When marriage season begins, you've just returned home from a grand graduation from finishing school. Expectations are high, a marriage and an heir must be produced as soon as possible, and an old friend doesn't seem interested in being a friend any longer. Being the good, obedient daughter that you are expected to be, you do what is asked of you and definitely do NOT get distracted by that old friend. Certainly not. Your childhood friend turned rake who only greets you with disrespect, disgust, and disinterest?
Nope. Eddie Munson is NOT a distraction. At all.
An angsty, regency-era slow-burn AU with a rake!Eddie Munson and a virgin!fem!Reader! Follow once childhood best friends through the ups and downs that come with the hefty weight of era-centric expectations and classism between the rich, socialite reader and the local outcast and roguish Eddie Munson.
Features elements of: childhood friends to haters to lovers, forbidden romance, a touchstarved!reader, a dash of a sexual awakening, and so much angst that makes the romance all the better! Plus, it has a happy ending so sweet, it'll give you cavities! :D
note: since the story reads more novel style, I'm only listing necessary content warnings before each chapter (similar to how I have it done on ao3). Word count total: 113k
full info & ch links under the cut!
more info (in an old post) + ao3 ink + Eddie Munson Masterlist + Stranger Things Masterlist + Masterlist 2.0
angst, fluff, and smut, historical inaccuracies everywhere, the reader has strict and occasionally abusive parents (her mother slaps the reader on two separate occasions), era-centric classism & sexism, courtship/marriage mart, a relatively heavy purity culture, religion not specified but "lord" and "god" used on occasion, descriptions of anxiety/panicking/nerves with mental exhaustion, descriptions of a character death + parental abandonment, some descriptions of guilt and self-hatred too, and the weight of expectations on the reader’s shoulders, talks of being ruined & scandalized
an inexperienced & virgin!fem!reader and a rake!artist!eddie, a three-year age gap, the reader is described as being shorter than eddie, childhood friends to haters to lovers trope, bickering as flirting, a slow-burn (sorta; they’re both idiots), sneaking around & regency era rule breaking (like meeting in secret), a very touch-starved reader, reader x multiple OCs (for courting), jealous!reader and jealous!eddie, constant teasing, forbidden romance elements
PG-13 wet dreams, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, there’s like an absurd amount of yearning & longing & sexual tension, over-the-dress second base, grinding, marking/claiming/possessive!eddie, Eddie likes his hair pulled, accidental orgasm denial, descriptions of naked sketches, nipple stim, clit stim, fingering, reader has her first orgasm because of eddie, oral (reader receiving), descriptions of first-time sex, unprotected sex, and multiple orgasms
this story does have a happy ending but it is heavy on the angst and forbidden romance elements
(Y/N) (Y/L/N) are used for the reader's name.
(Also the characters are aged up past typical regency era ages)
When marriage season begins, you've just returned home from a grand graduation from finishing school. Expectations are high, a marriage and an heir must be produced as soon as possible, and an old friend doesn't seem interested in being a friend any longer. Being the good, obedient daughter that you are expected to be, you do what is asked of you and definitely do NOT get distracted by that old friend. Certainly not. Your childhood friend turned rake who only greets you with disrespect, disgust, and disinterest?
Nope. Eddie Munson is NOT a distraction. At all.
An angsty, regency-era slow-burn AU with a rake!Eddie Munson and a virgin!fem!Reader! Follow once childhood best friends through the ups and downs that come with the hefty weight of era-centric expectations and classism between the rich, socialite reader and the local outcast and roguish Eddie Munson.
Features elements of: childhood friends to haters to lovers, forbidden romance, a touchstarved!reader, a dash of a sexual awakening, and so much angst that makes the romance all the better! Plus, it has a happy ending so sweet, it'll give you cavities! :D
As of now, it is only available to read on AO3 for registered users (to avoid AI website scrapers). But I do hope to get it up on tumblr shortly in large chunks. (I just have to figure out formatting.)
A longer synopsis, the full story warnings, and other important information are listed on the information page of the fic on AO3 :) Oh, and it is nsfw in future chapters (it's a build).
Anyway! Regency Era Eddie is now here! Thank you for your patience and understanding, and I hope you enjoy this historically inaccurate, fun little story I wrote on a self-indulgent whim! (And apologies for any egregiously missed errors!)
warnings: find full story warnings on the masterlist & ch warnings before each ch :)
total word count: 15.5k
* ch one - warnings: mentions of a character death & parental abandonment, exposition dump *
You met when you were six.
It was an easy memory to recall, really. You’d been rushing through the town square and into the adjacent park. Your parents were calling after you as a maid scurried after you, but you had little care for the long skirts you whizzed past. You wanted to run. You wanted to feel the grass on your legs and spin beneath the sun. Wanted to jump in the cool water of the lake that grew closer and closer with every step and feel it spare you from the burning sun.
You had no care in the world for anything at that very moment. Even as your name was called, as your parents spouted apologies, as your maid tried and failed to grab you. You just giggled and spun and ran.
Until you couldn’t run any longer. Until the wind in your lungs was knocked from you and your shoulder collided with something hard. Powerful.
That something was a someone. A boy. A little older than you with curly brown hair that grew fluffy in the breeze. A wild look of excitement came over his features as the ground beneath you brought dirt to your clothes. Brown eyes locked with yours as he laughed, snorting and grinning while sitting up. Nearby passersby looked upon the two of you like you were creatures from above and below the Earth who'd crawled out to meet.
And you dusted off the trousers you’d forcefully changed into after your maid tried to get you to wear a white dress out to the park. Even at six, you’d rather the lecture of wearing pants over the permanent grass stains you’d put into your perfect dress.
You blinked at the boy as he rubbed the back of his hand over his cheek. Dirt remained in its place. And it remained there even as a hand came down and wrapped around his arm, and then one went out in front of you.
“Edward, dear, you must watch where you’re going,” a woman said, her fingers gentle around the boy’s arm as she helped him to his feet. “My sincerest apologies, Edward doesn’t alway—”
"Hey, technically…." His eyes narrowed at you for a moment, and he seemed to come up short. You blinked at him once more, the dirt still on his cheek, his mouth forming a confused o as he blinked at you.
He finally finished when you took who you guessed was a mother or a maid's hand. She helped you to your feet.
“She ran into me,” he said with a knowing look thrown your way.
You rubbed your arm where his shoulder had hit yours, a soft soreness coming in and embarrassment following.
“He’s right,” you said. Behind you, you heard your maid Maria come rushing up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been running around like that.”
“Oh, no, dear.” The hand on yours, once starting to pull away after helping you rise, was back. The woman gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Never apologize for having fun. That’s merely being a child. What’s your name, dear?”
“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” Maria called just as you opened your mouth.
She was panting pretty heavily once she finally got to you. Your parents were in quick succession behind her. And you merely formed an awkward smile, your name taken from you before you could say it yourself. And the woman looked upon you with a recognition you hadn’t yet known would be a normal reaction to your name. To your family’s name. To what it stood for.
And as she hesitated as your parents arrived, the first person you’d ever met to not hesitate upon meeting you stuck a dirt and grass-covered hand out and gave you a crooked smile.
“Edward Munson,” the boy said with a tilt of his head. The sun darkened his cheeks to a light pink. “But my friends call me Eddie. Nice to meetcha.”
And before Maria could stop you, before your parents managed to reel you in, you threw a palm out and smacked it against his.
“Nice to meet you, too,” you said with an equally as crooked grin.
And that there was the start. An accidental bumping of shoulders in a busy park. Something clicked. Something stayed. And since you were young, it was okay. It hadn't mattered much that your family lived behind an iron gate a carriage ride away, in a house of too many rooms and multiple floors with bountiful food always on the table and parties thrown on a whim. Hadn't mattered that Eddie's family was known for their legacy in the town square for their general store—it did well, and it did well often, but the class differences were unavoidable as the years passed.
For the first six, play dates were fine. They happened multiple times a week even. You ran around in the park, played in the store while your mother shopped, ran to grab candy and treats, and dug for worms together. Jumped in the lake when you slipped away from your chaperones just long enough to make trouble. You laughed, you joked, you spent hours together. Read books while he drew; wrote while he played guitar; studied each others’ sheet music when you were beginning to learn piano.
Then, when you were thirteen and Eddie was sixteen, things were different. You were starting to learn more of the ladylike manners that were expected of you, and Eddie was of the age where playdates weren't allowed. He had to work. He'd technically already been working before then, but leniency was given. Especially by his uncle. When Wayne was in charge of the shop, he had a lighter strictness than Eddie's father.
But your schedules were changing, and the only time you really saw each other was when you were in the town square to shop or the park to catch a few rays of sun and a brief break. On the rarest of occasions, Eddie joined Wayne on any house calls. Your parents were not fond of your friendship with Eddie as you got older, but they were loyal to the Munsons from the years of your early friendship.
If something needed fixing in the house, they were who your parents called upon. And occasionally, Eddie was at Wayne’s side to learn and help.
Sometimes, he'd slip away to watch you practice piano with your tutor, leaning in the doorway of the den as you tapped away at the keys. Mostly too focused to even notice he was there until your tutor shooed him away or Wayne called out his name. Then you'd give him a little polite wave. Ladylike. Like how you were supposed to, feeling awkward in the light green dress that was rich and new and far too expensive and fancy.
He'd give you a small nod of his head, but he wouldn't always smile. And when he left, you'd do your best to ignore the twist in your gut as you went back to practicing. Your knuckles would hurt at the end of the day if you heard two hammers going or his voice occasionally carrying up from the hallway, making your fingers miss keys and the small stick your tutor held meet the tender skin there.
When you were fifteen, his mom passed from illness.
It happened fast. Faster than you could even process. One moment, there was news. The next, the shop had flowers and wishes for better health. Then, when you returned from a trip to visit a neighboring town’s tailor for new dresses, you were standing a few paces behind him at the funeral. You’d bribed your maid into taking you when your parents had been indecisive about your attendance.
Wayne invited you up to stand with them after the fact, but Eddie never said anything to you. His cheeks were just stained red, his jaw was set tight, and his eyes were glued to the ground.
You weren’t allowed to touch.
You reached for his hand, but someone—a maid or your parents, you’d tuned out who—corrected you just as your fingers brushed his elbow.
You walked with Wayne and only Wayne back to the general shop for a small wake. Eddie stayed upstairs in the rooms above. Where Wayne had an extra room next to his loft above the store. You could hear broken chords coming through the floorboards as you sat with Wayne. At that point, he treated you close to family as you treated him.
“Should I ask,” you started, but you hadn’t needed to finish when your eyes landed on the portrait of the four Munsons behind the counter.
"His dad's probably somewhere deep in a bottle three towns over." Wayne gave you a soft smile as tears—more tears—pressed against your eyes. There was a cut in the strumming again. Then, a loud bang. Wayne broke code as he gave your shoulder a squeeze, but you didn't much care. Seemed very few there as the dozen or so people looked up at the same noise you'd heard. "I'll go talk to 'im. It means a lot that you came by. To him and me. Eddie's just…there's quite a bit being taken all at once."
You'd nodded and watched Wayne with blurry eyes as he disappeared upstairs. You left a note scribbled with a quill and ink behind the counter, slipping behind it and getting a bit on the sides of your hand as you tried your best to give condolences. More. Ones that were more than the polite ones expected of everyone there.
But there wasn't much you could put into words that Eddie didn't already know himself.
You left the paper tucked beneath Wayne’s glass on the counter before you were hauled from the store. Wayne’s disappearance meant you were no longer required to stay. You were already overdoing it by going. Attending the funeral was one thing, apparently, but the wake was for personal friends and family. Were you not that?
“Not anymore,” your father said, sitting across from you as he peered out the window. He frowned like he was annoyed at the sky for merely contemplating dark clouds and potential rain. “As you and Eddie grow older, your stations in life become more apparent. As do ours. Your friendship mustn't be one that continues in the same manner it was as children."
You started to open your mouth to speak but were quickly interrupted. You apparently had a ball to attend for your upcoming sixteenth birthday for those to know that you're starting to truly become a woman. And what else could you do but what was expected of you?
From when you were sixteen to twenty, you were sent away for schooling. Finishing school. Where you were taught to be the perfect woman society wanted. A husband would want. All lessons you'd learned in your preteens, but solidified. Taught again and again and again. What spoon was the right spoon for soup? Which fork was for salads, and which was for desserts? What wine to pair with what food. How to perfect sewing techniques.
You spent weeks' worth of hours staring out the classroom windows, watching the bright sun go across the green field outside.
It wasn't a local school, but you came and went every few weeks. The carriage rides were long, but they were worth it. You missed your friends back home, who could never be replaced by those at the academy. And…you got a peek at what you'd been missing. Including Eddie. But they were always glimpses.
He was still with Wayne.
His father had left permanently. Shortly after you’d left for school your first year, his father had vanished and never returned. They only knew he lived based on postcards and letters that slowly dwindled, according to your new maid, Jillian. And that once bright smile you’d seen countless times on his boyish face was gone. Mostly a scowl as he swept the floors or stocked shelves.
You never really got to see him until you returned after your final year.
One of your approved friendships—your neighbor, Ella—was walking with you and two others. A girl who’d been at your finishing school with you and moved to town only within the last decade, Loraine, and one of Ella’s cousins, Winny. Short for Winslow, after their great aunt.
You’d finally had to settle back in at home, your twenty-first birthday was soon, and you’d begin your hunt for husbands when the marriage season began. Excitement blazed through the town even before you reached the square. Dresses and suits had to be made. Hats, scarves, gloves, and ties. Coats and shawls. Flowers collected and displayed, cakes and pastries ready for tasting, musicians readying for arrangements, operas organizing shows.
You'd been so enthralled in the conversation, you hadn't even realized you'd entered the Munson Family General Store. An uncatchy name that Eddie had always hated. But the rule went that the name could be changed when he ran the place. Until then, it remained. Until then, as you stepped into that familiar smell of cinnamon and vanilla, pine cleaner and shoe polish, inks and paints, and old books, Eddie was just another worker.
Eddie was the tall, broad-shouldered, long-haired man behind the counter, counting cash as she frowned at the register. A cigarette sat between his lips, his ears glinted with piercings his hair would’ve kept hidden were it not tucked back, and ink…very dark ink sank into his skin where his sleeves were pushed up just a smidge on his wrists.
Your heart stopped as your feet did.
You almost wouldn’t have known it was him were it not for the curly hair.
Or the eyes.
The brown eyes that flicked up as your group giggled at something Ella said, and they looked annoyed as they moved from Ella to Loraine to Winny to…you. His brows pinched. Your pink dress suddenly felt a little too tight. And…and there was recognition in his eyes as they fell over you. Slowly.
A drag from the top of your dress, down over your gloves that were thin on your hands, then the silky skirt and your hidden heels.
And just as you were about to say hello, you saw him scoff.
Scoff.
He looked back up at you almost….
Almost disappointed. Annoyed?
You actually staggered back a step, and it wasn't because Ella threw her arm through yours to get what you'd stepped into the store to pick up. Your first time coming face to face with Eddie in years, and he looked at you and scoffed? You glanced away, blinking, frowning. Maybe he hadn’t recognized you? The pink was rather abrasive in color, but it was a pretty dress. You’d received many compliments on it. But it could’ve taken away from any actual recognition. But—
Ella tugged you around into the next aisle, immediately stealing Eddie from your view. And you were silent as the women picked through the new arrivals of sheet music stacked on the nearby bookshelf. They giggled as they thumbed through it, going on and on about how Lord Daniel Thorburn was the pick of the season—rich, handsome, and supposedly of a fertile line.
