“The collar of this dress goes all the way to my neck,” I reply. “And it’s about as form-fitting as a potato sack.”
“It’slace,” he murmurs. “And silk. I assure you, the shape of it does little to hide the shape ofyou.” His nostrils flare as his hands disappear behind his back. “Get in the bed. If I have to put you there myself, I’m not sure what I might do.”
He groans when I hesitate. “Sarelia,please. I am trying to be good here.”
I pout. “You’re always good. I’m just wondering what version of good I want to bring out in you right now.”
He chokes on a laugh. “Give the siren an ounce of power and she goes mad with it!”
I smile, fluttering my eyelashes. “I think I’d like to see what happens when you put me there, if you’d be so kind as to grant my request. I’m a curious sort, you know. Particularly when it comes to you.”
His laughter dies as his eyes darken.
He takes a step toward me, but his hands stay firmly behind his back. “Get in the bed, Sarelia.”
I wait just long enough for his eyelids to lower and his lips to tip in the start of what I’m sure would be the hottest smile I’ve ever borne witness to, then I lose my nerve. I squeak, turning to the bed and jumping in with haste. I burrow under the covers.
Behind me, Archie snorts. “You’re very cute.”
“Me?” I ask, peeking out from beneath the blankets.
His caramel-brown eyes lay soft on me as he approaches the bed, taking a seat beside me. My eyes widen as he begins toliterally tuck me into bed.
“You’re tucking me in,” I whisper.
He hums. “I did declare my intentions first.”
“Yes, but… I thought you were using a metaphor or something.”
“A metaphor for what?” he asks.
“For saying goodnight.”
He smiles. “Not a metaphor, my love. Just an addition.” His eyes flick to mine. “Would you like a story as well?”
I kind of definitely very much would. “Isn’t that a little childish?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think so. Plenty of adults read before bed, or they watch television. Consuming a story before you rest is a widely accepted practice well outside of childhood.” He rests ahand on my cheek, running his thumb over my cheekbone. “But even if it were childish… who cares? I do not view you as a child. I simply wish to care for you—to spoil you. In any and every way that I can.”
“Oh,” I whisper, gazing up at him.
He frowns. “My thought process was that your parents do not seem the type to tuck you in and read you a story, and every person should have that experience if they can. I mean to make you feel safe, cozy, and loved. I apologize if I’ve made you feel juvenile instead.”
“You haven’t,” I promise. “I don’t even know why I asked. I want the story.”
“You asked because your parents have consistently made you feel like you are not adult enough to make your own choices wisely. Consciously or not, you were checking to see if this relationship would turn into the same thing—if your judgment really is as bad as they’ve always implied, or if you really are as childish as they’ve always made you feel.”
I blink. “Oh,” I repeat. “Yeah, that does sound correct.”
He nods. “Are you okay?”
Um. “I think so? I don’t feel childish, and you said you don’t see me as childish.”
“I do not,” he confirms, eyes dropping to the lace at my throat. “Ireallydo not.”
My cheeks heat as I squirm beneath the covers. “Then I’m okay,” I assure him. “And ready for my story.”
His eyes meet mine, crinkling. “In case you fall asleep, how would you like the lights while you rest?” he asks. “At home, you are not consistent with them. I’ve been trying to decipher a pattern to your choices, but haven’t been able to.”
