That’s a relief. She might have to cinch the waist on his trousers, but anything would be an improvement over what she’s wearing now.
Then something occurs to her.
She can’t reach the buttons running down her back.
Stars above, this night is destined to be filled with one awkward moment after another. She’d call for a maid, but that seems even worse.
It is her wedding night, after all. What would the maid think?
Of course, this is an arranged marriage, not a love match. Surely no one expects her to crawl into Cerian’s bed the day after they met.
Someone did leave that nightgown, though.
No. It would be best to avoid the maid.
“I might need help.” She tries to sound as practical and unruffled as possible.
His eyes swing toward hers. “Help?”
“With the buttons on the back of my gown.”
His gaze strays to her back, and he swallows. “All right.”
He assented far too easily to that. Hopefully, he’s just trying to be helpful. He was really excited to go stargazing.
Pretending this is totally normal, she turns her back toward him and clutches her gown to her chest. No need for any unplanned theatrical reveals. She had enough of that in their heartlanding.
When his hands brush the skin at the edge of her gown, an unexpected shiver races down her spine, but she tries to ignore it as he methodically works his way through the tiny buttons to her lower back. For once, she’s glad for the extra layers beneath her dress.
“This looks extremely uncomfortable,” he says. “You should leave it behind when we depart tomorrow.”
“My stays?”
“Aptly named. They will stay behind.”
Was that a joke? She glances over her shoulder at him just as he finishes with the last real button.
“The rest of the buttons are fake,” she says, and he frowns again.
“Human clothing boggles the mind. Is that the correct phrasing?”
She laughs. “Yes, it is, and yes, it does. Could you loosen the laces? I should be able to manage the rest myself.”
If she doesn’t die from mortification first. Or he doesn’t. Of course, then they would both die.
He exhales slowly and tugs at the laces while she maintains a death-grip on the front of her gown. As soon as the stays are loose, he disappears, closing the door behind him.
That wasn’t awkward at all. Exactly the sort of wedding night every woman dreams of—her husband running at the sight of her shift.
Of course, the alternative isn’t high on her list of things she wants to do tonight, so she’s not complaining. And he didn’t so much run as leave to give her privacy.
Which she should put to good use before he returns
Quickly, she strips out of her many layers, leaving a mound of white on the floor, and reaches for his shirt first. It’s made of some sort of linen from the feel of it. The sleeves are long, and it hangs on her, but it should serve its purpose well enough.
The trousers are another story. Cerian is smaller than Rominy, but he’s still much thicker and taller than Arisanna is. Maybe this was a foolhardy plan.
She glances at her traveling attire in the wardrobe again. Perhaps she should risk Mother’s displeasure. Does it really matter if her clothing is wrinkled or not?
