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“Oh, that was so embarrassing.”
I couldn’t suppress the giggling any longer. It had been an hour since the ball began, which meant Theresa should have finished setting up Chevalier’s private library for our dinner. I hadn’t been watching the clock, of course, but Chevalier had, and it was easy enough to escape the crowd with his frigid glare on our side. It was funny how he could intimidate people so much with just a single look.
Or maybe that was just the champagne.
“Adèle is usually so prim and proper.” I giggled again, picturing the usually elegant older woman pinching Jin’s arm and flirting with everybody. “I’ve never seen her drink like that before.”
“Today is the anniversary of her husband’s death,” Chevalier said.
Normally, a sentence like that would have ruined the lighthearted mood, especially since Chevalier delivered it in an even, impassive tone, with no inflection to tell me how I should interpret it. I saw the corner of his lip turn up just slightly, though, and that told me it wasn’t something to take too seriously. So, I held onto my smile. And his arm.
Of course, that smirk could have had more to do with all my giggling than the implications of the day for Adèle.
“So, she’s drinking to celebrate or to forget,” I mused, resting my cheek against his arm.
“Or both.”
I shrugged it off. “Well, it’s something to keep in mind for next year. We won’t have to worry about her for the rest of the evening, anyway. Whatever comes after dinner is up to you. Within reason,” I hastened to add at his sideways glance.
He chuckled. “You really are too young for me.”
I feigned a gasp and pulled back. “Not you, too!”
“You are the only one who never considered our age difference,” he replied.
Something about that gave me pause. I tilted my head to the side and studied his teasing smirk. “You never mentioned it before. Did it really bother you? When you found out?”
He didn’t answer immediately. I watched him curiously until he finally glanced down at me and said, “The circumstances of that revelation made it difficult.”
“The circumstances…? Oh.”
I suddenly realized what those circumstances were, and they were certainly difficult. It had been the day after Jack assaulted me. I remembered the surprise in Chevalier’s voice when he made me tell him how long Jack had been harassing me, and then he’d asked how old I was, and my answer further astonished him. But I also remembered how much he’d surprised me by caring. There had been genuine affection in his embrace.
“I can see where that would have been a problem for you,” I said slowly. “Because you already felt something for me, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “The mere thought of another man touching you was distasteful before that occurred, and when I learned your age, I determined I had no business viewing you in a romantic light. It became another item on the list of reasons I shouldn’t concern myself with you.”
I leaned into his side, curling both hands around his arm. This was his birthday, and it was supposed to be fun. “A list?” I asked, deciding to focus on that detail. “What happened to that list?”
Judging by the mischievous sparkle in his crystal blue eyes, I made the right choice for a subject change.
“I discarded it when I realized I no longer cared.”
I knew I was playing with fire now, but I had to ask. “And when was that?”
He smirked, and for the second time today, his eyes slid down me in a way that made my face burn. I smacked his arm.
“Chevalier!”
He leaned in to speak directly into my ear, his voice a low, husky murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. “It was the moment I envisioned you in this dress.”
The breath caught in my throat. My heart skipped several beats, and then it took off running, pounding a frantic beat against my ribs. I hadn’t even realized we’d reached the library, but then the door closed behind us, and my back was against it, and his lips were on mine, stealing what little air I had left. My head was still spinning from him physically spinning me around so quickly, and that sentence swirled with my surprise and the champagne lingering on his tongue to make a dangerous cocktail. His hands slid from my shoulders down my back, pushing me into him as he stepped toward me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, as desperate for his touch as he was insistent in his kiss.
“Chevalier…”
It slipped out between kisses, a needy whimper on my tongue, and he immediately pulled away. I stared up at him in confusion. The same fire burning in his eyes burned at every point of contact between us, and I didn’t want it to stop.
“You need to eat,” he said, taking a step back.
I swallowed and took a deep, clarifying breath. The sudden absence of his touch was as startling as his initial kiss. He was still looking at me, still standing in front of me, still fighting a battle behind those blue eyes, and a glimmer of comprehension dawned on me.
Oh.
I felt my eyes widen, and I looked quickly away from him, clenching my hands into my skirts. “S-sorry, I…”
He sighed and took one of my hands in his. I peeked up at him nervously, and he pulled me back into his arms and pressed a kiss to my forehead, his touch gentler now, though the heat I felt radiating between us hadn’t diminished at all.
“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his eyes holding mine in a steady gaze. “I know your limits, and I allowed you one glass too many.”
His fingers twined with mine, and he turned away, pulling me after him to the unassuming door partially hidden behind some free-standing bookcases. Guilt nagged at my every step.
“Well, I should be responsible enough to count my own drinks,” I muttered.
“At your age?”
His tease baited me into looking up at him again, and that arrogant smirk was back, demanding a response.
“Oh, now, it’s a problem?” I taunted him. “I thought you no longer cared. Isn’t that what you said?”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You’re a danger to yourself, little dove,” he said, his eyes flicking from my eyes to my smile and back again. My heart skipped another beat, but he opened the door instead of kissing me. I shoved down the disappointment and turned my attention to the scene in that little room.
“Oh, this is perfect,” I gasped.
