Divine Rivals (Letters of Enchantment, #1)(97)

If only she could bottle this moment. If only she could drink from it in the days to come, to remember this feeling of warmth and wholeness and joy. As if all of her pieces had come back together, far stronger than they had been before she had broken.

She realized this was her family now. That there were bonds that ran deeper than blood.

All too soon, the B and B fell quiet.

The soldiers had come and gone. The last of the soup and bread had been devoured, and the dishes were sitting in the wash bin. Candles burned on the kitchen table; the light flickered over Roman’s face as he leaned closer to Iris, whispering in her ear, “Are you ready for bed?”

“Yes,” she said, and her heart pounded. “But perhaps we should wash the dishes first?”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Marisol cried, aghast. “The two of you will go on to bed and enjoy your night.”

“But, Marisol,” Iris was beginning to protest when Roman stood, tugging her upward.

“I won’t hear of it, Iris,” Marisol insisted.

“Nor will I,” Attie said, crossing her arms. “And besides, Roman’s room is ready for you both.”

“What?” Iris panted.

Attie only winked before turning to the wash bin. Marisol shooed them into the hall, where they passed Keegan returning from a quick errand.

The captain gave them a nod and a smirk, and Iris was suddenly sweating as she began to ascend the stairs with Roman.

“Sorry, I’m quite slow,” he said, wincing as he took another step.

Iris held his hand, waiting for him to catch up.

“Do your wounds still hurt?” she asked.

“Not too much,” he replied. “I just don’t want to pull another stitch.”

His response worried her. She had an inkling he was hiding how much his leg bothered him, and she decided that they would have to be careful that night.

They reached Roman’s room. Iris braced herself, uncertain what she would encounter. She stepped inside and gasped.

A host of candles were lit, filling the room with romantic light. Stray flowers had been dropped along the floor and on the bed, which was still a pallet since the mattress was at the infirmary. But it looked like Attie had added a few more blankets to the pile, creating a soft place for them to sleep.

“It’s beautiful,” Iris whispered.

“And much appreciated,” Roman said, shutting the door. “I sadly can take no credit for this. It was all Attie.”

“Then I’ll have to thank her tomorrow,” Iris said, turning to glance at Roman.

His gaze was already fixed on her.

Iris swallowed, feeling awkward. She didn’t know if she should go ahead and undress, or maybe he wanted to undress her. Sometimes his face was hard to read, as if he wore a mask, and before she could reach for the top button of her jumpsuit, he spoke.

“I have a request, Winnow.”

“Gods, Kitt,” she said before she could stop herself. “What now?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, amused. “Come and sit next to me on our bed.” He walked past her and knelt on the pile of blankets, careful of his leg as he situated himself with his back against the wall.

Iris followed but chose to unlace and remove her boots before she stepped on the blankets. She helped Roman with his, and so that was the first article of clothing removed between them. Their shoes.

She settled beside him. His heat began to seep into her side, and she realized how brilliant this was going to be, sleeping next to him every night. She would never get cold again.

“All right, Kitt,” she said. “What is your request?”

“I would like you to read something to me.”

“Oh? And what is this something?”

“One of your letters.”

That caught her by surprise. She cracked her knuckles but thought it was only fair of her to return the favor to him. “Yes, all right. But only one. So choose wisely.”

He smiled down at her, his hand reaching to the floor beside the pallet.

“You keep my letters at your bedside?” she asked.

“I reread most of them every night.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Here it is. This is the one,” he said, handing her a very wrinkled piece of paper.

She smoothed the creases from the letter, skimming a few lines. Ah yes. This one. Iris cleared her throat, but she glanced up at Roman before she began. He was intently watching her.

“There’s one stipulation, Kitt.”

“I can’t look at you while you read,” he surmised, remembering his own dilemma.

Iris nodded and he shut his eyes, leaning his head against the wall.

She returned her gaze to the paper. She began to read, and her voice was deep and smoky, as if she were pulling the words from her past. From a night when she had been sitting on the floor of her room.

“I think we all wear armor. I think those who don’t are fools, risking the pain of being wounded by the sharp edges of the world, over and over again. But if I’ve learned anything from those fools, it is that to be vulnerable is a strength most of us fear. It takes courage to let down your armor, to welcome people to see you as you are. Sometimes I feel the same as you: I can’t risk having people behold me as I truly am. But there’s also a small voice in the back of my mind, a voice that tells me, ‘You will miss so much by being so guarded.’”