Braxton nods. “Dianthus found herself quite clever for binding us to a location filled with loving memories I would want to escape and you would have no recollection of.”
“What kind of memories?”
“They’ll come back to you soon enough, but you can pretty much point at anything in the castle, and, one way or another, it’ll remind me of what we used to be.”
“Anything?”
Braxton nods. His expression is bored as he picks at the underside of his nails, but I know he’s masking his true emotions. For once, I can see past his facade and realize how hard this actually is for him. My chest aches at the thought of what he’s had to endure, and then my heart seizes for myself: for the life I lost and never truly got back. Instead, I live in a lie I have no choice but to believe is the truth.
“I can see you’re struggling with what to ask about, so I’ll give an example,” Braxton offers with a flourish of his hand. “Do you ever wonder why we always eat dinner together?”
“That’s because of me?”
A ghost of a smile passes Braxton’s lips as his eyes cloud, falling deeper into the memory. “When I first started my royal duties, when my father fell ill, I began spending a lot of nightsin my study trying to learn everything. One night, we got into an argument about how you were unhappy with how I hadn’t been present. That night, I didn’t come to dinner because I was still mad about our fight. You sought me out later and let me knowexactlyhow you felt about that decision. I asked you how I could make it up to you, honestly hoping it would lead to my head being between your thighs.” My cheeks heat at his words, and his smile broadens at my reaction. “But instead,” he continues, “you made me promise you that no matter what we had going on or how mad we were at each other, that we would always stop and have dinner together. I promised you that you would never find yourself alone at our dining table again.”
I didn’t know my heart could hurt so deeply from something I didn’t remember. I never thought about why Braxton had my meals brought to me for breakfast and lunch, but now I wonder if it’s because it’s too painful for him to endure three hate-filled meals with me every day. Somehow, I realize, it must have been even more agonizing for him to break the promise he made me, and my heart cracks a little more.
“So you’re telling me, everything in this castle that I’ve ever questioned or hasn’t made sense to me all has a reason. It all has something to do with us? With our past?”
“Everything,” he confirms with conviction.
“The oversized chairs in your study,” I test, finding myself both terrified and painfully curious about the answer.
“We had those custom-made. They’re big enough to comfortably but closely fit two people on them. Whenever I had to work late, we would retire to my study so that we could sit together while you read and I worked.”
My eyes mist.
“The forget-me-nots around the castle?”
“You always believed that flowers held more power than people believed in them. I guess I hoped that by planting them itwould remind you to not forget… me. So I make sure to deliver a fresh batch to you every morning. They also happen to be your favorite flower.”
My hand jumps to my mouth to hold in the sob that wants so desperately to break free. This truth is more devastating than the lie I’ve been forced to live in. When I look back at him, I see the hint of the tattoo on his chest peeking through his cream-colored shirt. Part of me knows I shouldn’t ask, that I’m only going to keep hurting myself, but I have to know.
“Your tattoos?” I whisper the question, still too afraid of the truth tied to it.
Braxton’s lips lift once again, but the expression on his face is the furthest thing from happy. He pulls his shirt over his head, so that I’m staring at his bare chest again. I hope he can’t hear the small, surprised gasp that passes through my lips as I take in the muscles defining his torso. I know by his mirth-filled expression that he appreciates my ogling.
“This one,” he points to the numbers scrawled over his right peck, “is the date of the day we got married.” Next, he points to the small bouquet of flowers on the back of his right bicep. “This one I actually got a few months before the curse happened. It was our way of saying we would never forget each other. You were going to get a matching one on your arm.”
“Why didn’t I get mine?” I watch as his face morphs into a look of worry, but just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone.
“You planned to get it later, and obviously, later didn’t come.”
He clears his throat, and I can’t help but feel the creeping sense that he isn’t telling me the whole truth. I want to press on the matter, but he continues before I’m able.
“And this last one,” he turns and bares his back to me. My eyes study the intricate swirls and patterns of the design spreading across the upper left side of his back and over his shoulder. I’ve never gotten to see this tattoo in its entirety before, only thesmall fragments I’m able to catch that swirl up his neck before disappearing into his hairline. “You designed this.”
I balk. “I designed it?”
“It was a custom in Minem.”
The memory slams into me. It feels like my brain is being ripped apart with a white hot poker, and I cry out, clutching at the sides of my head. I feel Braxton’s strong arms around me. It isn’t until the searing pain fully subsides and the memory returns to me in its entirety that I realize I’ve curled myself into Braxton, my body effortlessly molding into his. The subtle scent of leather and musk washes over me, and for the first time that I can remember, it smells like home. I want to cling to it. To him.
“I remember,” I croak, not aware of how loud I must have been screaming. My throat feels like it was shredded from the sound. “I drew that for you to act as a symbol of our marriage and unity. Most people from my homeland get them embroidered into quilts or something they will keep in their home together, but you…” My voice trails off, and I smile at the memory.
“I said that was boring,” he finishes for me as if completing my sentences is a completely normal occurrence for us, and I realize at one point, it was. “I declared that if you wanted to keep the design with you, you would have to keep me with you, so I got it tattooed on my back the night of our wedding.”
Despite myself and the gravity of what was uncovered to me, I laugh. “We were so drunk.”
