OurTheo? His question somehow spikes and soothes my rising nerves. I do what I can to sound level as I answer, “He’s living his best life nestled on a pile of pillows.”
Simon presses his lips together, amusement slipping through. “As he should. I’m sure he’s content in all his finery.”
“I like to think so.”
We turn and pause with my hand on top of Simon’s as a pair of dancers sashay around us. I scan the space until I find Bessie and Cecily. They’re on their way to each other, though no oneelse would notice it. To anyone else, they’re just two women sifting through the sea of guests. But as they pass each other, Bessie casually drops her hand and passes the vial to Cecily. Cecily stows the little glass in her apron pocket, and it’s the most beautiful drug deal I’ve ever seen.
My heart soars, drunk with success. From here, Cecily will sneak into my new bedchamber and tuck the draft into a hidden pocket she’ll sew inside my robe. I keep eyes on her as she slips from the hall, but my concentration shatters when Simon’s hand moves deliberately under mine. My gaze snaps down to look, and I pull in a breath as the rough pad of his thumb brushes the skin of my palm. For a split second, I feel it absolutely everywhere.
In one spot beneath my skirts in particular.
“Are you content?” he asks. “With the events of the day?”
His features stay neutral, and it makes his ghost of a touch feel even more brazen. My breathing stays spiked as we walk in a slow circle.
“I’m more content now.” My words come out a little unevenly. His thumb draws along my palm in another slow slide. “Areyoucontent?”
“I hardly know what I am anymore.” We move apart. The men and women stand in two parallel lines until we move together, and Simon speaks again. “I must ask you something.”
I nod my head. He dips his voice low so no one else can hear. “I never existed to you before. We rarely spoke. I doubt you would have called me an acquaintance.”
Each couple breaks off to stand in their own small section. Simon and I take two steps in a diagonal to reach our spot. “And your question is...” I move the smallest bit closer to him, my arm pushing into his. No one can see it. Only we can feel it.
“What changed that day I came upon you in the gallery? Why do I exist to you now?”
The music is building. It’s almost the end. Now that Henry and I are married, I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to speak to Simon like this again. I take a breath before I answer. “Maybe I lost my memory—and I found you instead.”
Just for a moment, Simon’s eyes are completely unguarded, flashing with fire, and they’re achingly, painfully beautiful. So beautiful that I don’t hear when the music stops. So beautiful that when everyone else bows and curtsies to each other, we don’t. It isn’t until a trumpet blares, almost shaking the room, that we reenter reality. Following the gaze of the crowd, we see that one of Henry’s councilors is now standing on the dais. I catch a glimpse of Simon looking between me and Henry, and his eyes flash with something dark.
“My lords. My ladies. It is time for the king and queen to retire to bed!”
Rowdy cheers sound through the room. Simon bows over my hand, gripping it so tightly that it hurts, but I cling to the sensation, if only for a moment.
Slipping my hand away and walking past him is so difficult, I’m not quite sure how I do it. My feet feel weighted down with sandbags as I make my way back to the dais, going up the two small steps and placing my hand on Henry’s waiting arm. We turn out to face the applauding crowd. Simon has disappeared, but then I see Cecily standing in a corner.
“Are you ready?” Henry asks, seeming almost nervous in his humming anticipation.
I catch Cecily’s eyes once more, and she gives me a nod. I turn to Henry with a dutifully sweet smile. “More ready than you know.”
Some of the fancier ladies-in-waiting are the ones who dress me for bed. The wives of earls. The daughter of dukes. Dressing me is an honor now, and the nights of just me and Cecily are a thing of the past. But Cecily is here in spirit, thanks to her handiwork with my robe. As deft witha needle as she is with shadow puppets, no one would ever suspect or notice the little pocket she sewed in. But I feel it. And the little glass bottle waiting inside feels as heavy as a brick against my hand.
The ladies flutter off after a minute or two, sharing sly smiles among each other. Lady Rochford is the last to exit, and she’s suddenly holding a small cup like the one Cecily gave me before the ceremony.
“Some servant girl said you asked for mead. Is that true?”
“Oh, yes,” I answer, picking up the drink and tossing it back. I need all the liquid courage I can muster. I hand her back the cup, thanking her before she swiftly walks out.
Henry arrives at my bedchamber no more than a minute after she’s gone, walking through the door wearing a long nightgown and a fur-lined robe of red and gold.
“My sweet Catherine,” he says softly. “What a sight you are.” The door closes behind him, and I get the sense that we’re two fighters who have just been shut into an arena.
Only Henry has no idea.
“And what a sight you are,” I answer in return.
He crosses the room, taking my hands in his and looking deeply into my eyes. He goes to speak, but I beat him to it. “How about some wine?”
I slip my hands from his and move to a table near the hearth. A restless fire hisses and snaps, keeping the room from falling silent and casting me in silhouette as I stand with my back to Henry. My hands are shaking as I slip the vial from my pocket and uncork the stopper with my thumb. I look over my shoulder. Henry has his eyes on the large four-poster bed as I hold the draft just above his glass. I’m about to pour it in, but then I hesitate.
