THIRTEEN
The Birthright Ceremony. A rite of passage. One of
the most important days in a child’s life.
And in a father’s
life.
A dozen aristo
families gathered at a Sanctuary in a central Dhemlan Province to
witness the children who would be gifted with their Birthright
Jewels—and to witness the fathers who would be legally gifted with
their children.
Because one of those
children was the daughter of Prince Daemon Sadi and Lady Surreal
SaDiablo, the Sanctuary grounds were packed with Queens, both
District and Province, and aristos from every Province in Dhemlan
as well as the whole SaDiablo family.
Surreal stood apart
from the rest of the parents, ignoring the nervous glances being
cast her way by the Queens and other adults. Sometimes several
children went through the Birthright Ceremony on the same day.
Sometimes only one child stood at the altar and resonated in the
Darkness, drawing the particular Jewel that matched who and what
she was.
They had decided to
let Jaenelle Saetien participate at the same time as other
children—which meant the second part of the Ceremony would also be
public. That was the reason everyone was keeping their distance
from her. There was one father who was a danger to them all if
anything went wrong today.
“And they still
brought their children here,” she growled.
“Did you really think
they wouldn’t want to watch the spectacle?” Lucivar asked as he
came up beside her.
“If I were them, I
would stay far away from this place today.”
“Is that why we’re
doing this at a Sanctuary near one of the family’s estates instead
of in Halaway?”
“This was Sadi’s
choice. I think . . .” Because it was Lucivar, she slipped an arm
through his and voiced the worry that had gnawed at her ever since
Daemon announced where the Birthright Ceremony would take place. “I
think he chose this Sanctuary and this estate so that he would have
someplace to run to if anything went wrong. There won’t be memories
of this day at the Hall.”
“Is something going
to go wrong?” Lucivar asked, giving her a sharp look.
Surreal shook her
head. “No, I made my choice the first time I saw Daemon’s face when
he looked at his daughter. I’m just not sure what his choice will be after today.” She tried to smile
in response to Lucivar’s unspoken question. “After today, when his
daughter is irrevocably his, he may not feel the need to stay
married.”
“Is that your way of
warning me that you’re leaving him?”
“No,” she said
softly. “I’m not leaving him.” Don’t do this.
Not today. “I did want to warn you about something
else.”
“Oh?”
“Has Titian said
anything about the incident this summer when you and the children
were at the pool?”
“She said something
to Marian.”
It was obvious he
wasn’t thrilled about what was said, but he was accepting it—and
maybe even felt a little relieved.
“Do I need to call in
my crossbow to get the details?” she asked.
“I overheard Titian
tell Marian that the older girls had been making a fuss about boy
stuff just so the younger girls would think they knew about
something interesting, and it was all a big tease.”
“Oh, dear.” She bit
her lower lip and told herself to behave. Then she thought,
Ah, shit, he deserves this. “Jaenelle
has been doing a lot of thinking about the day she saw your boy
stuff.”
“Is she upset?”
Lucivar asked with a hint of alarm.
“Noooo. But she did
come to a different conclusion than Titian. Jaenelle Saetien has
decided that, for the most part, boy stuff is not interesting and
it looks funny when it wiggles.”
He made a pained
sound, but since he was managing to keep a straight face, she went
on. “However, she also concluded that when someone is special, his stuff becomes special too. Like, your
stuff becomes special when you’re around Auntie Marian. Otherwise,
she wouldn’t have let you help her make the baby.”
She felt him shake.
She wasn’t sure if he was about to start laughing hysterically or
just become hysterical.
“Having come to that
conclusion about her darling uncle Lucivar—”
He
whimpered.
“—she has decided the
same must be true of her darling papa. He’s shyer than you so she
hasn’t been able to confirm that, but she’s certain it’s true
because Daemon is her papa and he’s wonderful.”
“Mother Night.”
Lucivar swallowed hard. “What did Daemon say?”
“He doesn’t know
about this yet. She decided that he’s been so nervous about the
party we’re having after the Ceremony it wasn’t the time to tell
him about her conclusions regarding boy stuff.”
“Then why in the name
of Hell did you tell me?”
“Because one of these
days he’s going to be standing at your door looking like he’d
gotten kicked in the head, and I thought you should have some idea
about why so you can comfort him.”
“Why can’t
you comfort him?”
