I know that now, and yet, I still stroke his hair like he’s my favorite puppy.
“Uh—yeah.” The smug asshole-smile he always blesses everyone with is nowhere to be seen.
He’s uncertain for once.
Because of me.
My hand drifts, and then I’m skimming along the rough coarseness of his five o’clock shadow. My fingertips are so gentle, I’m mesmerized by the way he feels beneath my skin. His hair, his faint beard, his hard jaw, his lips...
Those open lips move ever so slowly. “What are you doing, beautiful?” Warm breath fans along my palm with his quietly spoken quesiton.
What am I doing?Drunkenly watching my sister like a creep in the night. Drunkenly stroking Rome like a creep in his pants. Drunkenly making a fool of myself indeed.
Calloused fingertips skim over my wrist before he slowly wraps his hand over mine. But he doesn’t pull me away. He just holds my palm there against his hauntingly beautiful face.
Goddess, he’s imperfectly perfect.
His lashes are so dark they turn he sparkling color in his gaze a pale vibrant hue that must be enhanced by the goddess’s full moon tonight. His shining green eyes close, and then he’sleaning into my touch, and I’m leaning just a little closer to him, and then?—
“Roman, my hound, come here,” a voice cracks into our dense emotions, and my drifting attention finally finds the source.
Creatchin.
Of course.
“Help me summon the magic of times long ago.” She swirls with her hands held up like she might catch the weight of the moon if it ever swayed and dropped to our meager little world.
Roman flinches, his eyebrows pulling together hard, and there’s a passing second where he leans into me just a little more. It’s like he wants to hold on to the sensation of my hands against his body for just a little longer.
Then he pulls away.
And strides to his queen with a charming, destructive smile. “My queen.” He bows, taking her slender hand in his and kissing it intimately.
Oh, he’s a hand whore now. I see.
My lashes flit as I roll my eyes so hard, I too look like I too am worshiping the moon. I take another big drink.
“You’re supposed to be in your room,” a grumbling man says from just over my shoulder.
His words pierce my thoughts and I don’t lower the cup as I close my eyes hard to drink again.
I turn to find Zilo’s ever-disappointed features staring down on me. Avian lingers a few feet away, but I know he’s here to act as my keeper. It’s like a big bad wolf snapping his jaws at Little Red while Grandma just finishes her knitting behind him.
They’re exhausting.
But tonight, I don’t care.
Or should I say, my wine does not fucking care.
“I’m actually having a nice time. I’ll be staying for now,” I say with a smile I don’t even have to force. I should smile more often.
I’m good at it.
All that fake practicing has definitely paid off.
That same stupid smile stays in place even as Zilo’s glare hardens.
“Your aura is gorgeous when you're happy, Cers,” Grandma Avian says between knitting and pretending to mind her own business.
