Roman saw red. In no world would he watch Violet touch another man’s bare chest, no matter how innocent the reason.
Slayton opened his mouth to reply, but Roman, now close enough from his misstep earlier, kicked him square in the ass. The force sent the man toppling forward, face first into the water. Violet shrieked and reached for her friend. Slayton struggled to stand, even with Violet’s help, and Roman muffled a laugh.
“Something shoved me,” Slayton insisted and glanced around looking uneasy.
Good.
Violet nervously studied the surrounding water. “Are you alright?”
Slayton rubbed his backside, and Roman could have sworn the man looked right at him before flicking his gaze to the water. “I must have tripped,” he decided.
“Gods,” Violet breathed and placed a hand over her heart. “You scared me.”
Slayton gained his bearings and glanced down. “Shit, Vi, your bucket.”
Roman’s smug smile faded. Violet’s shoulders drooped as she watched her bucket float farther away from the shore. He hadn’t thought about her treasures when he’d kicked Slayton; he’d only thought about Violet helping the man remove his clothes.
The image still infuriated him. Roman knew there might come a day she would touch other men intimately and they’d touch her, but that day wasn’t today.
It wouldn’t be tomorrow either.
* * *
Roman crept into Violet’s room and watched her chest rise and fall. He released a long breath.She’s alive.
Across the room, Vivian lay buried beneath her blankets. The substantial happiness radiating down the bond suggested pleasant dreams.Verypleasant dreams.
Must be nice.
Roman set down Violet’s bucket filled with new shells and pebbles. Swimming into the vast ocean to retrieve her bucket took no time at all, but collecting new treasures took all afternoon because he wanted them to be perfect.
Next to the bucket, he left a glass jar of sun protectant on Violet’s pale yellow dressing table and crossed to her bed. Looking down, Roman bit his tongue to keep from laughing. The princess lay on her side, mouth open, with half of her face smooshed against the pillow. She looked adorable. The pink tint to her tan cheeks killed his mirth. Just as he suspected.Sunburn.
A half-finished string of beads on her side table snagged his attention, and he picked them up as quietly as possible.
The left sleeve of his shirt pulled up with the movement to reveal the green stone bracelet she’d given him for his thirteenth birthday. Replacing the strand of beads on her nightstand, Roman lifted his wrist to examine the scratched-up beads and worn string. If his bracelet ever broke, he would be devastated. It was the most precious item he owned.
Tugging his sleeve down, he picked up her bright pink dressing table chair and moved it beside her bed. He pulled a shifting puzzle from his pocket and sat down to settle in for the night. Footsteps in the hall halted the swift movements of his fingers. Roman glamoured the room to look exactly as it had when he walked in, but his heart rate kicked up regardless.
The door to the bedroom pushed open quietly and Vivian tiptoed inside. He watched with curious interest as she lifted the blanket on her bed and pulled out pillows he’d mistaken for her body. She removed her boots, and when she reached for her shirt, Roman averted his gaze.
Breaking into someone’s house to watch them sleep was one thing, but watching someone undress without their consent was a line he wouldn’t cross. Not that he desired to see Vivian naked.
He had to give it to her. She’d learned to move around quiet as a mouse. Vivian’s blanket rustled as she climbed into bed, and Roman faced her again.
As his betrothed, he should care where she’d been and who she’d been with, but he felt nothing. The fact that he could not care less about Vivian or her comings and goings further proved he needed to correct the gods’ mistake.
11
EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD
“Hold still,” Violet chided War as she tried to braid the quill sheaths on the back of his head. She’d seen a new style of braid on a woman in town that she wanted to learn.
War visited Violet most afternoons, and today she’d taken one look at his long, soft sheaths and begged him to let her practice. He’d huffed loudly, turned his back to her, and sat in front of the settee in her parents’ living room while she practiced repeatedly.
“I’m almost done,” she promised, earning a rumbling purr in return.
A forceful knock on the front door ruined her concentration and sent a spike of fear through her. Violet scrambled to the floor and tried to slide under the settee, but the decorative scrollwork on the frame made it too tight a squeeze. If she could just lift it and slide under, she’d be fine.