“Because, sugar, I
tend to agree with her—especially when boy stuff
wiggles.”
He walked away,
weaving a little. Within moments, Marian came up to her, the baby
asleep on her shoulder.
“I want to know what
you said to put that look on his face,” Marian said. “I think it
will come in handy someday.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You
have a daughter too. I’m sure you’ll see that look
again.”
Marian laughed softly
as she rubbed the baby’s back, but her eyes remained serious. “Are
you concerned about today? About Jaenelle?”
“A little. I don’t
care what Jewels she wears. Neither does Daemon. But I should have
sensed something at this point, should have some idea of what Jewel
Jaenelle will wear, and I don’t. Based on how quickly she picks up
basic—and not-so-basic—Craft, she should be strong enough to need a
reservoir for her power.”
“Daemon isn’t sensing
anything either?”
Surreal shook her
head. “I wear the Gray; Daemon wears the Black. If her power is so
weak she comes away from the Ceremony without a Jewel
...”
“She’ll feel like an
outsider within her own family,” Marian concluded. “Especially
because Titian wears Birthright Summer-sky and Daemonar wears the
Green.”
Surreal shivered at
the thought. Wasn’t that how so many things had gone wrong with
Jaenelle Angelline’s life? She had been the outsider in her family,
with her special friends and abilities no one had wanted to
understand until Saetan had recognized her as the daughter of his
soul.
Well, Jaenelle
Saetien was never going to feel like an
outsider whether she wore a Jewel or not.
“You look so fierce,”
Marian said. “Where did you go?”
“Nowhere. Too far.”
She tried to smile. “Daemon is going through the steps with
Jaenelle. Want to make a bet on who is lecturing who?”
“Do you remember—,”
Daemon began.
“I remember!”
Jaenelle huffed out a breath. “Papa! We’ve gone over this
forever-many times!”
He went down on one
knee to be closer to her. “I know, but—”
“Papa!” She cat-puffed and jumped back. “Don’t put
your knee on the ground. You’ll get dirty! Stand up!”
He obeyed. She
immediately closed in on him and began whacking at his knee to
clean off flecks of dirt.
“We have to stay neat
and tidy because this is an important day,” Jaenelle
said.
“Yes,
Lady.”
She gave him a
narrow-eyed look to see if he was making fun of her. Then she got a
look in her eyes that was much too old for her young years—and
scared the shit out of him.
“You’re afraid,
aren’t you?” she asked.
Terrified, actually.
“A little.”
She grabbed his hand
in both of hers and gave him a sweet smile. “Don’t worry, Papa.
Everything will be fine. I already know what Jewel I’m supposed to
pick. My friend told me.”
His stomach lurched.
There had been no mention of the special friend over the past few
weeks. “Witch-child, you can’t choose a Jewel just because you like
its color.”
“Tch. I know that. I
know all this stuff, Papa.” She looked
past him. “I’m supposed to stand with the other children now, and
you’re supposed to stand with Mama.”
She hauled him over
to where Surreal stood with Marian, then ran off to join the other
children who were going through the Ceremony.
Marian looked at him,
then looked at Surreal and sighed. “I’ll pay you later.” She
wandered off.
“Problem?” Surreal
asked.
“Apparently, it’s now
your responsibility to keep me neat and tidy,” he replied dryly.
“And if you’re going to place bets about me, do I get a share of
the winnings?”
She gave him a sharp
smile. “No.”
His heart raced and
the need to move was almost unbearable. But he stood still because
he wasn’t willing to let anyone know how much effort it was taking
to stay in control and appear no more anxious than any other father
waiting to be told his fate with regard to his child.
Surreal slipped her
arm through his. Then she looked at the children and sighed. “She’s
at the end of the line.”
“Maybe we should have
had a private Ceremony,” he muttered.
“You’re the Warlord
Prince of Dhemlan. Even if she had been the only child acquiring a
Birthright Jewel today, it wouldn’t have been a private
Ceremony.”
A hard truth. If
nothing else, all the Dhemlan Queens would have come to witness the
second half of the Ceremony.
“We should move up
with the families who are participating today,” he said. When she
started to withdraw her arm, he pressed his hand over hers, holding
her in place. “There’s no reason to be formal. Is
there?”
She studied his face
and shook her head. “No reason.”
