.
He walked to the closet. Pulled open the door. Reached up to a high shelf. His shirt pulled tight across his shoulders. She looked away.
He was reaching for a blanket.
His fingers caught the edge of something soft. Pale pink. Lacy.
He pulled it down by accident.
Her bra.
It dangled from his fingers like a flag. Pale pink. Definitely not something she wanted him to see.
The room went very quiet.
Veyra’s face caught fire. Her cheeks burned. Her ears burned. Her whole body burned.
Dorian looked at the bra. Then he looked at her. His expression did not change. But something flickered in his gray eyes. Something that made her stomach flip.
"Yours?" he asked.
She could not speak. She nodded.
He held it out to her. She crossed the room in three fast steps. Snatched it from his hand. Her fingers brushed his. His skin was warm.
She did not look at him. She could not look at him.
She shoved the bra into her suitcase. Zipped it closed and turned away.
"Sorry," she muttered. "I didn’t know you were going to be in here. I haven’t had time to unpack."
"It’s fine." His voice was neutral. "I’ll get the blanket from the other closet."
He walked to the bathroom. The door closed behind him.
Veyra stood in the middle of the room with her heart pounding and her face burning and her hands shaking.
She had never been so embarrassed in her entire life.
She heard the water start in the bathroom.
He was taking a shower.
She stood there for a moment, frozen. Then she moved. Fast. She pulled back the covers on the bed. She climbed in and then she pulled the blankets up to her chin.
She closed her eyes.
She tried to breathe.
The water ran. She heard it through the door. The sound of it hitting the tiles. The sound of it hitting his skin.
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
Stop it, she told herself. Stop thinking about it.
She could not stop thinking about it.
The water stopped.
She heard the shower door open. The rustle of a towel. The soft sound of footsteps on the bathroom floor.
The bathroom door opened.
She kept her eyes closed. Her breathing was shallow. She tried to make it deep and even. Tried to make it look like she was asleep.
She heard him walk across the room. His footsteps were soft. Bare feet on the carpet.
He stopped.
Right beside the bed.
She could feel him. The warmth of him. The weight of his presence. He was standing there. Looking at her.
She did not move. Did not even try to breathe.
What was he doing?
She felt the mattress shift. He was leaning over. Closer. She could smell him now, soap with warm skin, clean and male.
Her heart was slamming against her ribs. She was sure he could hear it.
His hand moved. The blanket near her shoulder shifted. He was tucking it in. Pulling it up higher. Covering her.
Then his fingers brushed her cheek.
Just a touch. Light and barely there.
He pulled his hand back.
She heard him walk away. The sofa creaked under his weight. The blanket rustled as he pulled it over himself, and then finally the room fell silent.
She lay there in the dark, her heart still pounding and her cheek still warm where his fingers had touched her.
She did not sleep.
She listened to him fall asleep.