Chapter 153 This Is Our Life Now
Bella
The night softens quickly, and surprisingly, Damien doesn't call me to bed when the hour is up. He comes to bed after I do, careful not to wake me, and I register him only as weight and warmth at my back. I sleep in pieces, waking once to the sound of boots in the hallway and again to the fire being fed. At some point, his arm settles around my waist and stays there like a line drawn and held. When I wake properly, the kingdom is already moving. I sneak back to my office, and light reaches my desk before anyone comes looking for me. It slides across the floor in a narrow band, catching the edge of the rug, the legs of the chair, the papers I left out last night. The fire has burned down to a low glow, and ink stains my fingers where I forgot to wash them. I sit with my feet tucked up on the chair, back curved, rereading what I wrote before the words finally ran out of me. The writing isn’t neat. Some sentences trail off mid-thought, but I will make it perfect. After all, these will be my vows. A knock cuts through the quiet: two sharp taps.
“Come in,” I say.
Red opens the door and steps inside without waiting for more. She has parchment under one arm and charcoal tucked behind her ear. Her eyes move quickly, taking in the desk, the chair, the papers, and the fact that I’m dressed and upright. She nods once.
“Good,” she says. “You’re awake.”
I glance toward the window. “Technically.”
Red sets the parchment down on the small table by the wall and smooths it flat.
“It’s the first day,” she says.
I push back from the desk and stand, stretching my arms overhead until my shoulders ease. The movement pulls me back into my body and away from the page.
“I don’t want to be pulled apart today,” I say.
Red doesn’t answer immediately. She watches me, weighing something.
“You'll be fine,” she says. “You have a whole village behind you.”
Another knock follows, and Ashlyn appears in the doorway with a wrapped loaf tucked under one arm and a grin already in place.
“I brought bread,” she announces. “And opinions.”
“I am happy about the bread,” I say.
She steps in and sets the loaf on my desk, then notices the papers.
“You wrote something,” she says, excitedly.
I snatch them up, slide them into a drawer, and close it. “They're not ready.”
Ashlyn lifts her hands. “Boundaries, got it. I respect them.”
I roll my eyes with a smile, because I know she definitely does not.
Red clears her throat. “The dressmaker is here.”
“Already?”
“She stayed nearby,” Red says. “She was ready early.”
I breathe out slowly and nod. “Okay.”
We move through the halls together. Through a high window, I catch movement in the yard below. There's timber stacked where there wasn’t any yesterday, and rope coiled near the well. People are already working without being asked. The world didn’t wait. The dressmaker stands in a sunlit sitting room with her cloak folded neatly over a chair. Fabric is laid out across the long table in careful layers. She stills when she sees me, hands folding together.
“My lady,” she says.
“Bella,” I answer.
She smiles and gestures for me to come closer. I reach out and brush my fingers over the cloth. It slides easily under my touch.
“Okay, let's do this,” I say.
She nods once. “We'll make it perfect for you.”
The measuring is quick and efficient. Thanks gods, because I was dreading that part. Then we sit and talk about styles. Apparently, there are many decisions to make for just one dress. Ashlyn hovers like she might combust. Red watches from the corner, arms crossed, saying nothing. When it’s done, the dressmaker gathers her tools.
“I’ll return in one week,” she says. “You can try it on, make adjustments, or throw the whole thing out and start again.”
I laugh and hug her for being real with me. “Thank you.”
She inclines her head and leaves, then Red unrolls parchment and pins it to the wall with a small dagger.
“You get mornings,” she says. “Until midday. Writing, walking, whatever you need. Afternoons are planning. Evenings are yours again.”
“And if I say no?” I ask.
“Then we stop,” Red answers.
Ashlyn makes a dramatic choking sound as a shadow fills the doorway. Damien stands there, already dressed, hair damp, gaze finding mine immediately. I cross the room to him without thinking. His hand settles on my back, and he leans down to whisper just to me.
“You alright?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “I really am.”
His thumb presses once, like punctuation.
“I’ll be outside,” he says. “Call if you need me.”
I nod, and he kisses my hair briefly and goes. The day breaks into pieces after that. I walk the grounds. I thank people. I refuse a few offers gently and accept others. At midday, I return to my office and write until my hand aches, the words coming easier now. In the afternoon, Red brings me decisions instead of questions, and I happily answer them one by one. By evening, lantern hooks catch the light along the walls. I stand at the window and watch Damien move through the yard, directing without raising his voice, listening more than he speaks. The month has begun. I close the shutters and turn back to my desk. Gilfred patters across the floor a moment later, claws clicking softly on the stone like he’s announcing himself. He looks rumpled and tired, dust clinging to him, eyes half-lidded in a way that feels familiar. I laugh under my breath and hold out my hands. He climbs up without hesitation and curls into my lap, warm and solid. I rest my palm against his back and watch the yard through the window as the light shifts.
“How crazy is it,” I murmur to him, “that this is our life now?”
Gilfred blinks slowly and settles, as if he agrees.