Page 84 of Never Let You Go

My twin-size bed is gone. In its place stands a queen-size, four-poster pine bed with a fluffy, cream-colored comforter, a variety of throw pillows at the head and a light pink and slate plaid blanket at the foot of the bed, inviting me to snuggle. It’s so cozy, I just want to jump on the bed, but first, I try to process the other changes.

The room is entirely transformed, and I’m glued to the entrance as I breathe in the smell of beeswax and firewood.

The bed is framed by two matching side tables on which simple brass lamps softly gleam. The large bench under the dormer window has been turned into a reading nook, all cushioned up and lit by a floor lamp. A large dresser occupies the space on the right of the window, topped with a mirror framed in matching waxed wood.

To the left of the door, there’s a rocking chair with an off-white throw blanket and a lumbar pillow with a moose cutout. Next to it, the copper details of the mantel are polished to a shine. The fireplace is stocked with wood, and a wrought iron log holder is stacked to the brim.

Skye understated it. It’s not just a princess bed. It’s a princess room in a storybook village.

Standing at the entrance of the room, I’m still awestruck, and questions start to stumble in my mind as I kick my shoes off.

Why?

How?

How much?

Why (again)?

What does this mean? I wonder as I flick the light on, and a brass chandelier bathes the room in a warm glow. I tread barefoot in my new cozy retreat, my feet relishing the feel of the wool carpets that cover the wooden floor in the center of the room and on each side of the bed.

I run a finger along the crisp comforter and the soft flannel pillows. There’s a white pillow in the center, with ruffles and lace. Lifting it to the light, I notice an elaborate capital A letter embroidered in its center. A for Alexandra. My heartbeat picks up.

I’m drawn to the window. My throw with the pink deer and gray bears is rolled up on one side of the newly upholstered bench, making it a truly cozy reading nook. Mohair pillows are on the other side. As I run my hand on them, caressing their softness, feeling their warmth and light weight, I take notice of all the new details.

The cushions and pillows here are in harmonies of soft pinks and beige, brightening and softening the room’s wood paneling. The bookcases lining each side of the nook are no longer empty. They hold paperbacks—romances and mysteries, my favorite—alongside old editions of classics, giving the room a lived-in air and making me want to just curl up and never leave.

I open the carved cedar chest at the bottom of the bed and find my shoes neatly arranged in boxes.

The chest of drawers is soft and warm to the touch and smells faintly like roses. I pull open the drawers and find them lined with delicately perfumed paper. Unable to resist any longer, I run to the closet, retrieve my stuffed clothes, and start arranging my underwear, T-shirts and sweaters in the drawers.

I can’t believe Christopher did all this for me. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude, and also embarrassed. Again, how much did this cost him?

“Hey.” His voice startles me and pins me in place. I’m holding the lingerie I’m about to put away. His gaze drops briefly to it, then back to me. He has a mischievous smile. “You like?” he says.

“Oh, my god. I—I don’t know what to say. Why?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

I drop the lingerie in an open drawer and twine my arms around his waist, pressing my body against his, feeling his heartbeat pick up. “Thank you,” I whisper. “But this is too much.”

“Bunch of old stuff.” He shrugs. “Autumn has been looking to get started as a decorator, so…”

So this is why Autumn didn’t tell me. But more importantly—A decorator? For me?

“Couldn’t let you stay much longer in this room the way it was.” He pushes the door closed and takes my hand, leading me to the bed.

“So, I was thinking,” he says in a low growl as he sits me on the edge of the bed, stands between my legs, and wraps my thighs around him, “maybe it’s time to use this old house the way it should be.” He rocks his hips toward me. “Look inside my pocket.”

My middle throbs. The bulge in his pants is obvious enough. Why his pocket? I make for the belt buckle.

“Tut-tut-tut. Pocket, beautiful. Your mind is in the gutter.” He smirks as he trails my chin with his finger. I slide my hand down his pants and tease his erection, my nails barely scraping. He growls. “Witch.” Hissing, he adds, “Search my pocket. I think you’ll like what you find.”

With my legs spread around him, my middle yearns for his touch. I let myself drop on the bed, hands over my head, offered to him, and rock my hips up. His eyes are molten, and his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t budge. “Babe. Skye is right downstairs.”

I jolt upright. “Sorry.”

He grabs my wrist, pulls me up, and shoves my hand down his pocket, where it meets a metal object. “Take it,” he grunts.

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