“Let me,” she says, her voice tickling Marigold’s neck. She pauses. “Unless, of course, this would not be ‘maintaining a respectful distance,’ as you so call it.”
Marigold stiffens. “I’m sorry. I’m only trying to do what I think is right.”
“Well, what about what I think?” Lottie wraps her arms around Marigold from behind and pulls away the bandages until the tattoo is revealed. “Turn around.”
She is wary of letting Lottie see her like this again in the light of day. Lottie called her beautiful only when the darkness shielded her features so much that she could appear to be someone else. Still, she turns.
Slowly.
Lottie’s hands hover on her waist, and her eyes fall to Marigold’s tattoo. She smiles. “You heal quickly.”
“Well, I am a magical witch,” she says with a smirk, and Lottie lets out a low laugh.
“Sure you are,” she says, her hands burning against Marigold’s hips.
Entranced, Marigold loses her grip on the salve and it falls to the ground. The clattering sound pulls Lottie’s attention, and her hands, away from Marigold. She kneels to pick up the salve quickly and says, “Sorry about that. Got distracted by my own craftsmanship.”
“Right.” She laughs awkwardly.
On her knees in front of Marigold, Lottie takes two fingers and dips them into the salve before rubbing it gently into Marigold’s sore skin. Marigold cringes at the touch, until Lottie says, “Breathe for me. You’re doing well.”
Marigold takes a deep breath and tries to exhale all her confusion and worry at once.
Her fears of what could be happening to the spirits of Innisfree.
Her deepening feelings and desires for a girl who could never love her back.
Her stress regarding her sister’s wedding that is mere days away.
She tries to let it all go, but it clings to her insides like hardened wax along a taper’s edge.
Lottie finishes applying the salve and adds a new layer of bandages around Marigold’s waist to keep her tattoo covered. Marigold begins putting her clothes back on and attempts to slip into the stay again. It’s not nearly as painful this time as she tightens the ribbons. It still stings, but it’s more than bearable. She slides her dress on, and Lottie fastens it at the back.
Lottie’s fingers brush up against the smooth skin of her neck, but she does not linger there. Marigold ties her hair in her signature ribbon and helps Lottie into her own dress. It is one she hasn’t worn before—blue as the autumn sea, and carefully covering all her tattoos with intricate lace designs. When she is caught staring, Marigold blushes.
“You look nice.”
Lottie laughs. “I try. It’s not every day you meet a royal family.”
“We’re not exactly royal, Lottie.”
“Your father is as close to royalty as I’ll ever meet.”
“Well, that’s not entirely true. There will be lots of people just as famous as him at the wedding.”
Lottie stops. “And I am going to the wedding?”
“Of course you are. Why would you think otherwise?”
“I assumed we would simply wait at your estate during the event,” Lottie says. Her breathing starts to quicken, and her mouth gets dry. Marigold can scarcely believe what she is witnessing—Lottie Burke is scared.
“I’ve never been to a wedding before,” Lottie confesses. “I don’t know how to dance or speak properly. I’ll make a fool out of myself. I’ll embarrass you in front of your family, in front of everyone.”
“Lottie, I promise you it will be fine. It will be lovely and you’ll have a great time.” She takes Lottie’s hands in hers. “I will not ever leave your side. Respectfully, of course.”
Lottie laughs softly. “Promise?”
“I swear it.”