Her mood seemed
bittersweet, and he suspected he was the cause of whatever
bitterness dimmed her pleasure in this special day. She had been
his partner, his friend, his lover. They had laughed together and
worried together and, sometimes, fought with each
other.
He hadn’t been the
husband she deserved. He had taken care of her body and enjoyed
doing it, and he’d made an effort not to deliberately hurt her
heart. He cared for her, deeply, but he’d never said the words that
matter most to a woman.
And yet, she had
stayed—and he wanted her to stay because he wanted to be with her,
wanted to share his life with her.
Maybe, once this day
was behind them, the tension that had been building between them
would go away, along with the unspoken questions and
doubts.
Maybe.
Or maybe, like the
previous patriarch of the SaDiablo family, he would find himself
surrounded by people he loved and yet always feel
alone.
His heart ached with
love and pride as he looked at the people who were his family.
Sylvia’s boys, Beron and Mikal. Manny, who had taken care of him
when he’d been a child. Tersa, his mother. Jillian. Marian and the
children. Lucivar. And Surreal.
Giving his arm a
squeeze, Surreal slipped away to talk to Manny. Lucivar shifted to
fill the space.
“How did you survive
this twice?” Daemon asked.
Lucivar shrugged.
“Nothing I could do about it. A child will wear the Jewels a child
will wear. I figure it’s my job to teach them to live up to their
own potential instead of trying to match someone else—including
me.”
“That’s not what I
meant.”
“If you don’t know
the answer to that, old son, then you haven’t been paying attention
to the woman you’ve lived with these past fifteen years,” Lucivar
said quietly, turning enough to make the words private. “She loves
you. You know that, don’t you? And she’s as committed to her
daughter as you are.”
“I know.” Daemon
sighed. “I know.” But was that commitment enough?
“Boys,” Tersa
said.
He and Lucivar
immediately looked toward the Sanctuary where the first girl was
coming out with her new Jewel.
“Oh,” Marian said
with warm pleasure. “She has a Summer-sky.”
The next child in
line, a boy, went into the Sanctuary with his chosen witness while
the girl stood beside her mother, who proceeded with the formal
granting of paternity.
Another child went
in, and another man was granted legal rights to the child he had
made.
Daemon called in
chairs for the women and spread a blanket for the children so that
they could sit on the ground and play hawks and hares. Lucivar
called in a jug of water and let Daemonar take a glass to Jaenelle
while he poured water for the rest of them.
By the second hour,
Manny was dozing in her chair, and Surreal had gone off with
Marian, who needed to feed and change the baby.
“A dozen children is
too many,” Daemon said, accepting the glass of wine Lucivar poured
for him. “We should have been split up into smaller groups
throughout the day, like they did in Ebon Rih when your children
went through the Ceremony.” When Lucivar said nothing, he felt like
a fool. “I should have insisted on this group being split into
smaller groups.”
“Maybe. Not that it
would have made any difference. Not today. They are here to watch
you and your daughter.”
“Isn’t that
delightful?”
“Everything has a
price.”
By the time they
reached the third hour, children were getting whiny, adults were
getting restless, and Daemon was ready to exile every Queen and
aristo present. He’d had enough of the speculative looks and the
whispers behind their hands. He also made note of the ones, like
Lady Zhara, who had remained gracious and friendly during the long
wait, and didn’t appear to be there for any other reason than to
offer her good wishes.
Then, finally,
Jaenelle was the only one waiting her turn.
He held out his hand,
palm side down. Surreal placed her hand over his, standing on his
left. They walked up to the Sanctuary, where the Priestess waited
for them.
The Priestess looked
at Jaenelle. “Who will stand as your witness?”
Daemon tensed and
felt Surreal do the same. How was Jaenelle supposed to choose one
parent over the other in public?
Before he could
insist on both of them going in with her, Tersa walked up to them
and held out her hand. “Come with me, little Sister.”
Jaenelle took her
grandmother’s hand and followed the Priestess to the room where her
Birthright strength would be acknowledged and made apparent by the
Jewel that would be both warning and reservoir for the power she
wielded.
Surreal’s hand
trembled on his, but she gave no other sign of surprise or
distress.
