“Okay, being married to someone who loathes you won’t be pleasant.”
He sighed at her snarky words. “I don’t loathe you either.”
Dominique lowered her glass, tapping her index finger on the side. “You certainly seemed to feel both when you came to my office two weeks ago.”
She wasn’t wrong about that.
“That was before I knew you better.”
Dominique scoffed softly at his words, taking another sip of nightwine. He could see that the pixie moonshine was affecting her. Her shoulders were more relaxed, and her cheeks flushed a deeper pink. His hand rested on her knee again and he could feel the heat rising from her skin.
“Princess, look at me.”
Her eyes flashed up to his. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”
A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth at her irritable tone. “I hate to break it to you, but everyone will be calling you that after you marry me tomorrow.”
She sighed, but her gaze didn’t leave his. Her aquamarine eyes were glassy and no doubt a little blurry now due to the liquor.
“You won’t regret marrying me. I promise.”
Her head cocked to one side, resting against the back of the sofa, and a sad smile curved her mouth. “I already do, and we haven’t even said our vows yet.”
The quiet admission pierced Ronan’s chest like a spear. It hurt. Not just her words, but the look on her face. The same look she wore earlier in the castle gardens when her mother and stepfather tried to attack him. He swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat.
“You won’t in the future,” he promised.
Dominique’s eyes were closing as she melted deeper into the back of the couch. “I guess we’ll see.”
With a sigh, she drifted off to sleep, leaving Ronan feeling unsettled and anxious. Two emotions he wasn’t familiar with.
Moving slowly so he didn’t wake her, Ronan slid from beneath her legs and took the nearly empty glass of nightwine from her hand. Swiftly, he drained both the dregs of her glass and the rest of his own. The potent liquor went straight to his head, making his face feel hot and his muscles lax.
He would figure out how to make Dominique happy. She would change her mind. She had to or what was left of his heart would crumble to dust, ruined by the curse of a fae sorceress and his own pig-headedness.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dominique woketo a brightly lit bedchamber and an empty bed. Well, empty save for her.
She sat up, realizing that the light filling the room was from the window. Her head throbbed slightly at the movement, making her groan and lift a hand to her forehead.
Why had she drunk all that nightwine?
One glass made her tipsy. Two made her drunk.
Moving slowly, Dominique shifted her weight to the edge of the bed and tossed back the blankets. She looked down and realized she was still wearing her robe, but someone had removed her strapless bra and draped it across the back of the sofa. She squinted at it, trying to remember if she’d been the one to remove it or if Ronan had, but nothing came to her.
Good grief, she knew better than to drink pixie moonshine. It always went straight to her head. Even a single glass. Her fuzzy memory told her that she consumed two glasses. Well, one and a half, but that was more than enough.
To her surprise, her stomach was calmer than she would expect after getting drunk off nightwine. She put a hand on the nightstand to push herself to her feet, when the crinkle of paper caught her attention.
Dominique glanced down and saw the sheet of paper folded in half with her name written on it.
She picked it up, studying the spiky, messy script. She’d never seen Ronan’s handwriting before, but she had no doubt this was it. It had the same bold, arrogant appearance as the prince himself.
Dominique couldn’t help squinting as she unfolded the paper to read it. The sunlight reflected off the white surface, making her dry eyes burn.
Princess,
