Page 46 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

“My bed chamber,” she said, then paused. “Why are you turned around like that?”

“Because you’re nearly naked,” I said through gritted teeth, and I just gawked at you like some schoolboy with no control. “And you’re very drunk. I suspect sober Aoife wouldn’t be so willing to get undressed in front of me.”

She made a noncommittal sound, and I heard the rustle of fabric. “There,” she said. “Am I proper enough for you now?”

I turned and my mouth nearly fell open. She sat on the pallet wearing an oversized plain tunic that fell to her knees. The tunic had a little patch on the breast pocket with the image of a butcher. It was my tunic, the one I wore when I was in the brotherhood, when I’d been recognized with the honor of becoming the Butcher of the Brotherhood.

That tunic had disappeared shortly after I arrived here, and I’d assumed it had been thrown away, but Castle must’ve moved it here, to this place that seemed to be full of random things that nobody wanted.

“I found it in here,” she said, gesturing to the corner by the oval window with its dark blue stained glass panes. Moonlight lit the closet in a silver glow, lit Aoife in a glow that was hard to look away from. She was beautiful like the rest of the Fair Folk, but lit in a silvery blue hue, she looked ethereal.

“What?” she asked, eyes blinking sleepily. “Why do you keep looking at me like you don’t recognize me?”

I bent over and dropped down on the pallet next to her. “I don’t understand, Aoife. Why are you sleeping in here? How did you even find this place?”

She lay down, rolling over on her side and drawing her knees to her stomach. “Castle brought me here.”

My jaw locked. “Was the bed chamber I had redone for you that repellant?”

“I couldn’t stay in there.”

The words were so quiet I almost didn’t hear them.

Her eyes were closed now, her chest moving with each slow and steady breath. “Too many bad memories.”

I stiffened, her meaning becoming clear. I was such an idiot. An ass. Of course that room would’ve belonged to Fairwitch. It wasn’t even something I’d considered. That meant Aoife served as a slave in that room. The thought sent hot rage through me as I watched my wife laying there, her face bereft of its usual hard edges and lines, so soft, so unbelievably beautiful. I flexed my hand, resisting the urge to brush her dark strands from her forehead.

Even in her current state, she’d likely break my fingers if I tried.

“But why a closet?” I murmured, looking around the small space, the walls and ceiling almost feeling like they might close in on me.

“I think Castle knew,” Aoife said, and my gaze snapped to her. I thought she’d already fallen asleep.

Her breathing turned slow and heavy. She was surely asleep now, and I’d get no more information from her.

Castle knew what? I shook my head, unable to believe she actually would want to sleep in this place, but I didn’t dare move her anywhere else. She’d never forgive me, and she’d likely see it as another ploy to exercise my control over her.

I stared at her moonlit form for a few more minutes before I shook my head as if awakening from a dream. I needed to get back to my own bed chamber. Inebriated Aoife might’ve not minded me sitting here by her side, but sober Aoife would likely have very different feelings about it.

I moved to get up when her hand stretched out, clamping tight around my forearm.

“Stay,” she mumbled, eyes still closed, grip viselike. “Please,” she said.

I could’ve gotten out of her hold on me, could’ve gotten up and walked out of the room. Except there was something in her tone that made me stay. Longing, maybe? Tinged with sadness.

The last time I’d fallen asleep by her side it had turned out disastrous. Aoife had been sick, then, out of her mind with fever, and I’d done the only thing I knew to do and brought her to her bed chamber. I’d stayed awake all night watching her, and as soon as her fever broke, I’d accidentally fallen asleep next to her. Heat pulsed in my body at the memory of what had happened when I’d awoken, how she’d been rubbing herself against me, moaning and dreaming. How hope had flared in within me, and then it had been dashed just as quickly when she’d said another man’s name. I’d never told her about that, never told her what she’d done because she’d likely be horrified.

The memory still plagued me, but even so, I wouldn’t deny her this, not when she said “please” like that.

So I laid down next to her, and her hand relaxed its grip on mine as she snuggled into me, laying her head on my chest and letting out a sigh like she was perfectly content.

Like we were a normal husband and wife, and for the first time ever, as she slept soundly, curled into me, I wanted us to be.

CHAPTER 22

Aoife, one year and three months earlier

Warmth enveloped me in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time. Strong arms cradled my body, a hard chest under my head, and the perfect body for me to curl right into.