You frowned as you played with your glove, listening to the register shut and the paper rustle.
Then there was Duke Harold Braden, another absolute must-have. From out of town, yes, but devilishly handsome and witty. Supposedly a rake, though. Although, as Ella quietly pointed out, that wasn’t always such a horrible thing if what she heard was true of what happened between married couples.
After the duke, there was Lord Balfour Hallwater of Hallwater Manor, an elite house on the same road as yours and Ella’s. Although, he was two years older than you, you unfortunately knew him as the whiny boy who’d get upset with you and Eddie for not playing with him in the park when he was allowed to meander with…commoners. His word. At Eddie, usually.
Typically, when Bal lost to fake sword fights and games of dice.
Then there was—
“(Y/N)?”
Your shoulders pushed back and your chin lifted at the sound of that familiar voice. A little raspier, but still soft and always sweet when regarding you. Not the politeness found in school and amongst those attending balls and parties. The kind that was…genuine. Sincere.
You turned as the other woman did, and you found a slightly older, slightly grayer Wayne with a box of books in his hands.
“Wayne!”
For a moment, you forgot all manners and rules, and you stepped toward him. You remembered them when you got within hugging distance, and still, even then, you earned a few curious looks when you put one hand on his arm and gave him a genuine smile.
“Look at you all grown up, wow.” He squinted before plopping the box down on a nearby stool. “You’ve been missed around here.”
"And you and Eddie have been missed as well," you said. It felt weird to say his name, knowing he was just at the other end of the aisle, only hidden by the tall shelves. That scoff was like an arrow pushing deeper into your chest as you tried to pretend it hadn't happened. "I'm sorry, I'm only just now really getting to come by. These past few years, with everything, it's all been so hectic and nonstop."
Wayne cracked a bittersweet smile. His eyes glanced over your shoulder, and he nodded at the other women. One hand went into the box, and out came a few string-bound pieces of sheet music. Apparently, that was enough of a bribe to take their eyes off of you just long enough for it to feel like you didn't have some chaperone peeking over your shoulder when it was Wayne, of all people.
“Been around long enough to know the chaos of the schooling, the preparations, the, uh, marriage season.” He cleared his throat and so very, very awkwardly glanced back over his shoulder. “Takes up more time than any one person has, really.”
“Mr. Munson, you truly are the best,” Ella said rather suddenly, one of her hands coming to your shoulder as she almost crinkled the sheet music in her hand. “Thank your sources. This music will be perfect to, well, perfect to impress.”
“Eddie’s the one with the taste for music,” Wayne answered. His smile was still awkward and bittersweet as he rubbed the back of his neck. He cleared his throat as there was movement at the front of the store, then just beside you as the bell rang above the door.
Someone called Wayne’s name.
“Ah, I’m needed. Come back again soon. You’ve really been missed around here. And….” He sucked in a slow breath as he glanced once more over his shoulder. Back in the direction of the register. Of Eddie. “He’s…probably not the boy you remember. It’s probably unfair of me to ask, but if he’s abrasive, be patient.”
Abrasive?
You nodded out of polite habit, second nature ingrained in you as you stepped aside to let Wayne pass. But your smile fell as he disappeared, his voice soft as he talked to whoever was on the other side of the aisle with him. You ignored your friends as you went to look through the stock of books he'd come to replenish on the shelves, your hands moving to put them in their correct positions—old habits apparently died hard—fingers thumbing through the pages while you peered back toward the front.
If Wayne recognized you, then Eddie certainly had.
But….
Your stomach churned with disbelief and anger. Abrasive? Eddie was never abrasive when you were younger. Or…well. Okay. Perhaps he had been. But it’d never been toward you. There were times he’d been short with you, there’d been times when he seemed to be bothered by your existence in the same room as him when you were older, but he was never cruel to you.
You frowned as you plopped the next book down on the shelf.
What’d happened?
“What are you doing?” Winny asked, suddenly appearing beside you.
You nearly dropped the novel in your hands as you jumped. The pounding of your heart had you catching your breath for a moment as you peered at them. Their long red hair was tucked back behind their ears, and their green eyes settled on you with genuine curiosity.
“Oh, just looking through the books,” you said softly. Lying but not lying—you were looking at the books. You held one up in front of Winny and gave it a wiggle.
“But you’re shelving them?” they asked with an amused yet confused grin. Like it was the silliest thing one could possibly do. A bit of embarrassment crowded your thoughts as you sucked in a slow breath, gradually looking at the ten or so books you’d already shelved.
Perhaps it was weird?
“Winny’s hands have never touched anything more than a book, a violin, a needle, or their hairbrush. Forgive them. They’re unaccustomed to knowing the hardships of generosity,” Ella mused with a grin. “Or gathering context clues.”
“Hey.” Winny turned with a frown, but Ella and Loraine were already laughing.
“(Y/N)’s known the Munsons for quite some time, Winny, that’s all,” Ella said with a curious look your way. “Since we were children, really. You’d run around with the Munson boy in the park and leave me all alone.” She feigned hurt. “The cruelest of times, really.”
“Woe is you,” came a deeper voice. Colder. “What a horrible plight to face.”
There was the scent of smoke on your next inhale, then a warmth that made you turn. Ink-covered fingers plucked the book from your fingers, the warmth of his body heat sneaking through with the rough grab. And you had to take a moment when you found him there.
Eddie.
Right there.
Not more than a few inches of space between you.
All the lessons you'd spent the last four years learning shot through you involuntarily and subconsciously. They overwrote the old friendship lines that'd once been blurred as children, and the second he entered the space that was deemed too close even for dancing, you stepped back and turned. You had to put your hands behind your back to keep them from wringing together in front of him to see.
He scoffed as you settled with your shoulders back, posture perfect, more than two feet of space between you. An appropriate amount of space. The twinge in your chest almost shifted into something else when he frowned at you. His eyes flicked over you again.
He looked…unimpressed.
“Oh, Edward, what charm you have there. How you’re without a husband or a wife is truly beyond us.” Ella gave him an almost cruelly fake smile. “Were you under the same expectations as us, you’d have three failed seasons under your belt, and then this’ll be a fourth, no?”
Eddie hardly looked phased by her words as he glanced at you, then her, then the book as he stocked it.
“Maybe you should ask yourself why you’ve been counting them. I know I haven’t been keeping track.” He plucked up the empty box once full in Wayne’s hands. Those brown eyes that once held the light of the sun and all the goodness of a summer’s afternoon were dark and annoyed when they looked at you again. He gave Ella what could only be described as a sarcastic smile. “And do they really count as failures when I lay with whomever I want at the end of the day?”
Winny's cheeks were pink as Eddie turned. Ella sucked in her cheeks, and Loraine almost clutched her necklace. The crassness was unexpected, but it was Ella's next words that drew your attention.
"Right, guess they don't count when you've dissected yourself from any chance of ever entering any proper circle." Eddie didn't even twitch as he slipped down the aisle; the back door to the stockroom and stairs leading up to the loft above opened with a soft creak. "You've really missed a considerable amount in your time away."
Ella strutted past, giving you a wide-eye look as she thumbed through the sheet music.
“I’d say Eddie’s the talk of the town, but when he’s been a rake and a determined disgrace, the gossip becomes old and repetitive.”
“It’s true,” Loraine added as she followed up behind Ella. She gave you a pointed look as if you’d contradicted her. “From what my parents told me in their warnings for my arrival, he was listed as one to pointedly watch out for.”
Winny followed up the rear, a book in their hands, eyes still a little wide and cheeks a little red. “Hopefully, the marriage prospects participating in the season won’t be so scary.”
And the three walked with their chins up as you stood there. You heard them ring the bell at the front counter while the stock door shut behind Eddie. You’d barely made it to the end of the aisle when he passed by, glaring openly at your friends as Ella set the sheet music down and gave it a little tap. And the look Eddie gave you….
You reared back.
He looked disgusted.
Annoyed and irritated. Simply because…of what? Of your return? Of your friends—sure, they could be kinder, but he’d been as rude to them as they’d been to him. And…and if anyone had any right to be angry there, it was you, wasn’t it? Despite your parents’ wishes, you’d written him during your time at school. You’d written him countless times.
And had you ever gotten a response?
No.
Not once.
Not once!
Even when you sent holiday letters, birthday ones, remembrance ones for his mother. Wayne always wrote back to you. Ella wrote back to you. Your extended family. Even your parents found time to return your letters. But not Eddie.
He said nothing as he rang your friends up. He said nothing as they departed. He said nothing as he glanced at Wayne and then started back toward the stockroom.
“Welcome back,” he said as he passed by you, leaning in too close. No person was supposed to breach your personal space less they were family or betrothed. And you instinctively stepped back. Eddie scoffed again. “You look ridiculous.”
And he was gone.
Just like that.
The boy you’d run around in the park with, the kid you’d share sandwiches and snacks with, would eat meals at his house with his family, with Wayne, would help in the shop and would beg your parents to have over. The kid who tried to teach you how to play guitar and how to draw and tricked you into reading scary stories until you were scared of the dark for weeks before he gave you a lantern as an apology. The kid who held your hand when you tripped and fell, tearing the skin on your knee, telling you about all the times he’d fallen and hurt himself worse and worse while his mom patched you up herself.
He was gone.
You swallowed hard as anger coiled in your gut as he kicked the stockroom door shut behind him. Hard.
It shook the walls.
And yet for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why he was mad at you.
You scoffed and turned on your heels, shaking your head as you followed your friends out, meeting Wayne’s apologetic smile with a polite one of your own. And you stepped into the sunlight.
What in the Lord's name happened while you were away?
* ch two - warnings: angst, purity culture, heavy expectations, courting *
Eddie was a rake. He was an abrasive, frustrating, irritating rake who didn't have a single care for how anyone in the town viewed him. Including Wayne. Or, that was how it seemed based on how much gossip you managed to get from everyone. From the point of you leaving the shop, the arrival and departure of your birthday celebration—which Eddie wasn't invited to despite your annoyance, and to their approval, he didn't simply show up by word of mouth—and the arrival of the marriage season–you dipped your toe in the gossip mill.
So as you wandered the town square with Jillian as your chaperone and companion, your head was full of all you'd ever need to know about Eddie.
He was certainly a mixed bag. A rake that hardly cared to ever hide the fact. Supposedly spent a quarter of his paycheck at the closest brothel. The rest went to art supplies, music supplies, rarely any wardrobe updates, the “dastardly” ink—Ella’s word, not yours—that he had needled into his skin, and then whatever illicit item he so desired. Be it books banned from schools and local resources. Or paying his way into clubs that gambled and fought and filled with smoke and liquor and workers of the brothel.
He’d never once participated in the marriage seasons, and he’d made no show of ever caring to. Nor did he ever seem interested when there were the rare flirtations made toward him in the store or the more…obscene outings he made to gamble, smoke, and drink. Apparently, he might bring them up to his bed if they were interested in that, but that was it.
The only time he ever stepped foot in—again, another's words—"polite society" was when he or Wayne was called upon for a fix. Either by your parents or any others who swore by their service on your side of the town.
By all manners of the word, Eddie was the outcast of the town who’d only barely proven his worth to maintain a position there. Well, within your circles, at least. He still had a handful of friends from when you both were younger that ventured into the darker corners of town come nightfall. They basked in the vulgarity while others threw them unkind looks. Uncaring and judgmental. Yet as you passed by the general store, you could see the longing yet fond look Wayne gave his nephew.
Eddie's frustrating brown eyes weren't on his uncle, though. They flicked up as you and Jillian passed by. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was your purple dress. But it… It looked like he faltered in his step as he went toward the door of the shop. A thick piece of chalk spun in his fingers as he pulled the door open a second later–bell ringing out into the noisy square, the sun catching on the thick glass of it. Within your chest, as his feet hit the boards of the porch without care, you felt your heart pound.
Then he looked upon you as he had the last few weeks since your return.
Annoyance. Irritation. Abhorrence.
“Afternoon, Mr. Munson,” you said with contemptment, not bothering to keep your eyes on him. Annoyance met with annoyance.
His fingers twitched on the chalk as he knelt down in front of the sign. A scoff that he did not try to subdue even in the slightest came out while he curled a handkerchief around his fingers, and wiped off the previous welcoming words and started the next.
“Give Wayne my best as always, please,” you added, Jillian’s eyes flicking between the two of you as you went. Her expression was unreadable.
“Should I have the flowers sent to you or your parents?” he asked, grunting loudly as he stood; that was his first response to any greeting you’d thrown his way since you’d started routinely seeing him. It was a personal goal and a game of frustration and determination to see if he would maintain silence. Seemed that was his breaking point; he ignored you no longer.
You paused mid-step, covering your eyes from the overhead sun. A surprised smile came to your lips in disbelief.
“I’m sorry?”
"You're supposed to send flowers when you're mourning a loss, right? At least, that's what I've learned." He tucked the chalk behind his ear as he glanced back at you with those once big brown eyes that were now sharp. "Figure if I send flowers, it'll help you mourn whatever the hell you keep thinking is salvageable here. At least at a much faster pace than you are."
Jillian's brows rose as you actively stopped. You just…stopped. Went still, taken aback, mouth parting in a small laugh that came much like a choked gasp. A few people glanced your way, clearly interested, and you felt a coil turn in your stomach hard. The utter audacity. A simple greeting and he pulled that out? Because you merely said hello and wished the same to be expressed to Wayne? You got that?
You had half a mind to follow him inside, but there were others there to watch. There were others already around you that would be quick to gossip. And with how eager that seemed to share just that interaction, you could not provide them any more ammunition.
Jillian had to prompt you to continue forward, and even then, you were still staggering with your steps.
What had happened?
You were quite at dinner with Ella's family, talking when prompted but otherwise lost in thought. About him. About Wayne. About all the etiquette you were trying to remember. Ones Ella had been gracious and lucky enough to learn at home with private tutors. She hadn't been forced away for months at a time to a new school, new people, scary teachers, and forced lessons.
Loraine was eager to learn it. Always eager.
Even Ella seemed fine with keeping up with it, even with just her family and you there. Winny had it down, but anxiety made them question their choices. And you…just sat there. Quietly.
What’d happened?
What'd happened that none of the gossip you'd learned could answer?
"The first ball's tomorrow at the Hallwater Manor, and you look about as excited as a wet piece of bread." Ella smacked your arm as she, Winny, and their accompanying extra chaperone, Francis, walked you back to your house. "What's eating you, really? Talk to us."
“Yes, please do. Anything to take my mind off of tomorrow. I am…starting to realize just exactly what we’ve gotten ourselves into, and I’m beginning to panic.”
Winny gave you a needy look that paired horribly with Ella's attempt at rousing the truth from you. It worked. It was an unfortunate side effect that you trusted Ella with your life and then some. Just as you used to trust Eddie with it when you were children. But…when Eddie hadn't been allowed to be there anymore, Ella had stepped into his place.
