He catches me the moment I jump into his arms. His hands take hold of my thighs under the layers of tulle, and I press myself against him, draped in layers of flowery fabric. It’s not close enough. It’s never close enough. With delicate fingers, I caress the pounding pulse of his throat, his breath a heavy quaver. Gods, I want him, unrestrained and relentless.
“This princess is wearing a dress with anincredibly simplecorset,” I lie. “I’m sure I’ll need absolutely no help getting out of it.”
“Yes, it was becoming quite the distraction.”
“Perhaps I could use some assistance.”
He summons a breeze around us, ready to aid our escape as he has so many times before.
“Oh, darling,” Will breathes. “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
I want to kiss him, so I do. I want those hands I’ve thought so much about all over me. So I place them there. I want flowers in my hair and him against my lips. I want the cottage garden and the aroma of wildflowers and the sound of birdsong. I want Gill in my lap and cozy afternoons with tea and cake and clear skies. I want the peace of that life with the people I love.
I want to make the most beautiful bouquets and find the rarest flora. I want my flowers to continue to make a difference. I want my flowers to change lives, as they changed mine.
I want to choose myself. Be myself. Find out who I am without my curse. And I will. I promise. That’s the truth.
