Page 16 of You Rock My World
“At first,” I say, smoothing the quilt over her legs again, “he loved his wife. But in time, she turned out not to be the woman he desired to spend his life with.”
“Why not?” Penny is incredulous, like she can’t believe such betrayals exist.
“She only wanted to eat candy and party,” I explain with a shrug, “and the minstrel grew tired of it. But they were still married, so he couldn’t leave her. Then, one day, he got trapped by accident in a cellar with the princess. He’d never laid eyes on her because the queen was an envious woman and never allowed the princess to attend the court banquets. But the moment he saw her, it was love at first sight. The princess already loved his music, which she listened to hidden on a grand stairwell at every celebration, and now she loved him too.”
“Did they kiss in the cellar, Auntie?” Penny holds her bunny up as if the plush toy were as invested in this drama as she is.
I grin. “No, because the minstrel was an honest man, and he was faithful to his wife. But he sang for the princess, keeping her calm and making her feel safe until they were rescued.”
“They never get together?” My niece pouts, her bottom lip sticking out in a way that makes me laugh.
“Patience, my darling. After many days of lovesick stolen glances between the princess and the minstrel, a terrible tragedy happened. A fearsome dragon flew over the kingdom while the folks were out in the streets celebrating. He glided low over the crowd, opened his terrifying jaws, and devoured the candy maker’s daughter in a single bite.”
Penny gasps, clutching her bunny like it might be next. “Why her?”
“Because with all the candy she ate, she was the sweetest of the realm, and the dragon had a fine sense of smell.”
My niece’s eyes narrow on me, suspicious now. “Are you just trying to tell me I should eat less candy?”
“You’re too smart for me, little bug,” I admit, ruffling her curls. “But you already know too much candy is bad for you.”
“Finish the story, Auntie,” she demands, her voice serious now. “Was the minstrel sad his wife was eaten?”
“Of course he was. While he no longer wanted to be married to her, he would’ve never wished for her to be wolfed down by a dragon.”
“But now he’s free to be with the princess.” Penny’s tone lifts with hope, and I feel sorry for what I’m about to say.
“No, he’s not. Because the evil queen, Nadine, discovered their secret love and threatened to banish the minstrel from the court forever if he and the princess were caught together.”
“But why?”
“The queen was envious. The king was an old man, hunched and shriveled, while the minstrel not only had the voice of an angel but was also the most handsome young man in the kingdom.”
“How did he look?” Penny asks, suppressing a yawn.
“He was tall and had dark hair the color of a raven’s feathers.”
“He sounds very handsome,” Penny comments through another yawn.
“He was.” I close my eyes, picturing Dorian’s face as I caress Penny’s hair backward. “He had the face of a prince—a jawline as sharp as the edge of a sword. His nose was strong and straight, and his cheekbones could’ve been carved by the most talented sculptors. His mouth had lips so full and soft they promised a true love’s kiss. But it was his eyes that made him truly unforgettable. They were the ice-blue of a frozen lake under a winter sun, with a depth that held a thousand secrets.”
I pause, trying to figure out how to spin the story into a happy ending, but when I glance down, Penny’s head is tilted to the side, her eyes closed, her breathing soft and even. I lean down to press a kiss on her forehead. “Sweet dreams, little mouse.”
I flick off the light and leave the door slightly ajar.
I pause in the hallway, pressing my palms into my temples as if that will help clear the image of Dorian’s face, in all its chiseled perfection, from my mind. Did I really compare him to a prince—a minstrel, technically—in a bedtime story? It may have worked to put Penny to sleep, but my brain is wide awake and doing its best impression of a hamster on a wheel. I push open the kitchen door and pull out the good tequila from its hiding spot behind the healthy snacks. I grab the blender from the top shelf, set it on the counter, and start mixing margaritas. After the day I’ve had, I deserve a drink.
10
DORIAN
One Year Ago
The levity from Josie’s joke about my need to retouch my abs fades, leaving a quiet that grows heavier by the second. After the hug, we ended up sitting side by side instead of in our corners, and I’m hyperaware of her beside me. I stare at the floor, unsure if breaking the silence would ease the tension or ruin this new, fragile connection.
I glance sideways at her profile. Her lashes are lowered, and her lips pressed into a thoughtful line. She looks vulnerable.
I do my best not to stare, but my gaze keeps drifting back, drawn by the faint crease in her brow and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. The urge to smooth that wrinkle, to pull her close and inhale her scent again, threads itself through my ribs, delicate but insistent.