“I’m merely concerned,” you started, picking your words carefully. If you outright said that you were concerned about Eddie, they’d jump on that. And suddenly, it wouldn’t be about wondering why your old friend seemed to detest you. It was about your fixation on it, and you couldn’t afford gossip spreading of you feigning any interest in Eddie. Not when it’d spread wrong. Not when the marriage season was about to begin. “About….”
You shook your head as Ella shook your arm.
“Much more has changed than I anticipated, and I’ve yet to grow accustomed to it, that’s all.” You sighed, leaning into Ella’s hold. Your heads came together as you stopped outside the front gates of your house. The tall iron stood imposingly under the moonlight. “Even my birthday party was much more than I anticipated. I think I am in a similar boat as Winny when it comes to the preparations and the inevitable impressive scale of the ball tomorrow.”
“Ah, the one who’s been preparing for this with professional educators for the last four years is nervous.” Winny frowned and put a hand over their forehead. “This does not bode well for me.”
“Winny," Ella mused before her brown eyes were upon you. Her dark brown hair was braided back and caught the breeze and the moonlight like the old friend you'd grown up with. "We'll be there to hold your hand if need be. I promise. For the both of you. Everything will be fine, and we will find husbands or applicable partners…or we shall marry each other should seasons come and go and any fools overlook us. Deal?”
You gave her a bittersweet smile. Hers matched it.
You still nodded, even though it was pained.
You said your goodbyes with a stiff breath and slipped inside, even when your stomach churned.
It was a nice sentiment; truly, it was. And maybe it would end up coming true. But Ella was as beautiful as beautiful got—like the gods above had blessed her themselves with their beauty. And Loraine had the wits and the skill to ensnare any interested party if her beauty did not get them first. And Winny was adorable should they be able to harness their nerves for an offensive move rather than a defensive.
They’d find matches.
And if you didn’t? Everything you’d been set up for would be wasted.
You’d be a waste.
You shut the gate behind you and pressed your back against it.
You’d be a waste of a daughter.
And so, when time came for the first ball of the season at Hallwater Manor, you were in as perfect of a dress as your parents had obtained for you. A shy pink with glinting jewelry and modest gloves. Not a single thread was out of place as you climbed into your carriage with your parents. Only nerves hidden under forced steeled politeness.
You’d find a husband. It had to be a husband.
You dug your teeth into your bottom lip as the carriage jostled, and your parents studied you like the simple movement had knocked everything out of place. But it hadn't. You'd remained as still as you could on the cobblestone road. And you took to looking out the window as the carriage grew closer and closer to the massive manor at the top of the hill.
You’d find a husband.
You would.
You would.
And you forced the nerves down as the ball began.
There was music. There was fanfare. Gowns galore and suits tailored imperfectly and perfectly. All styles and cuts across the eligible and ineligible. And face…after face…. You’d practiced. You’ve been preparing for that moment your whole life, really. The overwhelming rush of familiar and unfamiliar faces swarming around you. Either finding you or finding another near you.
The handsome, the pretty, the plain, the ordinary, the old, the young.
You smiled at them all.
You nodded and smiled and did as you were expected. You laughed at little jokes and talked about how you’d just returned from a prestigious finishing school. How you had talents in reading, writing, piano, music reading, a love for nature, a hatred for nature if they had a hatred for it.
Whatever they wanted to hear, you searched within yourself to match it as best as you could. Tried your best to keep yourself as authentic as you could while trying to find any open connection you could, well, connect with. To make yourself much more interesting than the rest. To not simply catch their eye but keep it.
As whiny as he was, you even played nice with Lord Hallwater—Bal. Although, at the ball, he was Lord Balfour Hallwater. Elite. Powerful. The eye of many eligible, both new and returning to the season. He was of average height and spent more hours behind a desk than outdoors, but he had a wit about him when he wasn't constantly losing to games as children. Granted, he also wasn't that young child anymore.
His blue eyes glinted when he smiled, and had you not seen him sobbing to his parents about Eddie beating him for the twelfth time at a makeshift game of checkers, you might've enjoyed his smile. And his wit. And the man he grew into.
“I see you’ve become tamed,” he teased when you wound up dancing with him.
You fought the urge to step on his perfectly polished shoes. You just maintained your perfect smile and gave him a bit of a sarcastic laugh.
“I’m unaware of what you speak about, Lord Hallwater. I’ve always found myself well-behaved for the appropriate scenarios,” you mused just low enough for only him to hear.
His hands twitched on you, and the spin of the dance was almost ruined. Almost. Bal cared much too much about looks to mess it up. And you were eager to try and maintain a good image for the rest there. While Hallwater wasn’t your first choice, he certainly wouldn't be frowned upon by your parents as a husband. Especially since he lived close by, if a son was produced, he'd be close by.
Duke Harold Braden came next. The rake. Supposedly. He was charming with his curling smirk and deep voice. His eyes sparkled with a charm many around him clearly egged on as they batted their lashes and laughed at his horrible jokes. Only a man who seemed built like a professional swimmer with a vast fortune and undeniable looks could make people laugh at such dry jokes.
Were you fanning yourself a bit when nobody was watching? Perhaps. But it was hot in the room. And you'd spent the last four years surrounded by women and others purely determined to become the best future wives and spouses they could be. There were very few…Duke Harold's there with his deeply tanned skin and muscles that seemed to poke through his purposefully too-tight coat.
Crass in the eyes of the older ladies. Crass in the eyes of those who weren't interested in a rake suddenly deciding to pursue the marriage mart. If he was serious about marriage, fine—you'd try and find that connection. But it was hard to decipher whether he was simply looking for a person to lay with or an actual spouse.
So you put the seeds down, and if they take, then they take.
But as you maneuvered through the crowd meeting with the other eligible bachelors, you made your way to the pick of the season. The night was wearing on far too long already when you were finally introduced to Lord Daniel Thorburn. The wanted bachelor for that season. Who many had their eyes on but didn't quite rush like they had Duke Braden.
Lord Thorburn was like a walking novel protagonist meant to draw the eye of the woman longing to be rescued from the big, bad dragon holding her hostage. He was tall and broad-shouldered yet still slender and lean. Wavy brown hair was styled back, bits and pieces seeming to be caught in the sun's rays long enough to lighten in places. A chiseled jaw was perfectly shaved, dark brown eyes were almost golden under the flickering lights above, and he was all smiles.
He was fond of agriculture and accounting. Traveling for meetings and taking care of his older parents. Enjoyed winter weather over the summer and despised the spring for the countless allergies that plagued his family. And he absolutely hated the delightful marinated scallops you then had to avoid during your introduction, your dance, and then woefully watched get plated away when the night started to come to a close.
"You're quite the woman," he said as you danced, and you merely nodded, unsure of why exactly he was providing you with that compliment. It wasn't a particularly difficult dance, and he wasn't falling behind, nor were you. And you hadn't said anything particularly witty.
“Thank you, Lord Thorburn. You are quite the man yourself.”
And so you curtsied and parted ways and felt eyes on you as all eyes were on any person who danced with any eligible person there. You did your best to ignore them as the night continued. And continued. And finally….
Your eyes were heavy as you finally got into your carriage. Your mother and father were recounting your positives and negatives; what had been done so well and what you ought to improve on. More small talk when you connected was one you needed work on, and you made the mental note as you tried not to fall asleep. As you stared out the window as you passed Ella's home, then another, then another, then one more before you were home.
But you couldn’t do it.
“Might I walk the rest of the way?” you asked softly, listening to the gates shut tight behind the carriage. “I really would like to run through all I have to improve upon while enjoying the night. If that’s allowed.”
There was a moment when your mother and father exchanged glances. The modest carriage felt too small in those few seconds, but you were given a reprieve. A tap against the ceiling and a stalling of the horses brought someone to the door. Then, a hand was in yours as you were left graciously without a chaperone to simply enjoy the night.
Gifted a walk alone. A rare—so, so rare—walk alone. There was no worry when the staff had been vetted and then vetted again. There'd be nothing untoward done. You could merely enjoy the warm night and listen to the carriage retreat up to the house. Could enjoy the stars in the sky and the bright moon and….
You closed your eyes and spun in the cobblestone path leading up to your parents’ home. Taking in the gentle breeze. Taking in the one moment of pure relaxation where you didn’t have to worry about impressing anyone or trying to remember the steps to dances or how to manipulate yourself to fit the mold of what was wanted.
Your breath was slow but unsteady. Awkward. And you shook your head.
“You can do this, (Y/N).” You cracked your eyes open and turned them down to your feet, staring at the ground as you walked one foot on a stone and then another, balancing like you were stuck on only those to walk and wander. “You can do this. It’s what you were taught. It’s what’s expected. You can do this. You can—”
Something clinked ahead of you. Quiet yet loud in the silence of the night. Loud enough to jerk your eyes up to the source of the noise. You staggered off from your toe to heel strides, looking for a bird? A squirrel? A…hand?
You took a step toward the closed gate a few paces ahead of you just as a pale hand closed around it. And for a moment, a very brief moment, your heart lurched and panic shot through you. You went a step back as the hand slid down, silver rings dragging over the metal bar like nails on a chalkboard.
Until….
“Wow. You gotta give yourself a pep talk to spend nights chasing after the rich and ridiculous? Free food. Free drinks. Dressed like that?”
Eddie’s voice, familiar yet still far from what you’d heard in your head up until a few weeks ago, carried through the gate. The moonlight caught his tired features next, and the lurch in your chest was a different kind. Less fear and more…annoyance. Frustration. You frowned as you slowly approached the gate, debating the risk factor when there was a whole gate between you.
When it was Eddie.
It was Eddie. If the rumors were true, even seeing him there like that was enough to ruin your good name.
You stayed a few steps back from the gate.
"I'm rather fond of this dress," you murmured, peering down at where it still managed to remain unwrinkled. "And it caught the eye of many eligible suitors there, so I imagine others are fond of it as well." You ran your gloved hands over it while sighing. "But, yes, I am allowing myself a pep talk after a long night. Should I ask why you're lurking outside my parents' abode? I didn't believe we were on speaking terms."
"We're not." Eddie scoffed in the darkness, but you could still see his eyes slowly draw over you. You made you shift nervously in your dress. You felt your hands open and close as you processed those two words. "And I'm not lurking. Last-minute delivery to the Lenores next door. Saw your carriage. Saw you." His mouth turned into a frown. "Your marriage attempts end up unsuccessful? Or are you upset that the people there didn't simply fall to their knees and propose upon meeting you?"
“I’m sorry?” You took a step forward and laughed. “Am I not allowed exhaustion on my family’s property? No, forgive me, am I not merely allowed exhaustion?”
You laughed again. Staring at his face was infuriating. He was infuriating. Where did he get off on suddenly deciding you weren’t on speaking terms. You weren’t good. You weren't even okay enough to call yourself old friends. Four years apart, and suddenly, he wouldn't even look your way.
“My apologies, Mr. Munson. I’ll be sure to check with you the next time I wish to experience any emotion. Although, that might be difficult given I already tried to contact you and received no response each time. But I guess that should’ve clued me in on your lack of desire for communication upon my arrival home. So, how silly of me, what I must be thinking!”
Eddie's scoff was loud. It pulled from his throat while he shook his head and turned into a sound you'd once admired. A laugh. A cruel, mean, mocking laugh. The iron gates creaked just a little as he leaned back on his scuffed shoes, and the wind caught his long, messy hair. His smile was there—the first smile you'd seen on him since you'd arrived—but it was hardly one of joy or excitement.
“Wow. You were really quick with that. Does it bother you that much that someone just…does not say hello and immediately bend their knee to you?" His next laugh was shorter. Dryer. He pushed back from the gate with a drag of his eyes over you and a curled lip of disgust. Your brows pinched involuntarily, and that churning in your stomach was back. "Did they teach you that at that precious sweetheart school? If you're kind and pretty enough, anyone will cater to you?"
Your hands opened and closed into fists that threatened to wrinkle your gloves. One step forward was all you managed as rage pushed through your veins. He was your friend. He was supposed to be your friend. Or…or family of sorts. Weren’t you something? Something that at least inspired common courtesy between each other?
But no. You were nothing to him, apparently.
And you stared at the space you knew you had to keep between the two of you, even if no one was out there to see. With his reputation, you couldn't risk it.
You staggered to a stop, eyes down on the ground and hands opening and closing. In your peripherals, you saw Eddie’s frown deepen.
“I would like to inquire where you find yourself standing on such a high pedestal to admonish thoughts you do not even know if I have, but I can see you’re already primed for doing so. And if what the rest of the town has stated about you is even remotely true, then I am finding myself wondering why I am out here talking to you when you are clearly not the man I once knew.”
You shrugged. It hurt, but your parents would say the same. Ella, Winny, and Loraine would say the same. You couldn't risk it. You couldn't extend that level of energy getting upset that your once friend had gone down a path you hadn't been able to control. A friendship went both ways, and if he wouldn't even return simple greetings, what was left for you to try and fix?
And would any future husband support such a friendship anyway?
Eddie’s jaw was set tight when you peered up at him. His thick brows were down and furrowed as you took a step back, the exhaustion of the night weighing heavily on your shoulders.
"The marriage season has started, and it would be wrong to be seen with you without a chaperone. Goodnight, Mr. Munson, I'll see you—"
“Christ, you’re insufferable. Just like the rest of them,” Eddie spat, his eyes burning as yours locked with them. Offense threw itself into you like a hammer hitting a nail into the center of your chest, and you couldn’t even scoff. Disgust was back in his expression as he began to back away. “Good luck finding a husband. Really. What a goal to fucking have.”
And before you could even fathom a response, such a curse only being one you were not supposed to hear any proper society person say, yet it wasn't the first to your ears, Eddie just…left. Heavy footsteps that dragged along the cobblestone. Another curse slipping under his breath as he vanished into the night, leaving you standing there, taken aback, heaving irritated breath after irritated breath.
You kicked the first rock you saw as hard as you could, regret building as it scuffed your shoe. But…but Eddie.
You stomped your way back up to your family's home and ignored all the curious looks from the staff. Went up to your room and called for a bath despite the late hour. Frowned and bathed and climbed into bed without saying a word. Your parents' advice, Eddie's words, your unyielding anger kept sleep from you as you rolled onto your side. Then, onto your other.
Old memories came back quickly. Running in the grass as Eddie took your hand, leading you toward a makeshift fort he’d made in the unkempt forest beside the park. A little creek went by it while branches were pulled down by a group of bushes, creating a cave of leaves and twigs and bright green. You used to eat berries and treats inside of it as Eddie pretended to fight off monsters and creatures, a stick in his hand as a sword until you managed to use money you’d saved up as an allowance to purchase him one carved from wood with a leather strap.
He used to wear it on his belt when you'd play. Until he tripped and fell, splintering the old rain-rotted wood in half. Then, it became a truly sharp, jagged dagger for a while.
You'd lost count of how many times he'd used it to not only save you from those monstrous beings, but how he'd taught you how to hold it properly. Taught you how to swing it. That of which you corrected shortly thereafter when you’d managed to slip into some of your father’s fencing lessons, and you learned the proper grip.
You two argued for what felt like ages when you tried to correct Eddie’s grip.
“They’re different weapons,” he’d said. Determined. “They’re ridiculously different, actually.”
