Arthur grinned at the exchange, and as “goodnights” and “merry Yules” were bid across the table to one another, he slid his arm around Vera’s waist, and she did her best to pretend this was ordinary and that she wasn’t thrilled by his touch.
It helped some that Arthur sang his made-up words to the song, Vera joining in and making them sillier. They wore the shadows of their laughter when they reached the room. Someone had come by and set a fire blazing in the hearth. The candles all along the wall were lit as well.
“That was so much fun!” Vera said. She took off her quartz crown and set it aside before she uselessly began trying to reach the ties on the back of her dress. It had her squirming and stumbling backward, which put Arthur in stitches so forceful he collapsed into the chair behind him.
“Be a gentleman then and help me,” she chided.
“That’s a first,” he said with a smile. “A lady tells me to be a gentleman by demanding I help her undress.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Arthur held up a hand. “And I will gladly oblige.”
They were both laughing as she turned away from him, and his fingers fumbled with untying and unfastening various parts on the back of her gown. “I might have been better off struggling through it myself,” she teased.
He got it untied right after she said that. Vera felt the bodice loosen. It may have been her imagination, but she thought Arthur’s fingers lingered on the bare skin at the small of her back for a second more than they needed to. She closed her eyes. A shiver rushed through her. She was glad he couldn’t see her face.
She heard his footsteps retreating across the room and knew he’d politely turned away, giving her privacy as she changed into her nightgown.
When she turned to face him, it was to find him struggling mightily with the toggles beneath the neckline of his tunic. They made eye contact and burst into laughter.
“I suppose it’s my turn to be a lady and help you undress,” she said.
“I don’t know,” Arthur said as she closed the space between them. “Guffawing at my failure suited you nicely.”
Vera grinned. She stood very near to him, but it felt different than when he was untying her gown. This had them face to face, an intimacy they couldn’t escape, though she tried by slipping back into humor as she struggled with the toggles.
“Dear God, who are they trying to keep out? Someone should tell Randall about these fasteners. This might do better than traditional armor.” She tugged so forcefully that Arthur nearly stumbled, laying a hand on her waist to steady himself.
He made a quiet chuckling noise, one Vera could feel through her fingers on his chest. She focused on his tunic until she made headway on the stuck toggle. She wasn’t thinking about it as she continued to undo the others for him. When she reached the last one right at his sternum and was about to pull away, Arthur lay his hand over her fingers.
He wasn’t laughing any longer. He’d closed his eyes as he held her hand. He drew it to his lips, softly kissed the tops of her fingers, and then froze, eyes shooting open as if awakening from a dream. She did not move a muscle as she held his gaze.
Then she felt it; his thumb moving up and down, a light caress on her torso. Her breath quivered. When Vera had dared to let herself feel anything relatively romantic since Vincent’s death, it had been sorrow. So much sorrow and the weight of loss. But now, the pain was blanketed with longing, and longing felt good … like being electrified awake.
Arthur looked down at the floor in a moment of hesitation. It was like he stood at the edge of a cliff, deciding whether or not to jump. The pause was agonizing, yet Vera wanted to hold it for an eternity, this time hanging in the balance when all things were possible, and there were no consequences to actions untaken. With her free hand, the one not encased in his, she reached up and traced from the side of Arthur’s cheek down the curve of his jaw in a gentle stroke.
In one fluid motion, Arthur decided to leap. He slid his upper hand to the back of her neck, and his lips were on hers, kissing her with an insatiable hunger.
Vera hadn’t realized she was on the cliff too, but she jumped with him. It was an explosion within her as she kissed him in return, her yearning quickly becoming a sense of need. Arthur pulled her closer, his fingertips weaving into the hair at the nape of her neck as they embraced. She wanted more.
She wanted everything.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered in a hurry.
But she would not. She could feel his lips curve into a smile under hers as she pulled his body toward her and pressed herself against him, the two opposing forces meeting.
An unwelcome part of Vera’s mind interrupted the bliss: the memory of him not half an hour ago calling her Guinevere. He’s seeing you as Guinevere. She could not bury the notion. As badly as Vera wanted this, wanted to be close to him, wanted to be with him … As much as she ached for him, she would never forgive herself if doing so was a manipulation of his love for the woman she couldn’t be.
Her body must have betrayed the thought for an eyelash of a second, and Arthur noticed. He broke the bond between their lips but stayed close, his forehead resting against hers.
“Are you all right?” His voice was even deeper when he spoke so quietly, and Vera shivered at his chest rumbling against her.
“Arthur, I’m not her. I can’t be her. I—” Vera fumbled. She knew she didn’t have the right words, but she forged on anyway. “I would … If I could bring you comfort …” All wrong. She hated them as they came out of her mouth.
Arthur went rigid. He held her for a single deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and he pulled away. Their bodies separating from one another was like being cleaved in two. He turned and took two quick steps away, then turned back, mouth open and eyes on the floor at her feet. He stood there as if about to speak but instead shook his head. His face darkened: all that was gentle moments before went rigid.
“No,” he said through gritted teeth. Vera wasn’t even sure he was talking to her. He turned on his heel and left the room.
