Page 44 of Fading Sun

I do, my heart pounding, the dress feeling more constricting than ever.

After what feels like several long seconds, his fingers are at the nape of my neck, unhooking the first clasp. His touch is cool, his movements methodical, and every brush of his fingertips makes me unsteady on my feet.

From the way his breathing slows, I suspect he feels the same.

As he continues, it’s clear that he’s experienced in this. Maybe because he grew up in a century where outfits like this were common. Maybe because he’s undressed his fair share of women in his long life.

Maybe both.

“Thank you for doing this,” I break the silence, my voice barely above a whisper.

He pauses, his fingers stilling on my back. “It would have been impossible for you to get this dress off on your own,” he says simply, returning to his work. “It was designed with the assumption that you’d have assistance removing it.”

With the assumption that my husband and I would be intimate on our wedding night, his words imply.

It’s a fair point.

One I regret I’ll never experience, since couples are supposed to love each other when they marry, which the two of us clearly don’t.

“I meant you could have waited for me to struggle with it and forced me to come out and ask for help,” I say, trying to wipe all thoughts of intimacy with Damien out of my mind, despite my skin warming anyway. “But you didn’t. So, again—thank you.”

Finally, the last clasp is undone, and the dress begins to slip from my shoulders.

I reach up to catch it, and he steps back, his hands dropping to his sides.

From the way his eyes wander down my body, drinking me in, I know that whatever just happened here affected him as much as me. It makes my heart race, and my breaths come faster.

“You can manage from here?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply, still holding the dress, unable to move.

He watches me for a moment longer. Then, without another word, he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him with a resolved click.

I should feel relieved to have some time to myself.

Instead, I’m more confused than ever. Because tonight was supposed to be about alliances and doing what’s necessary to save the city. About accepting the fact that this marriage is a “business arrangement,” and nothing more.

Now, all I can think about is how despite everything he claims to want, Damien’s touch lingered far longer on my skin than what was obviously needed for him to unlace that dress.

Amber

I stare out the small window beside me, watching the clouds from the view of Damien’s private jet.

Yes, a private jet. He owns a jet.

Well, now that we’re married, I suppose we own a jet.

But I can’t really appreciate it, since the tension in the cabin between me, Damien, Morgan, and Blaze is basically suffocating. We’re already hours into the flight to the Himalayas, and the closer we get to our destination, the more the atmosphere thickens with unspoken anxieties.

Blaze is hunched in the corner seat, his eyes scanning the ancient book sprawled open on his lap. He’s so absorbed in reading it that he’s forgotten the rest of us exist.

Morgan sits across the aisle from me, staring blankly at the back of the seat in front of her. The book on her lap has been abandoned for an hour or two, at least.

Damien, meanwhile, is directly across the table from me, dark and pensive.

We barely spoke this morning while getting ready to head out. Not even a mention of the wedding yesterday. As if we’re pretending it didn’t happen.

I suppose the fact that we’re legally bound together for all eternity is a topic we’ll sort through later. Assuming I have an eternity to live. We still don’t know if I’m immortal or not.

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