“No, you’re just mad because you’re being told how to hold a sword right when you’re pretending to be the expert.” You’d crossed your arms and tipped your chin up. A playful smile came over as he frowned at you. “And you’re mad I’m the one doing it. Aren’t you?”
Eddie’s quick-witted response to that was simple. He stepped forward and shoved you into the dirt, sitting on your back while he finished up the last of your shared berries.
"Technique doesn't matter when you're stronger." He chuckled as you frowned into the dirt. "Admit I'm right, and I'll let you up."
“Thought being right didn’t matter,” you’d grumbled.
“Eh.”
He’d shrugged and spun the broken sword in his hands.
“Jerk,” you’d muttered.
And it wasn’t until you’d actually admitted that maybe he had a point that he finally let you free. You ran and chased each other until your lungs burned and your legs were sore. Then, exhausted, you’d collapsed at Wayne’s table for dinner, your old maid beside you to chaperone and see you got home safely.
Where was that Eddie?
Where was the Eddie that would still manage a smile and a hello when you were teenagers. Sure, he was never the curious and excitable child he once was, especially after….. You frowned up at your ceiling and crossed your arms. But even after his mother passed, even when he took to wearing the mourning colors for months and months after, taking on more clothing of black and grays than any other in the town, he was never cruel. He was never mean.
He never outright insulted you as he had.
He’d never…called you insufferable.
Your frown deepened.
But you'd already reached the conclusion yourself outside by the gate. No matter how anger churned in your gut, what was there to do but shove it aside? Putting focus on what was clearly a dead friendship with Eddie was a waste of energy. He'd already written you off, apparently, and with such a rake and outcast within him, the association could risk your chances at finding a husband. Could risk more carriage rides—much longer ones—of constant critique.
Fine.
You swallowed hard and glanced over at the desk, mourning the new collections atop it. Mourned what used to be there. Only for those moments. Just those small moments you were allowing yourself before you shifted back into the gear you had to be in.
Forget Eddie.
The room felt heavier and smaller and darker as you rolled your back to your window.
You had a husband to find, not a broken friendship to mend.
Eddie was nothing to you and had to be. Done and done.
It felt like something in your chest started to crack along the center.
That was the way it had to be.
* ch three - warnings: sexism, classism, mentions of anxiety & panicking *
The marriage season wasn’t simply waiting around and hoping one of the many eligible persons remembered your name, your face, your everything while you sat at home for one to call upon you until the next event. While your desperation was not fueled by a desire for funds—you’d snuck in to see your parents’ accounting ledgers to make sure of that more than a few times just to make sure—it was one of relief.
Should you find a spouse able to produce an heir, you could take a breath. Presumably. So long as you could find the time in between all the attempts at matchmaking, romancing, courting, flirting, trying to become the woman they wanted, then producing that very heir. The wifely duties. The moving. The…everything….
You closed your eyes as the carriage brought you to the park where so many others were wandering and hoping to catch the attention of those of the season. Your leg bounced and unease circled in your gut like a searing iron. Already, three corrections had been made to your nervousness, but you simply ignored your mother as you stared out the window, curtain drawn back as the carriage stopped outside the cursed general store. An unfortunate quick stop before your perusal of the park.
Duke Hallwater, Lord Thornburn, and Bal were all supposed to be there, and you'd already spent the last two weeks coming and going from not one ball, but two, and moving around locations they might be at. It was a gradual season with no rushed weddings just yet. And the drawn-out process, the sleepless nights, the endless critiques….
You closed your eyes and slipped out of the carriage with your mother and Jillian, trying to catch your breath that had managed to escape you in just a carriage ride. Everything felt taut and wrong and like you’d never gotten a fresh breath of air since you’d had your graduation. Not even at your birthday party, full of dozens of people you had never met, full of networking connections to help boost your worth for the upcoming season.
You hadn’t even had a delicious cake. It’d been one brought from a town over, a famous bakery that challenged the norms of society and sought appearance over taste. Who had a great fortune and great name that carried the owners—the Franksons—and their son. Their son, Hartford, who they tried to talk you up to, but the older gentleman—near mid-thirties—had made your polite smile struggle. He’d looked upon you like you were a sweet treat for him.
The cake he’d made had been dry and disgusting.
Like him.
You followed your mother into the shop, almost grateful for the old scents coming together. It’d been a week since you’d last even been near the shop, doing your best to avoid it since Eddie always seemed to be working. Even when Wayne was not, Eddie was inside. Either stocking, ringing customers up, lazily cleaning, or even occasionally outside with the only kind of smile you ever saw on him then. Flirting, rakish, and daunting. The kind you never knew he could have.
The kind that made the gossip regarding his ability to get people up into his bed feel true.
It was a handsome smile.
An infuriating one. He talked of you being insufferable simply trying to find a husband when he had no problem enacting the same flirtations out if it meant he could take others up to his bed at his own desire. Yet yours was mocked?
You wrung your hands together as you flicked your attention around the shop. Wayne was there, graciously, except as you nodded at him and gave him a little wave, your mother intervened. Before you could try and get a moment of old relief, to share of few hopefully comforting words with the Munson you actually adored talking to, your mother stepped in. She did have a reason to—you were throwing a ball in a few days' time, and there was some work around the house that needed to be done. Another stressor thrown atop yours, having to be the host of the ball, having everyone there, having all eyes upon you as you tried to outdo everyone else's thus far.
Your dress felt tight as you and Wayne exchanged one last polite look before you stepped around the aisle to search for books and paints and ink. In a store filled with others, Jillian graciously gave you more space than she normally would, were it just the two of you.
You trailed your fingers along the old, worn spines of the novels as your mind drifted. You were trying to meet with Lord Thorburn, Duke Braden, and Bal all in the park shortly after, but Thorburn had been the only one of them specifically asking you to meet with him. The other two had merely made mention that they’d be there enjoying the weather. Ella would be there, too, graciously. You’d tried to ride over in her carriage, but your parents had prevented and refused. You were in competition with Ella, you weren’t allowed to ride with her.
The divots of the indented letters were deep and awkward under your finger as you frowned at them. Your hand twitched and chest moved just a little faster. Breathing was getting harder, but you'd suffered worse than racing thoughts. You'd learned how to cope with it years ago, no matter how it tore through you.
You weren’t in competition. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. It was a direct refusal you found yourself at odds with. Because technically, you were. If all your friends snagged the best partners to produce an heir, you’d lost. You’d be forced to try again next season and what kind of rigorous training would your parents put you through to ensure it’d happen sooner rather than later?
But you didn’t—you wouldn’t and couldn’t be in competition with your best friend.
Your eyes fluttered open, and you felt the exhaustion creep back up along your spine.
“Move.”
You jumped inadvertently. The deep, dry growl of Eddie’s voice flew through one ear but didn’t fly out the other. Your breath hitched as you peered to your left, getting a whiff of his spice-scented soap as he stood…too close. Much too close. He tilted his head as those dark eyes remained glued to you, a box labeled books stacked beneath a small one of inks and quills.
You took the required step back, glancing around to make sure nobody had seen the sudden closeness between the two of you, and forced a smile. It was tight and hardly genuine, earning a scowl from Eddie as he practically dropped the boxes onto a small table that’d been set up just beside you.
“Since you asked oh-so kindly, Mr. Munson,” you said mockingly, moving around him as he started first with the books. You kept a foot of space between you as you walked up to the box of quills and inks. “You’ll have to forgive me for not noticing you. I must’ve missed your greeting.”
You reached into the box with careful fingers only to stop. Your gloves were a sheer white, but white nonetheless. And not a drop of the ink bottled in there was trustworthy. It was wrong to pull your glove off in public, let alone beside someone—especially Eddie—but you were trying not to ruin the material.
You gave him a bit of an awkward look before hesitantly tugging the glove off. Eddie had seen your hands before, so of all people, it wasn’t like it was some strange part of you being unmasked. It was your hand. He’d held it countless times before as children. You were merely getting ink.
“Careful, breaking such a cardinal rule right beside me,” Eddie said under his breath. He practically shoved the books onto the shelves with an uncaring movement but a force that said otherwise. “Christ, whatever will people think about me seeing your hand.”
The look he gave you was sharp enough to kill. You did your best to return it.
"Are you faulting me for rules I am expected to follow? I did not create these rules, Mr. Munson; I'm merely following them to abide by what's expected of me." You felt your jaw clench as you reached into the box. The bottles were wonderfully cold and smooth against the bare tips of your fingers. "Do you not follow your own rules? Or do yours simply exist to go against the mainstream?"
You leveled an annoyed look at him as those deep brown eyes settled on you. His own jaw was set impossibly tight.
“Because just studying your appearance, I wonder if you’re merely interested in standing out from the crowd simply because you desire the attention or because you truly do detest the social niceties we others abide by.” You plucked up a bottle of ink and held it close to your chest while shrugging. “I’d call your determination fascinating, but that would imply I think about it when I have much more important matters at hand.”
Eddie’s laugh was dry and short and like a cuff around your wrist that kept you from walking away. It latched onto you in a rather infuriating way, and the smile that crawled up on his face was smackable. Not that you’d ever truly hit someone—not since you were children and you’d wrestle together, but even then, that was different. But the obnoxious, smart Alec grin that took over him with such mockery was insufferable.
Ah. You understood his desire to use that word. You had the very same when he stocked the next book and shook his head.
“Oh, yeah, you caught me, (Y/N).” He dropped both hands and leaned back. The casual stance came a step closer as he leaned to grab the edge of the box of ink. His arm brushed yours, breaking the code that you knew he was breaking on purpose, and you started to grind your teeth together as he slowly dragged the box to his end of the table. “I just adore the attention of all the pricks spending my month’s worth of salary on clothing they’ll be quick to shed the second a ring is on their finger. That they’ll toss aside when the wrong color is chosen or the slightest stain refuses to leave such pristine and perfect fabric.”
He flicked his eyes over your pale yellow dress before rolling them.
“Oh, really. You just know me so well. I can't go a day without some pretty, spoiled brat giving me an ounce of attention. Whatever would I do without it?" He thumbed through the box and shook his head. "The only attention I give a damn about is how quickly I can get them out of their clothing or their skirt hiked up. They tend to find themselves at the bottom of the barrel or a bottle when they don't find a match come the end of the season. Sometimes, that brings them here. So, you know what, maybe this marriage season bullshit ain't all bad."
Your hand twitched on the ink when your eyes locked. He was serious. He was genuine. And you felt your chest heave with your next breath as it became a burning stare-down that elicited an equally burning state of rage.
He made a mockery of all you’d been forced to learn about and then still had the audacity to use it for his own gain.
"Oh, so you aren't merely a rake; you're a hypocrite." You nodded as he cocked one brow. "You take advantage of the lonely, of the sad, of the heartbroken who do your best to find love and happiness and a family, and you ruin them. What a man you are, Mr. Munson."
“I don’t give them a single thing they aren’t already coming to me for,” he was quick to snap.
Still, you turned your back and stepped away. You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. Not then. Not when you were close to snapping in a way a polite woman like yourself was never allowed to do. Let alone in public.
You squeezed the bottle of ink hard in your hand, aiming to find your mother or Wayne to check out and depart. There were footsteps behind you.
“And you say all of that about me, but at least I am open about why and what I do.” He stepped around you, once again too close. His chest nearly touched yours before you quickly took a step back. You were huffing much too deeply and struggling to get steadying breaths when that annoying, frustrating gaze fell upon you. Anger curled and coiled from it. From him. “What are you doing? Wandering around and batting your lashes just cause, what? Why?”
You blinked at him.
"To find a husband," you said plainly. "To find a family and produce an heir and—"
“Christ, why?”
You frowned. Annoyance grew.
“Because I’m of the age to find a husband. As a predator seeking prey within the very marriage mart, I would imagine you’d come to that conclusion on your own, Mr. Munson.”
His hands opened and closed. His chest heaved. His cheeks were the slightest bit of red as he glanced up and looked around the store, head shaking.
"You really want to wander around out there underneath little frilly umbrellas while fanning yourself and twirling them, laughing at shit jokes, putting on too many layers, and forcing smiles just to marry one of those strangers out there?"
“Yes,” you said quickly. Sternly. “I wouldn’t be on my way to meet Lord Thorbun if I did not. I would not be participating in the marriage season if I did not.” The words were a little stilted from your lips, and you tried to make them smooth. You really did. You had to when there could be others listening in—it wasn’t like your words were quiet. “Now, will you either move from my path or assist me in purchasing this ink so I may get to the man I might call my husband?”
The look of disgust Eddie had was really a perfected one. He shook his head as he plucked the ink from your hand without prompt. Without warning. Your breath hitched at the sudden touch, calloused fingers touching the lost roughness your palm once held as a child. Tender and soft without the glove atop it, you almost dropped the ink before his fingers got ahold of it, and you turned your gaze away as Eddie seemed entirely unbothered by the broken social cue.
You let out a shaky breath as he sauntered up to the front counter, sharing a look with Wayne that said a silent behave, Edward. And your mother gave you a warning look as you procured the necessary funds, taking your sweet time walking up to the counter.
“It’s pathetic,” Eddie muttered as he tossed the ink into a paper bag and shoved it at you. The words sank deep into you as you tugged your glove back on.
“I beg your pardon?” you asked softly, once again taken aback.
“All of it.” He nodded at you. “Seeing you like this. It’s pathetic.” He slammed the register shut and scoffed. “But enjoy your date with Lord Thorburn. I’m sure it’ll be real fun.”
You snatched the bag from the counter as Eddie sauntered back to the aisle you’d both once been in. And behind you, you could hear Wayne’s soft sigh before apologizing to your mother.
“Forgive him. He’s….”
"He's an adult, Wayne. You needn't apologize for his poor actions," your mother said almost coldly. "I just ask that if he is one to come attend to our fixes, you join him. You have to understand I have little trust in him around my daughter. His reputation does not hold him in high regards."
You shot your mother a look of surprise, but one that…you couldn’t exactly say much about. You weren’t entirely blind to the irony. The hypocrisy on your own part. And you swallowed hard as Wayne hesitated yet still nodded.
And with one stretch of your mother’s hand and a murmured thanks to Wayne, you were walking toward the door to go across to the park. You gave Wayne another smile and even gave his arm a small touch as you passed by him. Social rules be damned—Wayne was practically family. Besides, there was no one there in the aisle besides you, Jillian, and your mother. You could.
And he gave you the smallest, most bittersweet smile before you left.
Your peer back through the front windows showed him and Eddie beside each other, talking an unheard conversation that made your blood boil.
Eddie had some nerve.
You crinkled the paper bag before you passed it along to Jillian.
Jerk.
You sucked in a burning breath and stepped toward the park.
There was no time to think about Eddie—you had a date to get to.
Now, Lord Thorburn was certainly a delight. There was no scowl to be had on his polite features. He seemed about as trained as many else were in the art of courting. He was the first you met with at the park, and he met you with those golden brown eyes, a polite smile, a gift of a book about winter foraging, and talk of how brutally hot it was without a cooling breezing.
Apparently, his family had a winter home they often spent the season at. From snow to snow, they were there as long as they could manage, making use of the delightful beauty of winter to work and study and care for one another. Fireplaces filled the home, paintings hung from the walls, curtains were drawn back to show the snow, and desks were given new chairs to sit at each year to support weary backs.
