Chapter 79 His Little Dove

Chapter 79 His Little Dove
Beatris

Dinner passed in silence. The long dining table felt even larger than usual, its polished surface reflecting the candlelight in thin, wavering lines. Silver gleamed. Crystal caught the fire. Somewhere beyond the tall windows, night had settled fully over Crimson Hill.

Alexander sat at the far end, too composed, too still. But every few moments, his eyes found me. Quickly at first. Then longer.

As if he were trying to read something in my face that even I no longer understood. Wondering whether I had truly remembered. Wondering whether Eudora stood before him at last, or whether I was only another cruel imitation of hope.

I kept my gaze lowered and made myself eat, though I could barely taste any of it. At last, I set my fork down.

The sound seemed louder than it should have.

I picked up my napkin and wiped my mouth slowly, buying myself a second, maybe two, to steady the strange rush moving through me.

Then I rose. Alexander's eyes lifted at once. I walked toward him.

The length of the table no longer felt like distance. Each step closed something dangerous between us. Something I no longer trusted in myself.

I was playing this role too well. That thought came suddenly and left a chill behind it.

Somewhere between the dress, the hair, the visions, the blood, and the way he looked at me now, I had begun to slip. It no longer felt like I was only pretending to be Eudora.
At times, it felt as though some old part of me was rising to meet the shape of her.

I pushed the thought down before it could root itself.

I would not let it consume me.

When I reached him, I stopped close enough to feel the quiet of him.

He did not move. Only looked up at me with that unbearable stillness, waiting.

Very slowly, I lifted my hand and touched his jaw, guiding his face up toward mine.

He let me.

The calmness of that undid me more than resistance would have. As though he had already given this moment to me long before I claimed it. As though all he had ever done was wait for me to return to him in whatever form I chose.

He really had loved her that much. That realization moved through me with a painful softness I did not want. I leaned down and kissed him.

For a second, he did not respond. His stillness deepened, his breath catching just enough for me to feel it against my mouth.

Then he kissed me back. Slowly. Carefully. The kiss lingered, and when I drew away, his eyes stayed on mine.

A strange smile touched my mouth before I could stop it.

"What," I said softly, "you don't want a daughter anymore?"

The words fell between us. I froze. So did he.
Shock flickered through his face so nakedly that it startled me more than the sentence itself.
I had not meant to say that. Or rather  I had not chosen to.

The words had come from somewhere deeper, somewhere instinctive, as though memory had spoken through me before thought could catch it.

Why had I said that?

I felt it then, the sudden pull toward him, sharp and aching and irrational. The urge to close the distance again. To stay there in the warmth of his gaze and let it mean whatever it wanted to mean.

I hated how much my body answered him. Maybe it was Eudora. Maybe it was whatever part of me was beginning to blur at the edges.
Or maybe I was simply more lost than I wanted to admit.

Something bright and wounded moved through his expression.

Then he leaned in and kissed me, this time I kissed him back before I could stop myself.

His hand rose to the side of my face. The other settled at my waist. He stood, and the chair scraped softly against the floor behind him. The room seemed to tilt. I should have stepped away. 

His mouth moved against mine with a hunger gentler than violence and somehow more dangerous because of it. When his fingers brushed the laces at the back of my dress, a shiver ran through me so quickly I caught my breath.

I told myself it was only the body remembering.Only Eudora's old longing waking where mine should have been.

If that was what it was, then fine. I did not want more of it. I did not want the life it led to.

For one reckless moment, I let myself stop fighting the warmth of his hands, the quiet pressure of his mouth, the way he said my name without speaking it at all.

Then his breath touched my ear.

"I've missed you so much, little dove."

The words struck something strange inside me.

Little dove.

So that was what he had called her too. Or maybe he was only humoring whatever game he thought I was playing.

The thought flickered through me and almost pulled me back from the edge of the moment. Almost.

I pushed it away.

Maybe I was only overthinking. Maybe I wanted to overthink, because thinking was safer than feeling, and feeling was already becoming too dangerous with him this close.

I did not want to spoil this. Not yet. I saw the shift in his face then, the faint, disbelieving happiness there, as if some part of him had been starving for this moment so long he no longer trusted it to be real.

He leaned in again. This time there was no hesitation in either of us. He stood, and in one smooth motion he lifted me onto the edge of the table as though he had imagined doing it a thousand times before ever touching me. The laces at the back of my dress loosened beneath his hands with desperate ease.

For one unsteady second, I should have stopped him. I didn't. Something in me wanted more. More of his touch. More of the warmth. More of the dangerous, aching tenderness that made the rest of the world seem far away.

Fine, I thought, my breath already unsteady. If that's what this body wants, let it have it. Just this once.

The thought barely settled before a sharp jolt ran through me at the feel of his hand closing over my breast with sudden, hungry affection. My breath caught against his mouth. The kiss deepened, slower and more consuming at once, until I could no longer tell where resistance should have lived.

The loosened dress slipped lower. Cool air met bare skin, only to be chased away by the heat of him when I reached for his shoulders and pulled him closer without meaning to.

He drew back just enough to look at me, there was something almost broken in the way his gaze moved over my face, as if he could not decide whether to worship the moment or fear it would vanish.

Then he stripped away the rest of the distance between us.

The black of his coat gave way beneath my hands. The careful shape of him disappeared piece by piece, until the coldness of his skin touched mine and I felt, with a kind of helpless shame, that some part of me had missed this.

Missed him.

I did not want to know whether that feeling belonged to Beatris or to Eudora.

His hand moved lower and a startled gasp broke out of me before I could stop it.

I did not know what terrified me more, that he could still make me feel this way, or that part of me no longer wanted him to stop.