“Wait, what did you mean byThank the All of All I’m not the driver?” She says the last part in a deep and bumbling tone, a rather insulting impersonation.
“I mean, we’d be in a ditch right now.”
“A ditch?”
I release a grumbling sigh. There’s no point explaining. She hasn’t a clue how dangerous she is. And it’s better we keep it that way for now. “I thought you said you weren’t going to dream of me anymore.”
She furrows her brow. “When did I say that?”
I purse my lips. Of course she doesn’t remember. I made her forget our exchange this morning. It had been a gamble whether it would work or not, but my bet paid off; she obeyed my demand and forgot our dance completely. After that, there was no turning back. My plan must commence.
“Never mind,” she says with a shake of her head. “You’re a figment of my imagination, so of course you know my inner thoughts. And it’s true; I was sure I wouldn’t dream of you quite so often anymore, for I’d given up on dancing. I’ll have to take that back now that I know I’m a…” She pauses, her jaw shifting side to side as if she’s sampling her next words before she speaks them. Once she does, she all but spits them out. “A princess. There, I’ve said it. I’m a princess, believe it or not. I hardly do myself. Though I’m not fully used to such a concept, I suppose it means I’ll get to dance after all.”
Her expression begins to shift. The annoyance my presence placed there gives way to awe. Excitement. A smile forms on her lips, and I can’t deny it’s a lovely grin. She may be my enemy, but that doesn’t diminish her beauty. Her honey-blonde hair is half pinned up while the long ends tumble around her shoulders. Her blue eyes are framed with dark-blonde lashes, her lips as plump and curvaceous as her figure. Not even her dour gray gown can hide those ample curves. Besides, thanks to one naughty dream of hers, I’ve seen her naked.
“Stars above,” she says, her words laced with a gasp. The sound rouses me from my thoughts. Finding my eyes have strayed to her hips, I lift my gaze. Thankfully, she didn’t notice my inspection, for she’s turned fully away from me. The kitchen dreamscape grows fuzzy at the edges, something I recognize as a precursor to a scene change. With her hands clasped to her chest, she twirls in place, stopping when she’s facing me once more. “I’m going to dance,” she says, her voice trembling with excitement. “Truly dance.”
The glade outside the convent floods the space the kitchen previously occupied. The trees are blanketed in night while moonlight shines a single beam upon the clearing. Uponus.
Her shoulders fall and she casts a glare at our new surroundings. “Not now,” she says to her dreamscape. It dims in answer, shifting into a hazy likeness. Night melts to day. She returns her gaze to me, and that look of distaste returns to her pretty mouth. “Not with…him. With a real partner. In real life. Soon.”
“With your beloved fiancé?” I don’t mean to say it with a hint of scorn, but I do. Monty Phillips may consider me his best friend, but I find him only tolerable at best. Half of the time. He’s the most insufferable shit for the rest. Luckily for Briony, she’ll never need to know his true nature, for she won’t be making it to her wedding day.
Her eyes narrow to slits. “You’re acting unusual. Is it because I’ve met the real you? Stars, I’d rather not invitehiminto my imagination. He’s a moody piece of work, that one. Silent and disinterested one moment, then smirking like some storybook rogue the next. He’s either ignoring me or studying me so intently I feel like his prey. Which is the real you, Mr. Blackwood?”
I try to hide my amusement over her observations of me. “Can a person not have two sides? Are you so single-faceted?”
“I’ve never pondered such a thing. I’m simply…me.”
Tucking my hands into my trouser pockets—I should thank her for the fact that I am wearing pants in this dream, by the way—I take a step closer to her. “You’re the dreamer who loves to dance and the sensible woman who was ready to give up on the life she wanted to be a governess. Those sound like two distinct sides to me.”
She snorts a laugh, her mouth tugging into a sideways grin. “You truly are just a sliver of my imagination. The real Thorne wouldn’t notice such things. He can hardly rouse enough interest to speak to me. I had to manipulate him into conversation, you know. Apparently, even that was so dull that I eventually nodded off.” She glances around at her dreamscape, which has begun to melt once more. The glade transforms into a dark auditorium. Featureless figures comprise the audience while willowy dancers in flowing white dresses move gracefully across a stage.
The movement draws her attention. As she steps closer to the stage, a wistful sigh leaves her lips. “I suppose you’re right,” she says, her voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “I do have two sides. A girl who dreams and a girl who’s too scared to dream.”
Something sharp tugs my heart as I study the awe on her face. The way her features light up as she watches the ballerinas dance. Is it guilt that plagues me now?
“What two sides do you have, Mr. Blackwood?” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Not outwardly, but within? What contrast lurks in your heart?”
The question catches me off guard, as does the genuine curiosity in her eyes. She’s very much unlike the guarded version of her I’ve spoken with today. In this moment, she’s open. Vulnerable. Real. I suppose I was the same way too when these dreams began—after I got over my shock, of course. Once I got used to them, I assumed they were nothing more than strange imaginings that struck me on occasion, taking over my thoughts at random times during the day or weaving through my midnight musings while asleep.
That was before I learned of her true identity. Before I understood the weight of the curse that binds us. Before I realized exactly what I was born to do.
I meet her gaze. “I am both a baker and a villain.”
She scoffs. “You. A villain?”
“To you.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t hate Thorne Blackwood. He’s just an easy target for my irritation. This whole situation has me on edge no matter how many times I remind myself that this is what I’ve always wanted, to be claimed by a family that loves me. To be needed. I never imagined an arranged marriage would come with all that, yet it’s not Thorne’s fault he’s friends with my fiancé, nor that he was tasked with taking me to meet a stranger. What is his fault are his moody silences that I can’t abide, but he’s not so bad—”
“Don’t get close to him.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop myself. “Whatever you think we have here, in your dreams, do not confuse that with reality. You don’t know Thorne Blackwood.”
“I know,” she bites back, cheeks flushing. Then, with a frown, she takes a step back. “You really are acting differently.”
I clench my jaw. She’s right. Ever since I learned the truth of these dreams, I’ve tried my best to keep my composure when we meet in her dreamscapes, but I’m failing at that right now. It’s more important than ever to keep up the charade. I don’t even know why I uttered that warning. Wouldn’t it be better if she did come to like me? Trust me? It would hurt her more when it comes time to enact my plan.
But that’s just it.