“Truly, if you’ve yet to see the snow, it is delightful.” He gave you a longing look that seemed to transport him back to the cliffs of the home. “I do not mean to disparage your home here. I merely….”
He pursed his lips and tilted his chin down, brown eyes flicking across the ground with every slow step you took. Your mother and Jillian walked a few paces behind you. They watched, talked, and presumably schemed.
You found your grip adjusting on your unopened fan as you came past an old tree you and Eddie used to sit under and read for hours. Even when you were older and your friendship was frowned upon, sometimes you’d accidentally find yourself sitting beneath it, a few feet between you, not even acknowledging each other with words. Just the glance of arrival and departure. Just…sitting and reading in silence.
Where had that Eddie gone?
You found a tight grip on your fan and nearly frowned. The tree was taller; fuller. Young couples—or soon-to-be couples—sat beneath it on blankets. Chatting and enjoying snacks. You could still feel how the bark pushed through your thin shirts and the dresses you’d eventually transitioned into.
You could still feel Eddie’s presence just relaxing nearby.
“Does that horrid explanation make sense?”
Lord Thorburn's voice cut in, and you jerked your eyes from the tree. He looked at you quizzically, a tilt of his head and an innocent blinking as he waited for you to respond. He was…dastardly pretty in a way that you understood why so many wanted his hand before even meeting him. Really, you understood it.
And it worked as your only saving grace for not hearing a single word of what he'd said.
“You’ll have to forgive me, my lord.” You gave him an apologetic look, your heart pounding as you wondered if your mother had heard it. Had noticed your lack of attention toward him. “I was lost in thought admiring your eyes. I’ve never seen such a beautiful shade of brown before.”
The words felt…weirdly wrong.
You brushed them off as his mouth tipped into a little smile.
"Not many admire such an eye color," he murmured, clearing his throat and turning to look forward. "I find yours quite…interesting as well." He frowned. "My apologies. I have been dancing between every other person here for the last few weeks, and I am so used to such automated responses that one caught me off guard."
Well, there was some guilt in your chest. His eyes were rather pretty, though. So it wasn’t a total lie.
“Forgive me for being so blunt.” You gave him a small smile. “My intention was merely to compliment, not to trip you up. Find the words with all the time you require. It allows me more to admire you.”
The words just sort of slipped out, and even you were surprised at them. You’d danced with him…five times by that point, and that was a brave bluntness to have. The kind that might inspire the wrong thinking if done incorrectly. And you had to hold your breath as the words fell over him.
Rush into courtship too fast, too strong, too abrasively, and they might assume there’s another reason behind your direct interest. It was a slow game lest the worry of pregnancy might come before a wedding. But, typically, both parties involved in creating said pregnancy were rushing to the altar already. Coming from one side before any connection had been made, however, it would inspire the wrong interests.
Like a lack of funds. An already ruined or pregnant woman. An attempt at entrapment for a beneficial match. A manipulation for blackmail or a pettiness to steal from a better-matched partner purely out of spite. Some just simply didn't enjoy desperation. Some might take advantage of that desperation.
Like Eddie.
Comforting those who came up without partners at the end of the marriage season.
Jerk. You turned away from Lord Thorburn as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the correct words. He didn’t outright dismiss you or call you any names, so it was safe to assume he believed your words as they were just that—words of compliment. And you were grateful. A gratitude that lasted as you continued your walk, but you couldn’t get the image of Eddie simply hanging out on the front porch of the general store, dark eyes watching the sobbing, scouting for someone to take to bed with him. As if there were those ready and willing for payment that could do the very same for him. And he wouldn’t be tarnishing a person’s good name in the process.
Jerk. Jerk.
You clenched your jaw as you fanned yourself. Your breathing increased as Lord Thorburn said something and you—blast it. You missed it again. Your fuming burned a low hum inside your head that shook the sounds of the world away. Shook everything away. You were heaving heavy breaths as you peered over at Lord Thorburn and caught the last of his words. He seemed to continue on when you hadn't responded.
“I believe you’d look rather beautiful framed in the snow. Although it does take some getting used to if you’ve never seen it.”
You had. It snowed a great deal during some local winters.
He knew that. And if he did not, he was showing himself a bit foolish not knowing the weather locations of one of his homes. It meant…it meant he hardly spent time in town. Which meant you wouldn't either. Which meant….
You felt your hands twitch.
Which meant you’d be far from your family, which was arguably a positive. But you’d be far from Ella. From Loraine and Winny. From all you’d known. And…and Eddie.
You forced a smile. There wasn’t an Eddie to be far from anymore.
“I imagine the snow up there is to die for, Lord Thorburn,” you interjected at the first moment of a pause. “I would love to see it should I get the luck to do so.”
Your smile only barely reached your eyes as he peered at you, interest sparking in his. Or what you hopefully ready as interest. The sooner you got married…. You swallowed hard. A double edge sword that felt like it was pressing deeper into your chest.
You parted ways with Lord Thorburn shortly after, thanking him for his time, and he thanked you for yours. The second you were away from him, about four others swooped in to talk with him. And when you met with your mother and Jillian, sharing how the date went, trying to keep your nerves steady and your hands still, you caught sight of the others around you.
Bal was entertaining two others who were likely blissfully unaware that if he lost the game of chess they were watching him play, he'd probably throw a temper tantrum about it. Ella was over talking to Duke Braden, along with a blushing Winny and a flirty Loraine. Ella caught your eye as you passed and offered you a wave over.
One you silently didn’t want. One you were forced to take as your mother nudged you over.
And as your dress felt too tight and you started to fan yourself a little faster, you were forced to smile and nod along and chirp in little responses whenever you could. All as you stood in the hot sun listening to everyone fawn over Duke Braden as he brandished his beauty and charm to make all attention remain on him. With such a daring story about a dangerous voyage by sea, it was easy to get enthralled.
But all you could think about were the dangers that lay ahead for any that had to travel with him as his betrothed. Your skin felt clammy at the thought of having to withstand and survive such perilous travel.
“Lord Thorburn seems interested,” your mother said at dinner.
You’d been silent the entire carriage ride home, listening to her discussing upcoming notes about the ball with Jillian.
Your father perked up the second those words left her mouth. “Lord Thorburn comes from a decent house. He has five siblings and many cousins. All with good standings of their own.”
“Mhm. And he and (Y/N) seemed to have a rather captivating conversation today. It went well, didn’t it, dear?”
You looked up from where you’d been poking at your mashed potatoes. Only a few bites had made their way into your mouth, and before you could even pretend to let exhaustion take over, you smiled. Keep smiling. A small nod made your jewelry move.
“Yes, I believe it went well. I do hope so, at least. Although, he is fond of spending most of his time up in the north where snow falls more constantly than not.” You cleared your throat as you studied their slightly fallen expression. “He spends an ample amount of time working and tends to his elderly parents in his free time. A rather honorable man, I find.”
“But he lives in the north,” your father murmured. “How far?”
"I'm unsure; he merely stated he enjoys the mountains," you started.
Your father interjected.
“You did not inquire?” He frowned as he set his fork down. “You must inquire when a man tells you of those that are close to him. Of special interest. You must engage. And we must know if this northern home is multiple days' worth of travel in distance or months. How far will our future grandson be from us, (Y/N)?”
You felt a twinge in your chest that grew stronger. Ever stronger. The silence that filled the room, accompanied by the sound of drinks being refilled and food being topped off on your parents' plates, made it worse. Tears pricked the back of your eyes as you held his gaze, trying to find the right words. Trying to push the wrong away.
You’d come to already accept such directed focus from them, but nonetheless, you’d lost your appetite.
“My apologies, I’ll do better,” you murmured, eyes cast down to the table. “I’ll inquire with him at the ball should he not call upon me before then.”
“Good.” Your father blew out a tired breath and followed it with a swig of wine. “Oh, to be a parent. You can do everything possible to prepare them and they still falter.”
You tensed at the touch of his glass against the table.
“You will try again with Lord Hallwater as well. He is local. Perhaps we can intervene with his parents and make a direct offer for his hand. That would be a wonderful match.”
“Oh, that would be a wonderful announcement, too,” your mother chimed in. “Childhood friends coming together to find love.” She nodded to herself. “Quite a love story to tell.”
To milk.
You took a half-bite of food before sending your plate off with Jillian, apologizing for the leftovers. Irritation joined your parents' faces when you excused yourself before dessert, but you didn't stick around to hear the consequences then. You aimed for a bath to wash the entire day away. Aimed to slip away from the nerves wreaking havoc in your stomach and the anger pouring through your veins as you spotted the vial of ink on your desk, still in the paper bag from the store. Still crinkled.
Jerk. You sank down onto the edge of your bed and yanked your gloves off. Bully. Your chest heaved and heaved, pressing against the front of your dress as endless feelings ran rampant inside of you. Rake. Bastard. You threw your gloves across the room and dug your teeth into your lip.
Too many emotions.
Too many feelings.
Too much work.
You brought one hand up to cover your eyes as a tear slipped. Your breathing remained unsteady and too quick and simply wrong and you tried to compose yourself. But everything felt wrong. The whole day. The whole month. The whole year. The past few years.
You shook your head.
No. You had to do this.
Footsteps came close to your door, and you turned away. You had to marry. You listened to Jillian knock before poking her head in. You had to marry, you had to produce an heir, you had to go with one of the people in the marriage mart this season.
You had to do it.
Jillian slipped in, but you couldn’t look at her as she moved. You just kept your jaw set tight as she moved. Light on her feet. Silent as she placed something beside you. Metal clinked on ceramic.
Her gloved hand was gentle as she gave your shoulder a single touch.
A single squeeze.
“I’ll fetch you for a bath shortly,” was all she said before she departed.
You managed to mutter a thank you before your door shut, and there was a sharp pang of anger and hurt in your chest as you peered down at the tart on the plate beside you. You used to pack miniature versions of the very same to bring to play dates in the park. With Ella, with Bal, with Eddie.
Eddie used to bet on them over games with Bal, stealing away those promised to him every time the lord lost. And he often lost unless you intervened.
You might’ve forced yourself to eat it, but it hardly made you feel better. It just brought Eddie’s mockery and hypocrisy right back to full focus. As you ate. As you bathed. As you slept.
You managed to not think about the prospect of spending years locked away—for countless months at a time—far from everyone, trapped by snow, trapped by wifely duties to Lord Thorburn. But that was only because you continued to taste the tart in your mouth, and thus came renewed irritation at the man often at the other end of one.
Curse him.
You were wasting energy with your anger, but it never seemed to diminish.
No matter how hard you tried to shove it down.
But there was a ball to prepare for, so you had to. Even when you woke the next day and took to the drawing room to read, your attempts were proven futile. All that effort was gone the second there was a knock at the door and more than Wayne himself arrived to take care of a few creaky doors and loose floorboards.
And you discovered just the notion of him being within your home made your blood boil.
And as you rose to find another room far from anywhere Eddie might find himself near you, there came another knock. A caller. And who else would they be there for than you?
A second later, as your father seemed primed to deal with instructing the Munsons, you were flattening out your lilac dress as Lord Thorburn came strutting through the drawing room entrance with your mother.
“Good afternoon,” he mused with a sweet look. He handed a bouquet of flowers to your mother and a book on knitting to you. “I was in the area and wished to simply…see you.”
You forced a polite smile as your eyes locked, and the sound of more footsteps made your jaw set tight.
“It’s lovely to see you as well, Lord Thorburn,” you mused.
And you’d never known such irritation as when he smiled at the very moment your father passed by with Wayne and Eddie to show them to the first section that required their attention. Never until then had you known such fierce annoyance at catching a mere glimpse of a person.
You forced your attention away from the passing Eddie and waved toward a small table set out with pastries and finger foods.
“Do sit,” you said sweetly. “We can enjoy some tea together if you have the time.”
And as Lord Thorburn joined you with a sweet smile at the table, you heard the footsteps upstairs. The rather distinguishable ones. And your grip grew tighter on the cup brought over to you a few moments later, your mother sitting back on the nearby couch to chaperone.
Try as you might, you felt every raw and untethered emotion tearing through you with those footsteps, with the lingering gaze from your mother, with the sweet smile Lord Thorburn gave you. And it took all you had not to implode.
“You know, I’ve been pondering the snow since you made mention of it yesterday,” you said sweetly. “And I was so enamored with our conversation, I made the ill mistake of not inquiring where such a lovely home is located.”
You felt your voice shake just a smidge as you watched Jillian pour your tea for you.
“Do tell me it’s not in some vast, scary land hidden off the beaten path?”
And Lord Thorburn gave you a sweet smile as he laughed, shifting in his chair before eyeing the food on the towering setup before you. He gave the worst answer he could've.
“Scary? No, it’s considerably safe, I promise.”
He reached for one of the tarts you’d had last night and moved to another upon a second thought. Your heart sank as he continued on.
“But it is three week’s travel by carriage from here. Rather worth the trip, however, if I’m honest. The beauty is like no other.”
No other.
You let out a shuddering breath.
Already, you could feel your mother’s disapproval.
And every step above you was like another nail in the coffin that you couldn’t escape from.
A rather considerable amount of days passed, but you were unfortunately not keeping track of them. An unsuccessful attempt, really, but upon finishing the flower festival, you buckled down. You had a husband to find.
By the grace of luck, you were only briefly chastised for your stained dress upon your arrival home. Your parents cared much more about your attempts at the park than reminding you of how a proper lady would never be so horrendously clumsy. And while you had little to report, you had made headway with Duke Braden upon your return.
A rather gentlemanly side came out when you returned, saying you’d clean and return his handkerchief to him as soon as possible and spouting off all the gratitude you held for him lending it. And you almost felt your cheek burn when he plucked it from your hands and tucked it away, saying he preferred it in that state far more after touching you.
Were it not so corny of a line, you might’ve thought his sentiment true.
And you heard Eddie’s lingering words as you gave the duke a flirty smile.
“Do you feel something?”
You maintained your smile as the conversation continued, and even when you and Ella managed to snag Duke Braden for a walk with just the two of you. But…did you feel anything? Hadn’t mattered to your parents. Also hadn’t mattered when you informed them of his rakish personality and his perilous travels. Long and wide on occasion, and if he was truly interested in finding a wife, you were unsure whether he would be one to bring her with him.
The latter information stopped them from waving off the previous, and so there went Duke Braden from your list of potential suitors. But upon your departure from the park, you’d circled back to find Winny and Alice.
You’d also found Ace.
Ace Kester—tobacco tradesman. Vast protector of his sister. Head of his household after his father had passed a few years prior. Deep olive skin, curly black hair that was always windswept, and a perfectly cut suit even in the heat. He kept his chin up and rich green eyes over on his sister almost the entire time. Even if Winny was about as dangerous as one of the hundreds of flowers there.
By his own right, he was never a talkative man. He found little interest in talking besides when the conversation really required an opinion. Whether it was a boredom of constant conversing, a tradesman tactic, or simple disinterest in socializing, it was hard to tell. He wore a sleeve over his expressions that just kept him…rather silently stoic and indecipherable.
He danced at balls because it was required of him. But otherwise, he was almost considered a wallflower. He stood by in groups on occasion, doing the whole listening over conversing tactic, eyes out on Alice or merely on the crowd. He'd network if required or possible, bringing his steady voice into the room. Otherwise, he'd merely enjoy a drink or two, have a few dances, and people-watch.
