He smiled, clearly pleased with his selection, before sinking his teeth into his sandwich.
“Maybe I could run back to the house after lunch,” I went on, musing. “The portrait is going well. We could afford to take an afternoon off.”
Alex shook his head. “Your afternoon has already been claimed. Mother mentioned a note was delivered this morning. Your dress is ready for a fitting.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me with pupils dark and wide. “I look forward to seeing it on you.”
A delicious flush crept over me, tingling the hollow of my throat and spreading up my neck where it bloomed across my cheeks, hot and thrilling. I’d never been looked at like that before and it was exhilarating. “The dress? Oh, it’s far too formal for everyday wear.”
“Wear it to the party.” He popped a sugar-dusted blackberry into his mouth.
“Party?”
“Surely you’ve heard Mother going on and on about it. Next week.”
I frowned. “She mentioned a small dinner…”
He grinned. “Nothing is ever small with Dauphine Laurent. At least twenty families have been invited.”
Surprise washed over me. “So many.”
“She’s keen on introducing you to all her friends and take credit for discovering your talents.” He pressed his lips together, carefully weighing out his next words. “I was rather hoping it could be a chance to show you off as well. To show us off.”
“Us?” I echoed, delighted by this turn in the conversation.
We spent our sessions together talking through a wide variety of topics—everything from art and his beloved books, to funny stories of distant relations and all the changes he wanted to make for Bloem in the future. Alexander had an easy, charming wit, but while I knew he enjoyed my company—and his parents both seemed quick to pair us together—he’d never exactly spelled out his intentions.
And because he didn’t say anything, I felt I couldn’t say anything. So we each said nothing but talked about everything, learning the way the other thought, their cadences and rhythms. We made little jokes, sure to dissolve us into giggles.
It was a far cry from how I’d watched Camille’s courtship with William play out, sneaking peeks of them as they sat on opposing chairs in the Gold Room, murmuring from behind silver-lined teacups about the weather or prices at the fish market.
We had no formal pretenses or stilted checking off of moments—compliments paid, batting of eyes accomplished. It was just…us.
“Us,” he repeated uncertainly. “That is…if you’d like there to be…an us?”
He licked his lips and I wanted to reach out and squeeze him. He looked unspeakably uncomfortable, as though finally putting a definition to our relationship left him vulnerable and worried.
“I…I’ve grown quite fond of you, Verity. I hope you know that.”
I nodded, fearing any words from me would break the moment.
“I never allowed myself to imagine ever being in this position…meeting someone as lovely and wonderful as you are, so talented and smart, and such a good fit…”
He reached out and placed the palm of his hand over my cheek, brushing his thumb across its soft curve. I offered a smile to encourage him on.
“I’d always assumed, because of this”—he tapped his free hand against the wheelchair’s arm—“that I wouldn’t ever marry.” A burst of red broke over his face, staining his cheeks and neck, and he pulled back, his hand swiping through the air as he tried to sort out his words. “Not that I’m saying we’ll be married. I just…I only…” He scrunched his eyes closed. “What I’m trying to say is…I should very much like to court you, Verity Thaumas, if I may.” The words poured from him in a heated rush as if he couldn’t get them out fast enough. After a moment, he dared to peek at me from one eye. “You…you’re laughing at me!”
I couldn’t contain my smile. “You sound so nervous right now.”
“I am,” he admitted.
“I’m sorry,” I said, covering his hand with an encouraging caress. “You needn’t be…you know that, don’t you?”
“It’s a difficult subject to speak on and it’s why I’ve not brought it up till now…I like you, Verity. More than like…I…I care for you. Deeply.” He raked his fingers through his dark waves. “You’re the first thing I think of when I open my eyes and the only thing I spend my nights dreaming of. But I know that a life with me…with this chair…may not be something that would appeal to you.”
My heart swelled with hurt as I imagined all the dark and lonely thoughts racing through his mind. Carefully, I scooted down the bench, drawing closer to him. “It’s never bothered me before,” I promised. “And I can’t believe it ever would.”
“You don’t know that,” he protested. “You—”
“I know I want—that I’ve always wanted—to do this,” I insisted, and surprised us both by leaning forward and pressing my lips to his.
It was our first kiss, my first kiss, and it was…
It’s only a first kiss, I reminded myself, feeling oddly detached from the moment.
I registered that he tasted of lemonade and berries and the sweet afternoon sunlight. My fingertips slid along his face, tracing the lines I’d drawn dozens of times but never truly understood till now.
I analyzed each action, every movement, every sensation, his scent, his taste, and was left with a troubling hollowness in my chest. Wasn’t I supposed to be feeling something? Wasn’t I supposed to be caught in a wave of ecstasy, swooning and breathless and…something? Anything.
Was this…
Was this all there was to a kiss?
That couldn’t be right.
Poets didn’t write sonnets about this.
Songs were not sung over feelings like this.
This felt…perfunctory.
I pulled away, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. What we’d done wrong.
Was it the angle? The pressure?
Alex smiled but I found I couldn’t read it, couldn’t guess at the thoughts running through his mind.
Was he as confused as I felt?
I was certain I desired him—I thought of him often and in increasingly intimate ways—but had I been wrong? Or were the physical aspects of love impossible to live up to the wild fantasies of an overactive imagination? Though wholly inexperienced myself, I was no prude. I’d skimmed through my sisters’ tattered romance novels. I’d been to the opera. I knew what a gloriously thrilling moment a kiss was meant to be.
I waited for those sensations to take over and claim me, swelling my heart till it felt it would burst and shower the world with the splendor of new love.
Nothing.
* * *
With a disgruntled sigh, I stabbed one last pin in my hair and turned, studying my reflection in the mirror before me. I looked peevish and sour and forced a smile, seeing if it would help.
It didn’t.
Dauphine and I had returned from my fitting with just enough time to dress for dinner and, though I felt horribly rushed, I wanted to make sure I looked especially nice for Alexander.