Page 42 of A Touch of Charm
“Andre…” she whispered, her voice almost trembling, “I don’t know if I am worthy of such words.” Her hand fluttered to her chest, resting lightly as though to steady the rapid beat of her heart. “No one… no one has ever spoken to me this way before.”
“Should I stop trying to find the right words?”
I have overstepped.
“No! Tell me.”
“I know I shouldn’t, Thea. I’m greedy to even want to find the right words to capture your beauty because nothing about you can be captured. There’s a spirit and freedom of liveliness around you that I’ve never found anywhere else.” Andre paused as if to steady himself, his breath trembling, his voice now a whisper of fervor and longing. “You are not just a passing vision, not the sight of a dream. You are a constellation of stars that transcend the humble ideas I am capable of,stella mia, my star, the light that guides me through every shadow and every silence since I’ve met you.”
Definitely overstepped.Stan would kill him for how he spoke to the princess.
She glanced down for a moment, shyly, before looking back into his eyes, her cheeks flushed with a hue that rivaled the poppies in the meadow.
His heart pounded with a fervor that matched the vibrant colors of the meadow. The scent of crushed grass mingled with the sweet aroma of nearby honeysuckle and primroses, creating a heady mixture that danced around them. Every fiber of his being urged him closer to Thea, the princess of his heart, the woman who had unwittingly woven herself into the very fabric of his soul.
But he mustn’t.
As he shifted, the earth beneath him seemed to whisper encouragement, and he edged nearer, the proximity to her a sweet, torturous bliss. The gentle murmur of her breath, the soft rustle of her gown, created a symphony that played solely for them. He reached out, his hand hovering, before daring to smooth a wayward strand of hair from her face, his touch as light as the breeze that played across her skin.
“You make me feel,” she faltered slightly, her voice soft but laden with emotion, “as if I am not just Thea, a mere princess… but something more with you than when I am alone. Something beautiful, luminous, as you say. But it is you who paints me such with your words. Do you not see?” She tilted her head slightly, her voice dropping to a tender whisper. “It is your gaze that gives me light, Andre.”
Despite his attempts to remain still, Andre felt his body lean toward her, an unconscious movement that defied his better judgment. Thea’s cheeks colored the softest shade of pink, a delicate hue that spoke of innocence. Her lips parted slightly, drawing his attention like a beacon, and his pulse quickened, each beat a drum echoing in the silence that enveloped them.
His fingers brushed against hers, a light touch that sent a thrill through him, sparking a sensation that traveled up his arm, to settle warmly in his chest. Thea’s hand trembled slightly, yet she didn’t withdraw. Her fingers rested against his with a tentative trust that meant more than he dared hope. Her gaze held his, and they had a silent conversation that needed no words, each glance a question, an answer, a promise:
I won’t betray your trust.
Yet, he leaned in, their breaths mingling, the space between them electrified with a thrilling and terrifying tension. The subtle rustling of grass beneath them became the background music to their shared moment, a soft symphony that accompanied the beating of his heart.
He leaned in, the air between them charged with electricity, making his heart race. Her breath mingled with his, and he could almost taste the sweetness of anticipation. Her closeness was intoxicating, a promise of something beautiful and profound.
Just as their lips brushed the edge of possibility, a whisper of a breeze stirred, cooling the warmth between them. Thea blinked, and the spell wavered; the moment held in a delicate balance. Andre paused, the space between them widening, yet the connection remained, silent sparks hanging in the air.
Thea’s eyes flickered with a return to awareness, and Andre paused, the tantalizing moment stretching like gossamer between them. Though the kiss remained beyond reach, the bond forged in that instant was undeniable, a shimmering connection that promised more. As he leaned back slightly, the meadow resumed its gentle song, but Andre knew this moment would linger.
He lay back, the ache of the almost-kiss a bittersweet memory already etched into his heart.
“Look!” Mary called, interrupting Andre and Thea’s leisurely moment in the meadow.
Andre rose and squatted beside Mary, secretly grateful for the child’s interruption because he couldn’t possibly apologize enough to Thea for what he’d almost done.
Mary’s bright curiosity momentarily captured Thea’s attention. The child’s fingers danced over the jar, her eyes wide with wonder at the discovery.
“I have enough,” she announced, her voice bubbling with triumph as she held up her jar, its interior a miniature world of green leaves and promise.
“Are there butterfly eggs in there?” Andre asked, his voice gentle, indulging Mary’s fascination with nature. His interest in medicine started when his father brought home a stack of sketches of the skeleton. Father had indulged him and nourished his curiosity. But as Andre looked up, he caught Thea glancing over her shoulder, her brow furrowed. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying a sense of unease.
“Have you seen anything odd?” Thea inquired, rubbing her arms as though warding off a chill that had nothing to do with the low sun of the afternoon.
“Look! A tiny white dot on the bottom of this leaf,” Mary interjected, pointing to her jar with a mix of pride and wonder.
Andre’s attention flickered back to the girl, but the prickling sensation at the nape of his neck refused to fade. Thea had been standing a few paces away, her silhouette framed by the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy while Mary showed him her jar with butterfly eggs and was adorably excited about her finding. But something was amiss. Andre felt an inexplicable tug in his chest, an urgency that settled like a stone in his stomach.
A rustle in the underbrush snapped his focus back to reality. “Thea?” he called softly, the name barely more than a breath, apprehension threading through his veins.
She was gone.
Chapter Sixteen
