Chapter 295

Daphne

I’ve had a little stalker these days in the mansion.

She’s terrible at hiding it.

The past couple of weeks, as I’ve been painting...nothing really, let’s call it abstract expressionism, and there she is.

My beloved, on the garden patio, "reading" a book. A book whose pages never flip. Not once.

Tonight, I put my brush down, stretching my neck, and walk to the edge of my balcony to check if she’s still there.

The garden is bathed in soft moonlight, and there she is—curled up on the patio chair, the book fallen from her lap onto the grass. Asleep.

Something in my chest cracks open, just a little.

I don’t take the stairs. I don’t take the path. Habits from my time as a panther linger in my bones,the easy calculation of distance, the silent fall. I grip the railing and vault over, landing in a crouch on the soft grass below. No sound. No disturbance.

I stalk toward her, movements deliberate, unhurried.

She’s so peaceful in sleep. The tension that usually lives in her shoulders, in the careful set of her mouth, all gone. Replaced by softness.

I squat beside her chair, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. A strand of honey-brown hair has fallen across her face.

I reach out, brushing it back with fingers that tremble slightly, she’s so precious.

She’s so beautiful.

I trace the line of her face with my eyes, memorizing every detail even though I know I’ll carry them forever. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows. The sweep of her dark lashes against her cheeks, fluttering occasionally with dreams. The elegant bridge of her nose.

The constellation of freckles scattered across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose like a map of somewhere I want to travel. Her lips, slightly parted, soft and pink.

It’s amazing, really. Each time this happens; each world, each new face—she looks so different yet so achingly similar.

Carefully, slowly, I slide one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. I lift her, cradling her against my chest.

She doesn’t stir. Instead, she makes a small, content sound and snuggles closer, her face turning toward the warmth of my neck.

I can’t help my smile.

I carry her toward the house, my steps sure and silent. Through the garden, through the side door, up the back stairs that servants use.

I bring her to my room.

I could take her to her room,it’s just down the hall, closer, safer, more appropriate.

But why would I do that?

Why would I put distance between us when every cell in my body screams to keep her close?

So I don’t.

I lay her on my bed, the covers already turned down from my own restless night. She looks so small against the massive headboard, so peaceful. I sit on the edge and carefully remove her slippers, setting them aside.

Her robe is next—a soft, silk thing that I slide from her shoulders, replacing it with the blanket. She murmurs something, snuggling deeper into the pillows.

Sliding into bed with her, the moment my head hits the pillow, she moves instinctively and unconsciously curling toward me like a flower following the sun. Her head finds my shoulder. Her hand rests on my chest. Her breath evens out, deepening into true sleep.

And for the first time since I woke up in this world,I sleep peacefully.

*

I feel uncomfortable.

The awareness creeps in slowly, dragging me from the depths of the best sleep I’ve had in months. Something is wrong. Something is pressing.

I open my eyes.

Lying on my chest, face smushed against my shoulder, is my sister-in-law. Her honey-brown hair is a riot of tangles. Her lips are slightly parted. And there’s a small, damp patch on my shirt where she’s been drooling.

Her hand has even migrated, underneath my shirt to hold my boob.

She’s so cute.

That’s not what’s uncomfortable though.

It’s what’s between my legs.

Her leg has migrated during the night, sliding higher and higher until it’s pressed directly against—against it.

The thing I try not to think about. The appendage that has no business being attached to my body.

I hold my breath as she shifts, her leg pressing harder against the evidence of my body’s betrayal.

I move away. Subtly. Carefully. Centimeter by centimeter.

She doesn’t wake.

I extract myself from her embrace and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling, cursing my fate.

I’m hard.

After all this time, after months of willful denial and strategic avoidance, my body has decided to remind me of its unwanted reality in the most mortifying way possible.

While lying next to the woman I love.

I look down. Beneath the blanket, there is a suspiciously shaped tent.

I sigh.

I look at Vivienne, still sleeping peacefully, still beautiful, still completely unaware of my internal crisis.

I sigh again.

Then I get up and head for the shower.

I don’t relieve myself. I don’t touch the problem. I just stand under ice-cold water, arms braced against the tile, head bowed, willing my treacherous body to calm down.

The water runs cold. Then colder. Eventually, my body gets the message.

I step out, grab a towel, and try to compose myself.

***

Vivienne

I snuggle even closer into the warmth, burying my face in the pillow. It’s so comfortable here. So warm. It smells good and somehow familiar.

It smells like Daphne.

Like Daphne?

My eyes blink open, slow and confused. Why would my bed smell like my fiancée’s sister?

I push myself up on my elbows, looking around.The curtains are drawn, but soft morning light edges around them. The bed is massive, the sheets tangled.

I look down at myself. I’m still in my nightdress—the thin, silk shift I wore last night. My robe is gone. I spot it folded neatly on a chair near the window.

How did I—?