*Is that possible?*
she asked. *Have you seen signs that Jaenelle might be a natural
Black Widow?*
*She’s too young for
there to be any sign that she belongs to that caste. I don’t think
Tersa meant to indicate that Jaenelle was another Sister of the
Hourglass.* But she could have meant exactly that. With Tersa, it
was hard to tell. *Besides, Tersa stood as your witness too, didn’t
she?*
*Yes, she did,*
Surreal replied softly. *Yes, she did.*
Five minutes later,
Tersa and Jaenelle walked out of the Sanctuary. Jaenelle held
nothing in her hands, and there was no Jeweled pendant around her
neck.
Daemon’s heart sank,
but he smiled at his girl—and the happy smile she gave him in
return almost broke him.
*Daemon . . . ,*
Surreal said.
“My Jewel hasn’t
arrived yet,” Jaenelle said. “My friend said it might come late
because its presence would confuse the other
children.”
“Finish the
Ceremony,” Tersa said.
Daemon looked at the
Priestess. “I don’t understand what—”
“Prince,” Tersa said.
“You will have no answers until the last choice is
made.”
He moved away from
Surreal until he stood in the spot where the other men had
stood.
“Come here,
Jaenelle,” Surreal said. She placed her hands on the girl’s
shoulders and looked at him.
“I, Surreal SaDiablo,
acknowledge Prince Daemon Sadi as the father of Jaenelle Saetien
SaDiablo. I grant him all paternal rights from this day
forward.”
Surreal raised her
hands. Jaenelle walked the distance between them and took the hand
he held out to her. Even though his hand closed around the child’s,
his eyes never left the woman’s.
*She’s yours now,*
Surreal said on a psychic Gray thread.
*Thank
you.*
*Let’s hear you say
that the next time she asks an ‘interesting’
question.*
He huffed out a quiet
laugh. *Smart-ass.*
That made
her smile.
“Well,” Daemon said,
as he led Jaenelle back to the rest of the family. “Let’s finish up
here so we can go to the estate and have our party.”
“We can’t go yet,”
Jaenelle protested. “We have to wait for my Jewel!”
“Witch-child . .
.”
Jaenelle and Tersa
turned at the same moment, looked in the same direction. Jaenelle
pulled away from him and ran off. Before he could take off after
her, Tersa froze him in place with three words.
“She has
come.”
He stared at his
mother, a Black Widow who walked the roads of the Twisted Kingdom.
She had changed his life centuries ago with those same three
words.
“Daemon.” Surreal
looked stricken, but she squared her shoulders and said,
“Go.”
Not sure how much
pain he was leaving behind him, he ran after his
daughter.
She was walking back
to him when he caught up to her, her smile brilliant as she
clutched a pendant, its gold chain spilling over her
hands.
“Look at my Jewel,
Papa! Isn’t it wonderful?”
He looked at the
Jewel in her hands and sank to his knees.
“I told the Priestess that I would have a Rose and a
Summer-sky and a Purple Dusk and an Opal and a Green as my
Birthright, but she said I could only have one, and I knew that wasn’t right because the Lady had shown
me this Jewel and said it used to be hers but now it would be mine.
It even has a name! It’s called—”
“Twilight’s Dawn,” he
whispered.
“Yes.” She beamed at
him. “She said you would understand and teach me how to use
it.”
His mind was
spinning. His heart was in turmoil. “Who said this,
witch-child?”
“My special friend.
The Lady in the Misty Place. The one who’s called the Song in the
Darkness.”
He swallowed a sob.
Pain? Joy? He couldn’t tell. “Where . . . ?”
“She’s over there.”
Jaenelle turned and pointed. “She’s waiting for you. She said I
should wait for you here.” She rolled her eyes. “And that I should
let you put a shield around me.”
“She always was a
wise Lady.”
Jaenelle hesitated.
“She said, when you were ready, you would tell me stories about
her. About when she lived in the Realms. She said Uncle Lucivar and
Mama could tell me stories too.”
“They can. They
will.”
He stood up. After a
moment’s hesitation, he put a Red shield around his darling
witch-child, since Lucivar or Surreal could break it and get her
out. Just in case he didn’t come back.
He walked over to the
place where she had pointed. One moment he felt nothing. The next .
. .
Not the Misty Place,
but not the grounds of the Sanctuary either.
And there she was.
Witch. The living myth. His love and his heart.
“Prince,” Witch said,
smiling.
“Jaenelle,” he
whispered, reaching for her.
His hand went through
hers, but when she reached up and rested that same hand against his
face, he felt the warmth of her, breathed in the familiar scent of
her. She had chosen to show him the Self that lived in the Misty
Place deep in the abyss, to show him the dream that had lived
within the human flesh.