His words. His words that you’d managed to get from him upon an approach while observing Winny and Alice together, Ella a few feet back while standing with her mother. You could feel both of their eyes on you as you only somewhat nervously approached. You’d been riding the irritation and constant wave of emotions from the moment in the store with Eddie. And, apparently, that gave you a newfound push to approach the potential unapproachable.
A calculated risk.
"And do you watch everyone for curiosity's sake or merely because you are worried about their intentions with your sister?" you asked with a small smile.
Ace cocked a brow at you, doing the rare action of looking toward you and tilting his head.
“Both.” He turned back to watch as Winny blushed hard as Alice gave them a flower. “It would be wrong of me to diminish my father’s place within our household, but it is a trying test knowing I am to be her brother and the head of my house. I….” His chest expanded with a slow breath. “I spent the last year talking myself out of pushing Alice toward a helpful match, not a love one. So I watch to remind myself why I did that. And to prevent another from trying to swoop in and prevent my sister from having the love she desires.”
Ace cleared his throat and his thick brows pinched.
“I do not mean to speak as if my sister cannot handle herself. She is the reason this festival is taking place. I am merely a brother and one desperate for her to have love. Not the requirements I am bound by.” He peered over at you once more, his eyes studying you carefully. “You’re an only child. I imagine you understand those requirements and expectations quite well.”
You simply nodded.
“Then I also imagine you can understand why I do not want them for Alice.”
“I do,” you answered softly, peering right back over at the laughing couple. Winny nearly matched the shade of their hair as Alice tucked a white flower behind their ear. “I consider it rather honorable and kind. And I’ve yet to congratulate Alice on her incredible job here today, but it is truly something magical. A fairytale come to life. It’s been a while since I felt like I stepped into another world in this park. Like I’m a child playing pretend and I’m running through the fields of wildflowers while escaping a dragon or a giant spider.”
And Ace merely glanced at you again. He gave you careful consideration before speaking, and you could see him weighing the words even as he said them.
“Do forgive me, but isn’t nearly everyone playing pretend during marriage season?”
You found your mouth twitching into a smile. It grew into a faint laugh when his words hit him with their meaning, but he didn’t correct himself. Just kept those impeccable green eyes on you.
“I imagine so.” You shrugged. “It’s like you said. Love matches are rare. So what else are we to do if we’re to match with any suitor? If truth is not laid bare by either party, matches must be made in another fashion.”
“I fear you might be correct.”
“Fear?” you were quick to say, raising a brow as Ace turned from you.
For a moment, you felt your heart pounding as he turned toward a nearby vendor. You thought he’d simply desired to leave. Or was done with your presence and boring conversation.
Until he plucked a single white daisy from a bouquet and it felt like all the eyes of the park were on you as he walked back to you. It was a rather awkward movement when he held the flower out to you, and you did stare at it for a moment too long before you took it.
Before you could thank him, he spoke once more.
“Yes, fear.” He blew out a long, slow breath as he turned, his arm almost bumping yours in the process. “Because I fear my mother is growing impatient with my lack of a marriage.”
His hands folded behind his back as he turned his attention right on back to Alice and Winny.
“Save me a dance at the next ball we are both in attendance of? I am not as tired after speaking with you as I am after most.”
Your fingers twitched on the stem of the daisy while you studied him. As close to a true compliment as you could hope for from a man dedicated to his work with a vast disinterest in social proclivities.
“Of course, Mr. Kester.”
He nodded once. And that was your dismissal.
Your parents displayed the white daisy in the centerpiece on your dining table while talking strategy of how to best continue with Ace. All things considered, he had summer homes not far from your parents, had his parents' home just across town in a nicer district than even your parents' estate, and he often conducted business locally. You'd be close by, taken care of, and have little expected of you when he was so disinterested in romance.
Your positive was if Winny and Alice were to marry, you’d practically be marrying into a connection with Ella. Gatherings would always bring you two together. Your parents had little care for that, simply agreeing and then continuing on.
And…and Ace was truly a beauty.
But did he make you feel something?
Relief that there was a connection. Relief that you might not have to marry Bal. A bit of frustration given his cadence tended to lean toward accidental—or uncaring that he said it—insults. Or perhaps a simple rudeness to his bluntness was a better description of it. Because he merely wasn’t sugarcoating words that you thought yourself.
Was that a life you were fine living? If he was as cold and self-isolating as he was now, he would presumably be like that when older. And if you had any children together, would that be the kind of father you’d want for them? He was protective of Alice, but that exhaustion of practically taking care of not just his sister, but his mother too…. Would he even have an interest in raising his children?
All questions you must strategically ask should you get that next dance with him.
All questions you’d use to ignore the very one in your head that kept repeating itself in Eddie’s voice.
Did you feel anything when you were with Ace?
A question you refused to answer as the days passed. It came with the rather unfortunate fact that you started to get very little sleep. Not simply because you were restless with a churning mix of emotions come the rising of the moon each night, and not because of any events that’d taken place during the days. But you dreamt.
You dreamt of the sketches on the walls at the general store. A place almost out of time and so small and safe. Your fingers ran over the lines again and again, the dream repeating itself not each night, but almost every time you closed your eyes. For momentary naps during the day or when you aimed to return to sleep after each attempt.
It was a similar pattern. Tracing the lines with your fingers before the door opened behind you. There was a second of confusion, of panic, of wrongly placed adrenaline as you stood in that small space in nothing but a thin gown. And therein came brown eyes and long, curly hair. Messy and as frantic as his eyes were, as he was. As he stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him.
The hard set of his jaw remained as he came up to you. No words said. Just unsteady breathing as you backed up to the sink. The cold ceramic was quickly warm underneath your shaking grasp. And you turned subconsciously, the tightness of your dress vanishing and a warm breath hitting your back as Eddie stepped closer. Closer. Closer.
His body pressed to yours as his fingers found the ribbons.
He relaced your dress agonizingly slowly without prompt. Pulling the strings taut while grazing your bare back with every movement.
“Do you feel anything?” he’d ask beside your ear, voice in a low whisper as he tied a bow at the bottom.
As his hands fell to your waist, to your hips, to you.
“Answer me.”
He’d tug you back against him while reaching in front, fixing how your gown draped over you. Your hips, your waist, your shoulders. Your chest. It heaved with broken, shallow breaths. And you felt his against your jaw as he held you. As he touched. Hidden from the noise in the shop that you knew was filled with people you couldn’t see.
And like clockwork, each and every single time you’d had the dream, when your body shuddered and your eyes peeled open to stare at the curve of his lips, the dark, sweet, pretty brown of his eyes, the wrinkling of your gown beneath his steadying grip…you never gave him an answer. The warm, knee-weakening sensation was back. It settled permanently in your lower belly and curled down where your thighs met.
And just as your eyes locked in the mirror, just as your lips parted to say something, you awoke.
Panting.
Sweaty.
Sticky.
Throbbing in a place you’d never felt a throbbing like that before.
Jillian didn't comment on your increase in desire to clean your gowns or your more frequent bathing schedule. Granted, you slipped in a few extra coins and dollars as a sign of gratitude for all of the extra work put in, and another very, very quietly murmured thank you for her earlier help.
“I am here for you," she said with almost a sly smile. "Nobody else. Just say the word, and I will do what I can to help you."
You felt your cheeks heat, but you were thankful nonetheless, and you nodded.
Did nothing to stop the repetition of that cruel dream. And after days of occasionally being called upon by the curious and the mixed bag of suitors, not only had you not seen Eddie, but therein came another approaching ball, and you were exhausted. By the graces of luck, it was at the Mitchell Manor. And if you felt at home anywhere, it was in two places. The Mitchell house was one of them.
The second was in the general store, but that was trickling away every time you passed it in the square and recalled Eddie’s words. Recalled the dream.
You were recalling that very dream as you sat in Ella’s drawing room the day before the ball, talking with her, Loraine, and Winny about everything, really. Not your everything, but their everything. Alice was continuing to court with Winny. Loraine was moments away from a proposal from Lord Karl. Ella was making progress with Lord Thorburn, actually, and a few others that came and went from the season as they pleased. And they pried a few bits of information out of you about your conversation with Ace, but it was hard to talk much about it when it was a few minutes worth of conversing.
Although, according to Winny, Ace had been talking to Alice about you. And even so much as inquired with Winny themselves about you. You were grateful when they talked you up, but your head was far from in that mindset and focus as you stirred your tea and caught your reflection in the silver spoon. You looked considerably tired.
Ella was the only one blunt enough to mention it.
You just waved it off as nerves, but she seemed unconvinced. Well, mostly.
"You know, it is not the end of the world should we not find anyone this season," she said, arm hooked through yours as she walked you from her door. A familiar-looking carriage caught your eye from the corner of her vast front yard, and before you could help yourself, your heart skipped a beat.
"I don't have that leeway," you stated softly, brows furrowing. "Are the Munsons here?"
“Hm? Oh.” Ella frowned as she perched herself up on the tips of her toes, peering around you in the same direction of the carriage. “Apparently. With all the preparations for tomorrow, people have been coming and going all day. I know we’ve been needing wood replaced on our gazebo out back. They’re probably here for that.”
Ella shrugged.
“Hm,” was all you said in response, letting Ella be the one to take the next step forward so you didn’t seem too eager to do so. Nor did you let your gaze linger. Nor did you even think about asking Ella anything about Eddie. No. You were cutting ties with him. That was the simplest solution to the conundrum of your lack of sleep, and so be it the loss of friendship. It was clear there was nothing salvageable beyond that.
Besides, say you could maintain a semblance of what you once had. Any future husband of most standings would surely frown upon any friendship you had with a man of his character. You’d never be trusted alone together. You’d never know a pause in gossip. You’d never….
You smiled at Ella as she walked you to your carriage. Rather pointless in your mind, but you'd visited her home without anyone else. Jillian was feeling rather ill, and you didn't want to subject her to sitting there with you for hours while under the weather.
You hugged Ella goodbye and stole one last look at the Munsons' carriage as yours pulled away.
When had you cared so much about Eddie in regards to yourself?
In regards to a future when he made it so very clear that your old friendship was gone. In regards to yourself….. You sat back with a frown and closed your eyes. Oh, how you missed just running around in the park. How you missed running down the street to Ella's to play princess and dress up and have tea parties and dig up roots and weeds to make fake salads and desserts.
It was not your fault your parents had only wanted one child. It was not your fault when they decided to stick with you as their daughter despite the countless arguments you were not supposed to know about. And while you desperately tried not to fault them for it, resentment was bubbling as it always did before you forced it down. Deep, deep down. Weighing it with rocks and chains and forced locks.
Because all the resentment in the world would not change your predicament.
You had a spouse to procure and a son to have. That was your duty. And nowhere did Eddie ever fit into that.
But Ace….
Ace could fit into it. Ace could be your future. You’d be local. You’d…you’d find contentment in it. You’d have Winny and potentially Ella, should she marry local, and Loraine, should Lord Karl propose, would be to and from on business constantly. He…he was a good match. And one that was interested should you not mess up at the ball tomorrow.
Ace Kester was about as wonderful of a match as you could hope for.
So you’d do everything in your power to make it happen. Starting by wearing your favorite dress to the ball.
Your mother always said it was not your best dress, and she even gave you a concerned look when you pulled it out to wear. But, for the first time in ages, you stood your ground. It was a rich, impossibly dark green. Not like the green of spring grass or summer leaves. Not the green of algae or even that of Ace’s eyes. It was darker. The kind of emeralds before the light hit; the kind of trees in the moonlight, shadowing themselves in a forest of hidden possibilities.
It wasn't the most modest of your dresses, but paired with matching gloves and a tug up on the slightly lower neckline, it worked well enough. It was perfectly tailored, long and flowing, and utterly beautiful. Like a fairytale dress come to life and fitted as a glass slipper to you.
You had little care for how your mother and father viewed the dress when you felt like you in it. You’d picked it. You’d help design it. You chose every piece of it. Where were your parents to stop you from ordering it when they were back at home and you had found a willing and wanting tailor by your finishing school?
“The green is considerably close to Mr. Kester’s eyes, mother. I imagine he will find the gown striking if he is wise enough to notice the connection.” You felt a twinge of guilt for lying, but everything else inside you waved it away. You just…you needed to feel good.
You needed the confidence.
You needed to look like you had gotten more than a mere few hours of sleep that night prior as you dreamt and dreamt and dreamt of Eddie.
And so she relented. Minutes later, you were slotting into place into your carriage and taking the minutes-long ride up to the Mitchells. Your father, thankfully, was not in attendance to scrutinize your evening. Thankfully, you'd arrived early enough to gather the extra votes of confidence when your friends saw you.
Lord and Lady Mitchell also complimented your gown.
You refrained from your told you so look toward your mother. If you ruined things with Ace, she'd throw one considerably worse your way. Although, according to Winny, as you helped them adjust the tie on their suit, Alice and Ace were only capable of making a brief appearance as sudden business came up and required them to be in the next town over at the early hours of that morning. So they'd be there, but they'd be late. But both of them were coming by.
Alice to see Winny.
Ace…had made mention of owing someone a dance.
You perked up, your smile mostly genuine. Ace was coming for you. You glanced back as more guests arrived, muscle memory kicking in as you shifted into a better position. No Ace yet. No Alice. But you let yourself have the moment. Gave yourself the chance to be excited at the possibility of matching with him.
And gradually, as more and more people flooded in, the ball began.
So you danced. You ate. You laughed as you and Winny both waited. You waited nervously and nervously. Smiling at other suitors. Talking with your friends. And watching and watching and watching the door.
Until more late arrivals appeared.
Until you were standing with Ella and Winny and Lord and Lady Mitchell while you watched Loraine dance with Lord Karl for a fifth time. Twice in a row, then. And just as Ella leaned over to make a silly joke about that basically being a proposal in itself, she went quiet. Actually, a few people went quiet.
“Ah, there you are,” Lady Mitchell said.
And your heart staggered to a stop for a full beat. Perhaps two. Or three.
Wayne had the sweetest yet most awkward smile as he came up to Ella’s parents. More eyes remained on them as Lord Mitchell shook Wayne’s hand, but most were like you. Most had their eyes pinned to the man next to Wayne. With his long hair barely tied back. With his suit that looked a little too tight in places but not…ill-fitted. Most of it black, with only a peek of white of his shirt underneath and an annoyed expression where there was usually dirt or ink or something smudged on his face.
His stubble had been shaved down just a bit.
His eyes flicked over Winny. Ella. You.
Your gazes locked, and his eyes did one momentary dip over you before he was giving Lord and Lady Mitchell a smile. It was about as polite as you thought he could muster.
“Thank you both, truly, for all the hard work with everything here.” Lady Mitchell looked specifically at the nearby staircase leading to their vast upstairs. The gazebo outside was lit safely with lanterns, the sight coming through the open back doors beautifully. A little louder, and with a look around those nearby obviously staring and on the verge of gossiping, she added, “I felt it only fair to allow you to see it in person and in action.”
“It’s a gracious and kind invitation,” Wayne said with that sweet smile. He seemed like he felt as out of place as Eddie looked. But, once upon a time, Wayne had participated in the marriage season, according to stories Eddie's mom had shared. He'd just never enjoyed it or found a love match. "I promise we won’t step on any toes. Right, Edward?”