I hadn’t seen the finished product until that moment. Theresa and I had decided it would be safest to leave this room alone until Chevalier and I went to the party, just in case he came here during the day and spoiled the surprise, so all the preparations fell to her. She had tucked our reading chairs and the end table into a corner and replaced them with a small table in the center of the room, covered in a dainty lace tablecloth and adorned with a pair of candles and a vase of red and white roses. The artful arrangement included two sets of silver dishes covering hot food and two long-stemmed wine glasses next to a wine bottle, maximizing space and aesthetic appeal. It was exactly what I wanted: a romantic, quiet, private dinner for two.
“I guess the wine was unnecessary,” I said, sitting in the chair Chevalier pulled out for me. “Unless you—”
I interrupted myself with a gasp when his fine hair brushed against my cheek and his lips pressed into my neck. His fingers grazed my shoulders as he pushed the chair in, and then he strolled around the table to his seat, as if he hadn’t felt that frisson between us. He uncorked the wine and filled our glasses with a languid motion. “Drink if you like,” he said casually, a dare in his eyes.
I did my best to fake a frown. Darn that adorable smug smirk. I should have known he would be trouble tonight. If he were anybody else, it wouldn’t have surprised me to feel—
He didn’t.
I kicked his foot away, but it came back, and that confirmed it. Chevalier was playing footsie. The king of the nation, the so-called Brutal Beast, was playing footsie with me.
And I was the immature one?
Although, to be fair, he wasn’t like this with anybody else.
We made it through dinner without further incident, talking about nothing and everything, sharing playful kicks under the table and private laughs over it. I had a few sips of wine; he had a single glass. When we’d finished eating, I reached under my chair to retrieve the little box wrapped in decorative paper and tied with a bow, right where I’d told Theresa to put it.
“I hope you like it,” I said shyly, handing it over to him.
He took it from me, and a sudden wave of doubt crashed over me. It was just a little wood carving, I thought, holding my breath as he untied the bow and peeled back the wrapping paper. Just a simple wood carving of a dove. I should have kept looking, found something better suited for him. Maybe Theresa was right. Maybe I should have gone with a book, a rare foreign book, something he could actually use. Chevalier was nothing if not practical. What would he want with a useless decoration?
By the time he lifted the lid from the box and reached in to take the wooden dove out, I felt like I would be sick.
He turned it around on the palm of his hand, studying it, his expression unreadable. I swallowed down the nausea and injected as much cheer as possible into my voice so I could explain.
“I wanted to get you something special, not just another book, and my room is full of mementos you’ve given me. Everywhere I look, I think of you. But…there’s nothing of me in your room, so…um…I got you something to make you think of me,” I finished apologetically.
His eyes met mine, and he set the dove down, deliberately and slowly. I bit my lip nervously, my fingers fidgeting in my skirt, waiting for him to say something, do something.
“If it’s not—”
“It’s perfect, Ivetta.”
He stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and he came to my side, pulling me out of my seat and into his arms. His fingers caught my chin, and his crystal blue eyes caught my gaze.
“I love it.”
A soft smile played across his lips as they came closer to mine. His breath ghosted across my flushed skin, and his arm rested comfortably around my waist, his hand settling on my hip as he pulled me closer. My arms seemed to have a will of their own as they wrapped around his neck.
“And I love you, little dove.”
This kiss was much softer than before, just our lips molding together in a chaste embrace, but it felt…more. More meaningful. More passionate. More…more. I was smiling before the brief interlude of a breath’s space between us.
“Happy birthday, Chevalier.”
He kissed me again, smiling against my lips, his fingers leaving my chin to trace around my neck on their way to support the back of my head. I felt him playing with a hairpin and pulled back again.
“Um…this one,” I said, pointing out the specific hairpin. “Theresa said if you pull this one, the rest will all fall out.”
His smile morphed into a smirk. “You know these need to go, too,” he said, his hand leaving my hair to tap my gloved wrist.
I didn’t feel sick anymore. I felt a kaleidoscope of butterflies doing cartwheels around my stomach.
“Um…Chevalier…I know this is your birthday, but…”
A cascade of light tinkling sounds marked the hairpins hitting the wooden floor and my hair spilling freely over my shoulders. He tossed the pin in his hand aside and scooped me up before I could find the right words, and then I was on his lap, and he was sitting in his chair, and even the butterflies were getting nervous.
“The day has no bearing on your choice, Ivetta,” he said, pulling the glove from my right hand and discarding it on the floor. “I know you want to wait until we’re married, and I respect that. But,” he took my left hand in his and slid the ring carefully from my finger, the intensity in his eyes locking my gaze on his, “I don’t want tonight to go to waste.”
I swallowed hard. “What…does that mean…exactly?” I asked as he slipped my left glove from my hand. The cool air on my bare arms couldn’t cool the blood in my veins. Neither could the cold metal sliding back onto my ring finger.
“It means,” he said, putting my hands around his neck and settling both of his on me, one on the left side of my waist, one cupping my left cheek, “I want to kiss you.”
I couldn’t handle him being this straightforward all the time. I could barely handle it now, when every word and every touch scared and excited me, making me want to run away and beg for more. His kiss tasted like that last sip of wine, like that last bite of chocolate soufflé, dangerous and sweet, risky and comforting, and I knew it was just the start. I had to make a choice. My heart was hammering in my chest, but for once, I had enough clarity to see it. Panic or passion. Fear or love. Chevalier or…
I interlaced my fingers over the back of his neck and leaned into him. It was his birthday, after all, and I trusted him.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU6lzSDeJtX