She was showing him
his Queen rather than his former wife.
“How can you be
here?”
“This is a shadow, an
illusion.”
“I know, but . .
.”
She looked at him
with those haunted, ancient sapphire eyes. One hand still rested
against his face; the other now rested against his chest, over his
heart.
“Jaenelle Saetien . .
.”
“Is the daughter of
your blood, the daughter of your heart, and the daughter of your
dreams. She is those things to Surreal as well. Two dreamers,
Daemon, yearning for the same dream.”
His brain felt
sluggish. He couldn’t get past that he was seeing her again,
feeling her touch—but he had to try because his daughter waited for
him.
His daughter. And
Surreal’s.
“You know about me
and Surreal?”
Her cat claws pricked
his chest. “The Arachnian Queens tended the web until it was ready
to be more than dreams, but I’m the one who first gave it shape
because of what I saw in a tangled web years before I became a song
in the Darkness. You could have married someone else, and you might
have had children. But not this child, Daemon. Not this one. This
one needed a mother who had known you before you came to Kaeleer,
who had known me.”
“This one?” Words
tumbled through his mind. Webs. Visions. Dreams.
He turned his head
and looked toward the spot where he’d left his little girl—and
suddenly it made sense. “Jaenelle Saetien is . . . ?”
“Dreams made flesh.”
Witch smiled. “Your dreams. Surreal’s dreams. And my dreams for
both of you.”
Like Jaenelle
Angelline, but not the same.
“Daemon.”
He turned back to
her. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t you? It’s
simple, Prince. Listen to your heart. It’s healed. It’s whole. You
loved me as a wife with all your heart for the whole of my life.
You will love me as your Queen for the whole of your life. But there is someone else you love now,
Daemon, and it’s time for you to share your heart with more than
your daughter.”
He closed his eyes
and said nothing.
“Stubborn snarly
male. Do you need my permission to love the woman who is now your
wife, to acknowledge what you feel for her?”
“I don’t love Surreal
the way I loved you. I’ll never love anyone the way I loved
you.”
“I know. But you do
love her, Daemon.”
“Yes. I
do.”
Her voice softened.
“Then it’s time you told her.”
She stepped back, and
the loss of her touch raked his heart.
He opened his eyes
and studied her, drinking in her face. “Will I see you
again?”
She hesitated, then
said, “Your daughter will, when she needs to, but you need to let
go of the past. However, you won’t be alone. No one understands
what it’s like to stand so deep in the abyss. No one understands
what it’s like to know there is no one who can touch the most
private part of your Self. Saetan was the strongest protector the
Realms had ever known, but he also made mistakes because even
Andulvar’s presence at the depth of the Ebon-gray wasn’t enough to
keep him from feeling isolated and alone. You’re not alone there,
Daemon.”
“How can I not be . .
.”
What had Jaenelle
Saetien called the Lady in the Misty Place? The Song in the
Darkness. He’d heard it when he stood in the abyss at the full
depth of his power, when he knew, with absolute certainty, that he
was alone. But that song had been there, a voice that wrapped
around him down where it wasn’t possible for anyone else to be. He
thought he imagined it being Jaenelle’s voice because he missed her
so much, but she’d been with him all along.
“You won’t be alone,”
she said again.
“For how
long?”
Witch smiled. “Long
enough.”
He thought about that
web of power that spiraled from the Misty Place down into the
Darkness. Enough power to keep her with him in this one way, to
keep him balanced for a lifetime.
And because he had
this assurance that she was still with him in some way, he began
letting go of what could no longer be.
“May I tell Lucivar
about any of this?”
“He’s your brother.
You can tell him anything.” She took a step back and began to fade
away. “It’s time for you to go.”
“Your will is my
life.”
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them, she was gone.
“Papa?”
And there was his
other dream, waiting for him. She’d put the chain over her neck and
was holding the Jewel, shifting it this way and that to look at the
colors.
He walked over to
her, sank to his knees, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed
his face against her shoulder.
“Papa?” Jaenelle put
her arms around him. “Why are you crying? Weren’t you happy to see
the Lady?”
“Yes. Yes, I was. She
gave me a gift. Such a wonderful gift. For your mother
too.”
Fighting for control,
he sat back on his heels, took out a handkerchief, and cleaned
up.