He was not shy about his glance at Eddie. It was almost comical how awkward Eddie’s given name was from Wayne. You’d maybe heard him say it…a handful of times. And that was when Eddie had been in trouble for breaking something or being too rough while wrestling with you.
You actually had to fight an involuntary smile at the obvious tightness in Eddie’s features as he and Wayne locked eyes.
“Mhm.” Eddie nodded. “So long as nobody makes me dance, then I can’t promise what I can’t be sure of.”
Wayne sighed, but Lady Mitchell laughed.
"Come on, Eddie," Wayne said, trying to catch himself, but it was too late. "Let's just…." Wayne shook his head. "Come on."
His path, including one hand going on Eddie's upper arm, brought them both past you and your group. And as the rest of those there—Ella and Winny included—tried to get over the fact that Eddie, of all people, was there, you were sharing a small smile with Wayne.
A small smile that turned into a clenched jaw when your focus shifted to the man one step behind him. His eyes already on you. Those eyes glinting with something you couldn't decipher or discern and a flick of those brown irises taking you in again. It made your cheeks burn. Made your frustration flare.
Because of all the impossibilities becoming truth, why did Eddie have to be at the one ball for which you required an expert amount of focus?
You swallowed hard as the memory of his assistance in the bathroom mixed with the countlessly repeated dream.
How, truly, were you supposed to focus?
How were you supposed to focus on anything except him there in an imperfectly perfect suit and wandering eyes?
You jerked your eyes away from him when more guests arrived, and Winny was the first to perk up. You’d tried when you caught that curly black hair. But as Ace and Alice stepped into the ballroom, all you felt was dread.
Do you feel something when you look at Ace?
You did a Quick Look over at Eddie joining a few others for a drink, Wayne by his side. And even from there, you caught him looking through the crowd in your direction. That dread folded with a molten wave down low in your stomach.
Do you feel anything, (Y/N)?
You smiled as Ace and Alice both approached, and Ace was at least quick with his work.
“It’s grand to see you,” he said plainly. “Apologies for our late arrival, but might I make good on our last conversation and borrow you for a dance?”
With one last glance in Eddie’s direction, you took Ace’s hand.
And as he led you out to dance, all you felt inside you was panic.
Pure, unrelenting panic.
* ch nine - warnings: PG-13 dirty thoughts & dirty talk, descriptions of anxiety & panic/panic attack, sexual tension, touchstarved!reader; fluff, angst, and lots of feelings *
Ace was a stiff dancer. Not bad by any means, but his focus fell to all the moves he was replaying in his head before he had to reenact them with you. A notion you were silently grateful for because it kept his eyes occasionally off of you. Away from where you felt the panic rise and fall as you struggled to decide where you sat within yourself.
Eddie was there. Eddie being there shouldn’t mean anything to you. You’d decided your friendship was over, so him enjoying a ball that you so happened to be at was simply just that. Not worth your extra thought. And, besides, what a better place to rub it in his face that this was what you had to do. At that, you were dancing with the Ace Kester.
Handsome. Kind in his own way. Interested in you even if his eyes were more on where he placed his hands and moved his feet and checking on the other dancers in the meantime. You'd found someone, and you'd found someone you weren't entirely unhappy with connecting with, and Eddie got to see it. He got to see exactly what you were talking about.
Except you could feel Eddie’s eyes on you. Or you were imagining them, which was arguably worse. But the few times Ace spun you, you saw them. As he tried the food, as he laughed at someone’s joke, as he sipped his drink. Even as he talked to Wayne.
And as you so, so quickly looked away before your eyes locked, it was like you were transported back into the bathroom. Back with his fingers grazing your spine and your bare back. His hands gripping your waist. Your hips. The feel of his breath on your shoulder and neck and…and in the crevasse. His hand over your mouth, the shadow of night keeping you hidden in the dimly lit room. The press of him against you there, too.
Your chest heaved as you came face to face with Ace again.
Oh, how long was the song?
It felt much longer than a mere few minutes.
“My apologies,” he said as you frantically tried to steady your breathing and your heart with how they seemed to race each other. “I am not much of a dancer. I learned for these occasions specifically, and yet I must admit all the natural talent remains in Alice’s shoes.”
“Oh, don’t disparage yourself.” Your voice was a little breathy as you spoke. If Ace noticed, he didn’t look up from where his hand came around to rest on your mid-back. “You are doing wonderfully.”
“You needn’t lie, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He nodded as he finally looked at you again. Then over your dress. “Is that a summer color? I’ve always taken such a rich, foresty color to resemble that of the fall.”
Your mouth parted, and you blinked at him, words failing as the song graced you with its closing bars. You had to quite literally shake your head to get yourself to find the correct words. You'd never known someone besides those like your mother to have such a care about wardrobe color. Colors were seasonal and a trend typically was followed, but there were those who adored wearing mourning black year round even when they had not lost someone. Or Loraine’s mother always donned something pink for every ball. Or those with specific colors they often associated with themselves, and showed up in different shades of it all year round.
"I suppose it is." You gave him a small, nervous laugh as you caught your mother eyeing you both. Your curtsy felt awkward as you parted, and he bowed. "But I'm rather fond of the color and the cut of the dress, and I don't believe there should be a limitation on enjoying what one likes."
Ace hummed as he guided you toward a section much, much too close to where Wayne and Eddie were. Far from Ella. Far from your mother. Right within eyeshot of Alice and Winny gearing up for an immediate second dance.
“Moderation is important, though.” Ace stood with his focus on Winny and Alice for a moment before he glanced back at you. “It is a favorable color on you, but if we allow ourselves an endless access to whatever we like when we like it, where does self-control begin and end? Where does it even start?”
You forced a polite smile as you felt that searing draw of Eddie's eyes against your side as he remained a blur in your peripherals. But your chest still moved a little too quickly, and you were beginning to fidget with your gloves. Your thoughts…curse them. They bounced and bounced and endlessly bounced as you felt that damn burning drag of his attention. As you replayed the touches and conversation the…the everything in the bathroom. In your dream. In the stockroom.
And you shook your head, hands forced down and put behind your back so Ace wouldn’t see you fidgeting.
Do you feel anything when you’re with Ace?
“It’s a dress,” you said. Plainly. Bluntly.
And Ace cocked a brow as realization dawned on you.
Oh, no.
“I simply mean,” you were quick to add, glancing over at a wonderfully happy Winny and a soft, clearly enamored Loraine. “I understand the concern for indulgent habits. And the desire for self-control. But where does the line fall to…to dictate such categories of what’s appropriate and inappropriate?”
“I imagine it would be hypocritical to dictate them all as one, I suppose,” he said with a pinch of his brows. “But then again, sectioning them out piece by piece would be simply making excuses, would it not? To have structure, you must maintain it in all areas. Be it books, dancing, work….”
The room felt much too warm as you tore your eyes away from Ace for the briefest of seconds as he looked back at Winny and Alice. And you really, really tried to keep your attention on literally anything and anyone other than Eddie, but your eyes fell in that direction. And he was there with Duke Braden and a handful of others. All were listening clearly to whatever ridiculous tale Braden was saying, but Eddie wasn’t.
His eyes were on you. His jaw set, his drink paused in front of his mouth, his eyes down on the bottom of your dress. At your back. Where you felt the fabric of your gloves wrinkle as you wrung your hands together. And there was a look in his eyes that made you feel much too warm. Much too there.
When his eyes drifted slowly down your frame and then all the way back up, Ace's voice continuing on a list of what should be structured and moderated, Eddie's eyes met yours. And they lingered.
Lingered with a look you couldn’t place and lingered with a weight that made your breath catch and your hands twitch.
That new unbearable ache appeared in a rush that started low in your stomach and dropped right between your thighs. So overwhelmingly abrupt, so unyielding in its force, you jerked your attention away and found Ace still talking about how damned important moderation was simply because you wore a dark green dress.
“You sell tobacco,” you said, interrupting his next word, earring a surprised look from him. But you didn’t take your eyes off his chest as panic set in rather relentless, yet the words were continuing. “You sell and market and earn favorable wages from a product you rely on others not buying in moderation.” And the next sound of your mouth was a dry, awkward laugh as you pleaded silently with yourself to pull it together. “My apologies, Mr. Kester. But I find it hard to believe you do not recognize that your own business practices rely on the very ones you’re critiquing within me for wearing an out-of-season color.”
You swallowed hard as the room began to get much too small and much too warm.
You forced a smile as you cleared your throat and wiped your gloves on the front of your dress as if that would rid them of the clammy feeling.
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Kester. I require some air.”
You turned without waiting for his response. Turned as you prayed your mother hadn’t noticed the shift or the abruptness or…or any of it. Oh, you fool. Your breaths came faster as you tried so desperately to move between person after person without making it obvious that something was wrong. As you smiled and excused yourself without a word to anyone who you really ought to tell. As you felt tears prick your eyes as you stepped out into Ella's wonderfully familiar backyard and went past the few people gathered outside.
As you strutted past them, past the gazebo—perfectly constructed. Beautifully crafted. Covered in flowers you knew were purchased through Alice.
And you continued on, following the stone path through rose bushes and wildflowers until you got to the fountain whose edge you used to walk like a tightrope as a kid. Just large enough to allow you to drop to it, water spritzing from the top and falling in gentle drops into the pool at the bottom, your hands catching you and the palms of your gloves snagging on the rough material.
Breathe.
You closed your eyes as you sat with your weight on both hands, leaning away as if you wanted to see your reflection in the water, but you didn't. You could feel the tears coming, and the panic was tearing through you rather cruelly, and you did not want to know how unsuccessful you'd been in preventing anyone from noticing. You didn't want your mother to know. To see.
You didn't want to know every single failure she had lined up to recite to you for your own consequences. For the closest good match you'd had, and you'd potentially just ruined the entire hope of it because…. Because of what?
You closed your hands into fists as your breaths came deeper yet faster yet wrong. All because you’d been having a dream of Eddie? All because you’d let that get to you? What was wrong with you?
No, truly. What was wrong with you?
You ruined it. You ruined it all for yourself. You…. You….
You felt your gloves slipping down your arms, and the sound that left you was a mix of a groan, a sigh, and a choked grunt. You shook your head as you sat up, nearly ripping the stitching on one glove as you yanked it down, and the second—
You stopped.
You froze.
Your heart pounded in your chest as there was movement in the path in front of you, and you clutched your glove in your gloved hand, feeling the tears that’d yet to spill slip sneakily down one cheek. And you felt just how tight your dress was, how loud your heart was thundering inside of you, how wound tight you’d found yourself when that stupid head of curly hair and brown eyes caught the moonlight.
His eyes dropped to where you clutched your glove, your other hand at the top of the other, and he didn't really stop. You did—you remained still—but when Eddie was suddenly there, he remained. And you held your breath as he just…walked up to you. One hand was in his pocket as the other held the rim of a crystal glass. That breath remained burning in your lungs as the glass clinked on the edge of the fountain beside you, and Eddie knelt in the grass.
He laid the glove in your hand down beside you before taking your other arm in his grasp. He said nothing while he moved your hand from the top, and you were forced to breathe a hitched breath when he hooked two fingers around the top. They tickled against your upper arm, but that wasn’t the worst sensation.
Goosebumps rose as he guided the glove so, so slowly down your arm.
That warm, wet, aching drifting where your thighs came together was reaching a state you couldn’t withstand. You shifted your weight around in place just as Eddie pulled each finger from your glove.
His hands were so warm. So rough. So…gentle as he sat your glove aside and guided your hand down to your lap.
He said nothing as he stood. Rose slowly and for a brief moment that betrayed every single inch of you, you thought he was going to leave. You needed him to leave. You wanted him to leave. You…wanted to want him to leave.
But he didn’t.
He picked up his drink and sat beside you.
His leg pressed against yours as you both sat facing the path back to Ella’s home.
He passed you his drink a moment later. After giving it a glance, after being certain that it wasn’t simply the lemonade, you took it. Your fingers brushed as you took it.
"Should I ask what's wrong?" he said as you brought the glass to your lips. It smelled of strong liquor. You took only a tiny sip but didn't hand the glass back.
“Please do not,” you answered with such a strained voice, you were certain that’s what brought Eddie’s eyes to you.
But you didn’t look at him. You kept your eyes on the glass.
“Would you like me to go?” he said next. You could only barely make out the semi-serious expression he held. The obvious went unsaid.
You took another sip of the drink and really tried to say the right thing. Really, really tried it. But it’s not what came out.
“Why did you come after me?”
You stared down into the drink while you coughed, your sip much too large. Eddie didn’t laugh like you’d expected him to. He just watched you with another searing look that made your hands feel weak.
He sighed.
"You looked…fuck. I don't know. Stressed? You went outside where there's nobody to flirt with, so I figured something was wrong."
Your heart stuttered. That didn’t answer your question. Not…entirely.
“Yes, and you followed because?” you asked.
Eddie said nothing, but there went his jaw clenching. He moved. He looked like he was going to stand. And you acted on impulse. One too many of them, to be exact.
“I am not critiquing, Eddie,” you muttered. He shifted back into place almost instantly. You stared at where your legs touched. “I am merely struggling to comprehend whether we are friends or not, and it’s driving me up a wall trying to figure it out.” You shook your head and sat his glass beside you. “Because are we? I am left unsure when I cannot figure out if you are the man who despises me and…and the marriage mart crap…and everything that the ball in there stands for that you're attending or if you're the man who has helped me with my dress and…and followed me out here and…who I was one so fond of growing up."
You turned to him with one hand on your forehead and the other gripping the edge of the fountain, both shaking. And you laughed dryly, frustratedly, just utterly baffled and overwhelmed as you locked eyes.
“So I ask why you followed me out here so I know whether to prepare for another lecture that I am not particularly in the mood to hear or if you are here as my friend.” There was a knot in your throat that hurt to swallow around, but you managed. Eddie watched as you did so, and he watched as you dropped your hand from your forehead and motioned at him. “So, which is it? Because I am so, so tired, Eddie and I just potentially ruined the best possible match I could have, and I am going to have to return home to listen to my parents recount that failure to me until I cannot hear the words as words anymore.”
You sighed and looked away, unable to hold that raw gaze of his.
Unable to even sit by him when your whole body felt like it was on fire.
And you dropped your head into your hands and sighed. You felt raw.
“I am just so tired.”
“Ace Kester was your best possible match?” Eddie asked, a bit of disbelief in his voice acting as the sole reason you didn’t dump his drink on him. “He’s a controlling, socially awkward fool who sells product he doesn’t even use. He’s your best match?”
You sniffled behind your hands and just…nodded.
“He’s local. He’s…kind enough. He’s handsome. And should his sister marry Winny, I would have a tie to one of my best friends because wherever Winny is, Ella is there to support them.” Your breath shuddered out of you. “And he would, presumably, provide me with at least one child should be able to bear a son…since my parents refuse to allow their daughter to run their household.”
You stared at some of the broken pieces of stone on the ground in front of you. Eddie’s next breath was slow and very much audible.
“I would’ve been content with him,” you muttered.
And you could feel it. Oh. You could feel that damn question repeating itself inside of you over and over again as you leaned back, both hands on the edge, the tips of your fingers hitting the high water. It was cool, and you thought it might sizzle and steam against your warm fingers.
