Page 28 of Eliza's Cursed Dragon

The alarm on my phone beeped. “Time for dinner,” I said reluctantly. I would have loved to spend more time with her here, but I had a tight schedule to keep if I wanted to be away from the house, with her, before night fell.

If the servants wondered why she left with me every night and returned on her own hours later, nobody said anything. I was sure they were suspecting something, but each of my employees was loyal to a fault and would never voice any misgivings to me or anybody else.

Eliza

That was the first time Edward made love to me, but not the last. Over time we fell into a wonderful routine. He told me how happy he was that I had accepted him the way he was and guilt riddled me. Guilt for not being able to tell him my dark secrets.

The guilt grew with every day, every week, every month, and then with every year we spent together.

Yes, year.

Caspian’s stitches came out and Edward asked me to stay. And we did. I hadn’t been able to ask my brothers their opinion about it, but it didn’t seem to bother them. They appeared happy, as happy as circumstances allowed. We had a warm place to sleep, meals Marie prepared for us with love, my brothers had the pond, and I had Edward and all the time in the world to sew the mantles.

Several times a week Edward took us to different graveyards so I could fill my nettle stock and sew during the day while he was at work.

Some days he took me with him, showed me the construction sites and places he wanted to develop next. One time, we even made it to Fable Forest. He parked the truck in front of the sign and we idled for a bit.

“Have you ever been there?” His face was turned to me like it usually was when we talked.

I pulled my lips between my teeth. If I told him yes, would that betray my vow? The one where I wasn’t supposed to say or write or indicate anything about my brothers and me? Or did that only apply to the curse?

I didn’t know, but it had been four long years, we were so close, past the halfway point, and I didn’t want to chance it.

I stared at him regretfully, pleaded with my eyes for him to understand, and miraculously he did. “You don’t want to talk about this, do you?”

I sighed, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk about it. But I had no way to make him understand.

“Will you trust me enough one day to tell me who you are? Where you came from?”

His words nearly broke me in two. I trusted him with my life. I just wasn’t allowed to talk about this. And I didn’t know how to make him understand.

I took his hands and pressed them against my heart, staring at him. Then I pointed one of my fingers against my heart, drew that finger into the air, and circled his heart before I pressed my palm against his chest.

“You love me?” his voice sounded hoarse.

I nodded.

“Oh, princess”—he took my hand—“I love you too.”

He pulled me across the seat and we kissed tenderly. “You changed my life, you have no idea how much.”

He had changed my life too. Oh, there were so many things I wanted to say, so many words that ran through my mind, begging to be allowed to leave my tongue, but I didn’t know if I even still had a voice.

Did one lose it after so many years of not uttering a word?

“Do you know what I want more than anything in the world?” he asked.

I tilted my head and waited for him to tell me.

“I want to go to bed with you in the evening, make sweet love to you, and wake up in the morning with your head on my chest,” he confessed.

Tears welled in my eyes. Such a simple request, really.

I took his hand and opened his palm to nuzzle my face into it. Kissing it.

“Yeah, you too.” He sighed wistfully. “I’m so sorry that I can’t give you that.”

I wagged my finger in front of his face, trying to look stern. I pointed at myself and exaggerated a smile, I’m happy, very happy.

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