Jaenelle Saetien
studied him. “Maybe if we go to our house and have the party,
you’ll feel better?”
Laughing, he vanished
the handkerchief. “Maybe I will.”
He stood up, brushed
off his knees before she could comment about the dirt, and held out
his right hand.
“Papa! I’m supposed
to stand on your left. Those are the
rules.”
His Jaenelle Saetien
was a stickler for Protocol. Much like his father had
been.
“Indulge your papa.
Just for today. We’ll go back to following the rules
tomorrow.”
She looked skeptical,
but she put her left hand over his right and let him escort her
back to where the rest of the family waited.
Most of the families
had left for their own celebrations, but the Queens and aristos who
had come to witness the spectacle, as Lucivar called it, were still
milling around when he walked by. So they saw Lucivar’s stunned
look and the way Surreal pressed a hand against her chest and began
to laugh and cry when she realized what Jewel her daughter
wore.
He walked up to
Surreal and said softly, “We need to talk.”
“You saw her?” she
whispered. “You actually saw her?”
“Yes.”
Pain. Confusion.
Unhappy acceptance.
“It will be all
right,” he said. “I swear by all that I am, it will be all
right.”
“Can we go now?”
Daemonar asked. “I’m starving.”
“Shall we go?” he
asked Surreal.
She
nodded.
He dropped his hand
from under Jaenelle’s, tacit permission for her to race after her
cousins. Then he slipped an arm around Surreal’s waist and guided
her to the Coach.
Surreal gulped a
mouthful of sparkling wine as she watched the children run around.
As soon as they reached the estate, Jillian had herded the younger
children to their rooms to change out of their formal
clothes.
Good thing, Surreal
thought. She wasn’t sure what game they were playing, but it was a
good bet that at least one of them was going to end up with scraped
knees or a bloody nose.
“Enough!”
Unless Lucivar roared
them into a decision to find a less rambunctious game.
Twilight’s Dawn.
Jaenelle Saetien wore Twilight’s Dawn—a Jewel no one thought would
be seen again.
“Are you brooding or
just getting drunk?” Lucivar asked as he reached from behind her,
took her glass, and drained it in one long swallow.
“I guess I’m not
getting drunk,” she replied, looking at the empty glass. She
followed the sound of laughter, and there was Daemon standing next
to Tersa and Manny, looking as beautiful as the first time she saw
him. “I don’t know what to do, Lucivar. I don’t know what he wants
me to do now. She’s come back to him.”
He handed her the
empty glass and gave her a lazy smile. “If you believe that, you’re
drunker than you look.”
“Mean-hearted prick,”
she muttered. But since she suspected he was right, at least about
the being drunk part, she didn’t try to walk over to the terrace
and refill her glass.
“Who’s a mean-hearted
prick?” Daemon’s arm wrapped around her waist. “Do you want more
wine?”
“I think I’ve already
had a bit too much.”
He pressed his lips
gently against her temple. “Me too. It’s been quite a
day.”
The sexual heat that
usually poured out of him was banked to a sensual warmth. She
leaned into him, more comforted than aroused.
She wasn’t sure how
long they stood there with the light fading around them and the
autumn air turning cool. She would stand here with him forever if
that was what he wanted.
“Surreal?” he said
quietly.
“Hmm?”
He took the glass
from her and vanished it. “You know that small table in the sitting
room that you’re so fond of?”
“Uh-huh.”
“It now has a vase in
it.”
“You mean on
it.”
“No, in
it.”
She was suddenly a
lot more sober. “There isn’t one of them old enough or with
sufficient training to try to pass one object through another.” And
she had a bad feeling she knew exactly which child had tried it.
“They shouldn’t be—”
He pressed a finger
against her lips. She narrowed her eyes and raised his hand. “If I
have to deal with this tonight when I’m on the shaky side of sober,
you have to answer the next sex
question.”
There was the
expected glint of panic, but there was also laughter in his eyes.
“Or the table could just disappear and we could scratch our heads
and wonder where it went.”
Playful. She hadn’t
expected that from him. Not tonight. “We could do
that.”
He brushed a finger
over her lips. “Surreal . . .”
I love you.
He didn’t say it. Not
quite. But when he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, she
felt the words.
And that night, when
he made love to her and said her name, it sounded like a promise,
like a lovely caress.