Page 41 of Wicked Salvation
“Why can’t we do that after the wedding? It’s seven weeks away, Silas.”
My grip on her wrist tightens and she winces.
“The food is getting cold,” is all she says.
She turns her attention to her plate, and I let go of her wrist. Eden picks up the cutlery with shaking hands, taking small bites of her food.
I watch her as I eat.
Her mind hasn’t changed.
It should have changed. It needs to change.
“I’m not used to this side of you,” I say evenly.
“And I thought you’d be more understanding of the fact that we are getting married.”
Things turn into a stare-off.
I’m getting hot. Anger snakes up my spine, bringing with it heat that spreads to my arms and fingers. The same kind of anger that I told her I wouldn’t show her again. The one I asked to put behind us, when I apologized.
“A few days, then. Three.” I take the last bite of my oatcake. “I’ll have you back in London by the fourth. You can spend the rest of the break planning.”
Eden shakes her head.
“I have a wedding dress fitting as soon as school is out,” she shoots back. “As a matter of fact,youdon’t have any time to frolic around in St. Moritz. We have tastings, venue walkthroughs, mockups to look over, music to choose.” Eden narrows her eyes. “What about your suit? My parents will be hosting an engagement party within the first week we’re back—and everyone will be there. I feel like you don’t care, Silas.”
Is it the stress of it all that’s making her act like this?
I try to reach for her hand again but she pulled it away. The anger rears its head again but I tamp it down—Ididhurt her a while ago. “I do care, Eden. But I’d get married to you right here in the middle of this restaurant. Just the two of us.”
My sentimentality phases through her.
“Your father’s a duke, my father is a viscount. Our wedding is the most anticipated event of the season. We won’t even be having a proper honeymoon because we have to get back to school by the fourth.”
Eden’s got her elbows on the table, kneading her temples. I notice it immediately because youneverput your elbows on the table. Right now, she’s far from the composed, gentle, gracious woman I proposed to.
Right now? She’s stubborn.
I’ll fuck it out of her later.
“Fine,” I lie. “Let’s table this for another time and just enjoy our meal.”
“My answer will be the same.”
“Of course, love.” I’m intentionally patronizing.
I’ve always heard whispers of the strain wedding planning puts on a couple—but I never expected it to look like this. Viscountess Lockhart is capable of planning an extravagant wedding without Eden’s input. We’re aristocrats. Everything can get done for us if we want it to.
All Eden needs to do is tell her mother the kind of flowers she likes, the dress she’d prefer—all of which can be done over the phone. Why is she so invested in doing the work herself? I want us to be St. Moritz for the very reason she mentioned earlier.
We’re not going to have a honeymoon.
I want us to have a few special moments to ourselves before we get thrown into the whirlwind of parties, social engagements and the wedding. We won’t even be allowed to live together at Augustine. Marriage doesn’t change the fact that they separate us by gender in the dorms. Eden can’t comprehend what our future is going to look like—that’s why she’s being so stubborn about this.
She’s smart most of the time.
But there are a lot of things she will never understand.
