Aulie quirks a brow slowly, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I’m sorry. Are you under the impression that you can command me to do things suddenly?”
No, I’m just about to have a goddamn aneurysm because you’re clearly in pain.
I let out a deep sigh and run my fingers through my hair as Aulie stands with her arms crossed. I don’t want total control of her like some old-school dude, but if she could just listen to me this one freaking time…
Something tells me that Lydia was too headstrong to listen to Wickham as well, but her pangs of pain and discomfort probably didn’t bother him like the shot in the heart that wounds me every time she winces.
“You know, on the fairgrounds, I think I do have that right.” The corner of my lip tugs into a smirk. I mirror her stance with my arms crossed and stare at her with a new challenge.
If Aulie wants authenticity, consider this my dedication to the craft.
“Come again?” She cocks her head to the side. A bee buzzes lazily around her head as if drawn to her sweetness.
Aren’t we all?
“You’re my wife at the fairgrounds, right? And this is a regency fair.”
“For some of the day,” she warns, drawing attention to the knife’s edge I’m balancing on.
“Well, we should practice that too, right? Not just the seduction part.”
“You want to practice being married to me?”
Sweetheart, if it’ll get you to sit your ass down, I’d wear tights and recite Shakespeare’s sonnets to you.
“That depends.” I nod my head toward the fountain. “Married couples sit in gardens and admire the flowers, don’t they?”
“I supposed they do.”
“Come sit, Dessy. Please.” I offer my hand, and she slips her palm over mine, letting me lead her to the ledge.
Settling onto the brick platform, she exhales, and the tension in her shoulders dissipates. Good.
“You’re going to have to come up with a different nickname for when we’re married. ‘Dessy’s’ a weird thing to call Lydia Bennet.”
“I figured I’d just go with something simple like ‘my wife.’” I shrug. “Is that okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Fine,” Aulie says in a rushed manner. There’s a decided shift in her posture at the question, as if she’s suddenly being pulled taut like a rubber band. She doesn’t meet my stare, as her knee bounces wildly up and down. I put my hand on top of it to hopefully calm her down.
“If that’s too much for you or stupid or something, we can think of something else.”
“My wife is fine—if that’s what you wanted,” she says, her voice an octave higher than usual. She clears her throat. “Totally chill with it.”
“Right, so you’re not looking at me because…”
“This garden is beautiful this time of the year, you know? I just love how they showcase—”
“The marigolds and daisies. We’ve visited that topic already. Aulie, what’s going on?”
The breeze blows her caramel hair in tiny wisps around her face while she shakes her head. Her hand slides over mine, still resting on her knee. “Nothing is wrong. I just—it’s funny, thinking of being married to you.”
I resist the urge to frown. “Thanks.”
“Could you imagine how sick of me you’d get? I’d probably drive you away in two seconds.”
“You’d be running from me in one,” I mutter, trying to hide my frustration. Although I’m not ready for anything serious, the thought of waking up to Aulie every day and sharing quiet nights with her by the fire is tempting.
It’s everything I could ever dream of.
