Henrietta glances over her shoulder and meets Rosalie’s eyes, smiling tearily at her. Rosalie never actually told Henrietta. Amalie must have. But here she is anyway, helping them. Giving them space. Architecting their madcap plan.
Rosalie smiles back and watches the group leave the clearing, listening until their crunching footsteps fade out of earshot.
“Are you mad?” she whispers.
But it’s loud enough for Catherine to hear, her eyes widening. She takes a step forward. “Mad?”
“You’d have every right to hate my mother. To hate me, even, for what she did to yours,” Rosalie tells her.
Catherine slowly shakes her head. “I feel sorry forher. I can’t imagine how awful that would have felt, to save your best friend and lose her all at once.”
Rosalie stares at Catherine, punched in the chest by her generosity, her kindness, her lovely wonderful self. “You have a beautiful heart,” she says.
Catherine chuckles and they stand there for a long moment, just smiling at each other, the weight of the past sloughing off until brimming promise surrounds them.
Catherine’s hands curl and uncurl at her sides, and she huffs lightly. “Have we waited long enough for me to touch you?”
Rosalie can’t help but laugh. “Oh, absolutely,” she says, finally ungluing her feet enough to rush toward her.
They meet in the middle, Rosalie wrapping her arms about Catherine’s waist while Catherine’s hands glide against Rosalie’s jaw to pull her into a desperate kiss.
Rosalie’s whole body slackens. She presses up on her tiptoes, hands curling into Catherine’s hips, fisting in her gray pelisse. It’s soft, and hot, and lovely, and Rosalie wishes time could just stop altogether, leave them in this beautiful kiss forever.
“Hi,” Catherine says when they pull apart at least a minute later.
“Hi,” Rosalie whispers back, unable to control her smile.
“Come here,” Catherine says, dragging her out of the clearing and up to a big oak tree.
And then they’re snogging, Rosalie’s back flush against the tree, her arms thrown around Catherine’s shoulders, their bonnets knocking, heads tilted to give them the most room.
“I wish they were further away so I could crawl under your skirt,” Catherine whispers as she laves kisses up to Rosalie’s ear.
Rosalie’s knees buckle in surprise. “Jesus,” she rasps as Catherine laughs huskily.
She pulls back to meet Rosalie’s eyes and they stare at each other, lips swollen, pupils wide.
“I’ve missed you,” Catherine says breathily.
“Oh, I’ve missed you too,” Rosalie agrees, squeezing her waist. “Letters don’t do you any justice.”
“No, they don’t,” Catherine agrees, her fingers toying with Rosalie’s earlobe in a way that makes her want to melt into a puddle of goo.
She bites at her lip and Rosalie tilts her head, watching her go suddenly shy. “What?”
“It seems silly to say it out loud, because I do think you know. But I want much more than letters with you?”
A sudden wave of relief courses through Rosalie’s body. It’s a reassurance she didn’t realize she needed so badly. So much that she wants to give it back, wants to make Catherine feeljust as bright and wonderful and full. “I might want a lifetime of more than letters with you,” Rosalie whispers.
Catherine’s face breaks into the most beautiful smile, and she leans in to sip a delicate, aching kiss from Rosalie’s mouth.
There’s so much more she could say. So much more sheshouldsay.
They really should be using the rest of this visit to plan. It would be prudent, and smart, and expedient.
But when Catherine sucks on Rosalie’s bottom lip, her thigh pressing between Rosalie’s legs until she’s nearly off the ground, both of them panting, Rosalie thinks that just for today, just for right now, perhaps prudent is the least of her worries.
“How much longer do you think they’ll be gone?” she gasps against Catherine’s mouth.