You could feel the very same question building inside of Eddie, and you gave him a look of warning. Don’t say it. You held his gaze even as he brought his to yours. Don’t you dare.
And you leveled a glare at him as his mouth parted.
“You should have something better than just fucking content, (Y/N).”
You shook your head and laughed. Blew out a long, long breath while looking back up at Ella’s house. All grand and beautiful and so perfect.
“What should I have, Eddie?” You laughed again, dry and wry. “It’d been an endless question just wreaking havoc for the last week or so. What am I supposed to have? What am I supposed to feel, really, when I meet with suitors?”
Eddie cocked a brow when your eyes landed on him again. His focus shifted up from where you hoped you hadn’t any crumbs on your chin or any spilled liquor on the corner of your mouth.
"Something more than contentment, Christ." His laugh was just as dry as yours, and he actually snorted. "Do you seriously want to spend your life with someone who doesn't care for you and you don't care for them? I'm serious when I ask if you even feel anything when you look at those suitors in there all trying to snag the first pretty person they can to have as their own. Either for selfish reasons or simply because they’re doing what they’re fucking told is expected of them.”
Annoyance flourished. Guess he was just there to kick you while you were down. How kind of him. Guess that’s who Eddie was. Not your friend. Just someone with moments of kindness. That was all.
“My god, Eddie, what am I supposed to feel? What does the local rake expect me to feel?”
His jaw clenched. And he seethed out another laugh.
"You know what? Fine." He leaned in. Anger flared in his eyes, and you knew it was a low blow to refer to him as such, but was he not? Should the gossip be believed, should his own words be believed—he was a rake. He was. He was a rake who was leaning in close enough for you to see the flecks of anger glinting in his brown eyes under that soft moonlight. “You should want them. You should crave them. When you look at them, when you’re in the same room as them, when you talk and breathe the same air—every ounce of your body should burn for them. When you’re dancing, you should struggle to even remember the motions because you simply want them so badly.”
His eyes flicked back and forth between yours as the world around you went quiet. The air got warmer, and your hands closed tight fists around your dress. The fabric wrinkled but you hardly had the thought to care when your focus was shifting between his eyes and how his mouth moved. How his brows pinched while his lips moved so effortlessly to form the words. As the temperature within you rose so rapidly, you hardly felt the cool water on the tips of your fingers.
The scent of the roses drifted off, and all you smelled was the cinnamon and spice that was always stocked in the store and never seemed to escape him. The breeze vanished as you felt his breath tickle your cheek. As a jolt went through your heart and zapped down through the fluttering in your stomach and settled where your thighs pressed together and came back sticky.
His voice dropped to a low whisper.
“Do you want to know what fucking Ace’s lips feel like on yours?”
You didn’t answer.
"Do you yearn to know what his hands feel like on your waist when the godawful dancer that he is comes to move with you?"
Again, you didn’t answer.
You watched how his mouth moved and how his eyes stayed glued to you.
“Do you wonder what his fingers feel like taking your gown off?”
Your breath caught. Audibly. Hard. And your hands twitched while you found yourself forcibly dragging your attention up from his lips. You clenched your jaw until you felt it hurt as those stupid, annoying, beautiful brown eyes searched yours. Stayed locked onto yours. Stayed locked onto you.
You said nothing.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” He let out a seething breath, focus still on you. Still leaned close. Still…there. So close. Close enough that your noses nearly touched. Close enough that you felt his hand come halfway atop yours as he put his down to support himself. “Do you feel any of that for any of those pricks in there?”
Your mouth stayed shut.
Your jaw stayed clenched.
Your brows stayed furrowed and raised as his eyes remained on yours.
"Because you will be missing out on so fucking much if you're not. If you just fucking settle for someone who'll take you just because they're expected to take someone just as much as you are.” His chest moved with shallow breaths. Quick, shaky, shallow breaths. They matched yours. “If you settle for someone who just sees how fucking impossibly beautiful you look not just in this dress, but in every damn thing you wear, and that is all they see. That’s all they care about. Or…or someone who doesn’t even know how to treat you when they strip the gowns off of you.”
His mouth pressed together for the briefest moment as you watched it. As you struggled to keep yours together when your next breath came in unsteady and hitching hard.
As they stayed parted when his other hand came to find your cheek with such a hesitant, careful touch. Your eyes jerked to his as the contrasting soft, rough drag of his palm went so slowly over your jaw, finding its way up to your cheek. When that hand that you’d seen hold bugs, pick up balls of snow and mud, curl around the back of a guitar, hold glasses of juice for the both of you, wrap around the handle of that wooden sword—when it so gently came to touch your cheek, your eyes found his not on yours. Not on the Mitchell house or the path leading to it or even the fountain on the other side of you.
Not on your lap.
Not on your hands.
Not even where your chest was pressing hard against your collar with every shallow breath you took.
And as your eyes widened, your heart…skipped.
Your body felt a sudden tension and weakness at the same time. Pulled taut from both ends as your stomach became a warm, fluttering, gooey sensation under the light drag of his thumb over the apple of your cheek and…. And how his fingers twitched on your jaw, around your ear, even down to splay on your neck.
Oh.
Oh, g—
“Do you feel even an ounce of that?" Eddie whispered. "For any one of them in there." He leaned a little closer. Close enough. Your noses brushed, and your eyes fell closed. You felt his breath on your lips. "Do you want to settle for someone who can hardly bother to look away from his own fucking sister long enough to even see the goddamn beauty he has beside him?"
His hand skated back further. His breath shuddered and shook as his hand cupped the back of your jaw, the back of your head. His other twitched as your hand moved on its own, fingers curling around his, the water rippling in the movement. His breath hitched, and his words caught in his throat as you closed a tighter grip on his hand, uncaring how the prickly concrete and stone was against the back of your fingers.
You felt his forehead brush against your temple for the briefest of seconds.
And his hand beneath yours moved. The slowest of movements. The shortest, too.
His fingers laced with yours.
“I….”
Oh, how strained your voice was.
Oh, how breathy and quiet and obvious it was.
“I have to—”
“No, fucking forget everything else. Forget the expectations. Fucking put it all aside for just one second.” His hand held yours a little tighter. The hand on the back of your head pulled you just a mere hair’s width closer. “Do you feel that for anyone in there? Just at all?”
Your lip quivered before your teeth captured it, and the sound you made was something close to a sigh meeting partway with an attempt at speaking words that never left your mouth. Your hand twitched in his, and you…you didn't know if his eyes were open, but you shook your head.
Just a little.
Just enough.
Eddie nodded. His hair dragged against your cheek, giving way to the movement.
“Do you feel it for anyone?”
Everything became a sudden stop. Not…not a jerking motion that halted everything. Not a horse rearing up to its hind legs as carriages nearly collide. Not your feet hitting a visible root while running through the park. Not even Eddie’s shoulder when you collided with it as a child.
Everything just went utterly still. Frozen in time.
Just the two of you.
Just his hand in yours. His hand cupping the back of your head. His nose nearly brushing yours as his breath tickled your cheek. And…and your body felt like it was going to combust if something didn’t happen.
If you had to go to sleep that night once again having that dream. Countless times. Haunting. Destroying. Wiggling itself into you and never coming free. If you had to go back inside to face Ace, to face your mother, to face your immediate failure.
You couldn’t.
You couldn’t.
No. No.
No. No. No. No. No.
You weren’t going to do it. You couldn’t. You couldn’t. You felt much too hot. Much too…too wet where your thighs came together with an involuntary flex. And you felt his breath again, and you felt his hand fit so perfectly in yours. And you felt him and him and him.
You tipped your chin up without answering.
And you felt his breath hitch as your lips pressed to his.
* ch ten - warnings: sexual tension, inexperienced!reader not knowing what being horny is/feels like, second base, teasing; fluff and angst; panic and guilt descriptions, parental abuse (mother slaps reader once)*
Eddie’s lips were so indescribably soft.
The stillness in the world stretched on as your mouths collided with a hesitant force framed in hitched breaths. Soft…just so unbelievably soft. His mouth parted against yours, and his hand on the back of your head pulled you closer.
Closer.
You’d never kissed anyone before. Not when you were a child playing house with Ella. Not when Eddie was a brave knight rescuing his princess from the misunderstood dragon. Not when you were a teenager and a few handsome faces started to really appear handsome. And not in finishing school when you got so weary of all the same faces, all the competitive spirits, all the exhaustion.
You’d seen others kiss. You’d read of kisses. You’d heard of the kisses shared between loves in the dark—wed and unwed alike. How they kissed so passionately. So desperately. A hunger that blossomed between them like a spark that never went out.
There were good kisses. Bad kisses. The wrong and the right.
A woman like you was supposed to wait.
A proper, practically titled young woman was supposed to be wed. Pure. Untouched.
A good daughter was supposed to be inside, flirting with Ace Kester like he was a duke of better graces than Duke Braden and readying herself for a proposal from her increasing hard work.
And yet Eddie’s mouth tasted of the liquor and sugary pastries Lord and Lady Mitchell had put out. Tasted so bitter and so sweet and so wrong and so right.
He was your first kiss.
And you were far from his.
You knew little of what to actually do. It was an abrupt decision. You’d acted on an impulse you’d never felt before. Just simply if you had not kissed him, you felt as if you’d break into a dozen pieces that’d never be put back together the same. Ever again.
And before you could even practice a coherent thought, a smart decision, anything else—there. You tipped your chin up and felt, heard, and matched the gasp that slipped from him when you not gently but not forcefully pressed your mouth to his.
Then you…you had little idea what to do. Mouths went together for kisses, that much you knew. And when your mouth touched his and that spark shot from head to toe with a searing trail behind it, you knew you didn't want to part. You wanted to feel the softness of his lips, the plumpness, the warmth, the faint drag of stubble against your skin.
Where your inexperience ended, Eddie’s experience began.
And that hand on the back of your head pulled you against him when you just barely began to pull back, uncertainty creeping in at what you were supposed to do next. Yet when the world briefly began to creep back in, Eddie threw it all away. He shoved it aside with a parting of his lips that moved yours, and your chests nearly came together as…as you got the bitter and sweet taste of the liquor and pastry on his tongue.
The sound you made was not one you’d ever heard from yourself before.
A sigh of sorts, higher and softer. A…a neediness in it that had Eddie pushing back in before you could even fully process the first curl of his tongue against yours.
You felt floaty. Warm. Molten and melting. That ache in your belly grew worse and worse as you writhed in place, bringing one arm up to grab onto his jacket as he kissed you. Kissed you with a hunger that you felt inside yourself. A desperation you hadn’t known to ever exist. A draw. A…craving. One you’d had dormant until then. Until Eddie sighed into the kiss. Until Eddie tilted his head and kissed you deeper. Stronger. Harder.
A moan snuck from your lips and hardly did a thing against his when your mouth was stuck parted and his sucked in a shuddering breath.
He tasted so sweet. He sounded so sinful. He held you and kissed you like you were both. And he shook his head, noses nudging, chest heaving with shallow breaths as you felt the slightest scrape of his fingers against the base of your skull, and a new sensation was awoken within you.
“Eddie,” you whined against his lips. Breathy. Unsure of what you wanted to say, but there was a need within you that you couldn’t describe. You couldn’t fathom. A need that had you angling forward on your hips as you leaned in for more. As you took more. As you got to feel the stubble scrape against your jaw in a delicious contrast that had you yearning to feel more.
You gripped his jacket harder, and both of you seemed to let go of the other’s hand at the same time. A wet, sloppy kiss that was shallow breaths and nips at lips and now a free hand to grab at the other. Yours pulled his hand mostly from the ribbon that’d aimed to tie it back, and you finally got to feel how those long curls felt. Felt how they wrapped around your fingers and felt how he visibly, audibly, and beautifully sighed and melted into you as you cupped the back of his head.
And his hand touched your waist.
High on your waist.
The tips of his fingers went over your ribs until his thumb….
You gasped at just the mere graze. And the gasp turned to a moan as you exhaled, shakily, quietly, as his thumb swiped just over the bottom of your breast.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your lips. A breathy, rough edge crawled into his voice that sounded like heaven on earth. “(Y/N), tell me to stop." He kissed you harder. Held you closer. Tipped your chin back as your legs came together in a tangled, awkward heap with your dress in the way, and his thumb dragged higher over your breast. It stroked across your nipple through the fabric, and something much newer pushed a whine from you. A soft, ticking, sensitive sensation. “Please. Tell me you do not want me. Tell me—”
“Eddie.”
The world went cold. Dark. In rushed the sounds of the party. Of the music and the clinking glasses. The rushing water in the fountain and the chatter on the Mitchell’s back porch down along the path. The scent of the roses came flying back on your gasp, and as Eddie pulled back, the hand on your waist falling and the other coming to your shoulder, you felt dread.
Endless, copious, unrelenting amount of dread.
You didn’t turn.
You didn’t do anything except gasp and gasp again. For breaths that weren’t coming as Eddie glanced from you over to the path entrance. Tears pricked your eyes as you hoped and prayed Wayne was alone, but you were too terrified and embarrassed to check.
“Wayne, it’s not—” Eddie started.
He wasn’t able to finish.
“Of all people, really? I asked one thing of you for tonight, and it was just to behave yourself. And I get it, I do." Wayne shook his head, and as you kept your eyes secured on Eddie, panic ripping through you, there was hurt. Pain. An agonizing amount of…of disbelief and anguish tightening his features. The disappointment in Wayne's voice was like a knife in your chest. "But of all the people to fool around with? Really?”
No. You’d kissed Eddie. You turned, mouth parting to say it. The desperation crawling through you so he’d know. You knew what Wayne thought of you. You were practically family. You’d always been family. You needed him to know you’d kissed Eddie. Not him. He didn’t. He didn’t do anything.
“If anyone had been with me, if I’d been anyone else, what then?” Wayne said before you could even get a word out. Eddie’s hand tightened on your shoulder. “Is this really what you’d want for (Y/N)?”
Eddie’s jaw set hard.
“Get up.” Wayne shook his head and wiped his hand over his face. Eddie didn’t move. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t move. His hand twitched on your shoulder again. “Edward, unless you’re going to propose to her, get up. We’re leaving. Because I know…I know you’re a good kid, but I am not going to let you ruin her like this.”
The plea in Wayne’s voice…how many times had he caught Eddie with someone? How many times did he have to hear the gossip about his family? About all of his family? With his brother and Eddie’s dad? With…with everything you hadn’t been there to help Eddie with.
Eddie's hand fell from your shoulder, and Wayne's words rang harder than even he surely anticipated within you. Because he was right. Very, very unfortunately, right. Hadn't mattered if you'd been the one to kiss Eddie, it…had you been caught, that meant a quick wedding or a ruined image. It meant….
You opened your mouth to apologize. To tell Wayne it was you. To tell Wayne none of it was Eddie’s fault.
But when your eyes locked with Eddie, all you saw was the hurt and the anguish. A…longing as he gave you the slightest shake of his head like he knew what you were thinking of doing. And he sucked in an unsteady breath as he straightened.
“He’s right, I’m sorry,” Eddie said, voice so raw, you felt a knot yank tight in your throat.
Something pricked your chest and wasn’t stopping.
“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” Wayne said with an exasperation that hurt even worse. “I didn’t…this never happened. Okay? You have my word.”
You didn’t say thank you. You didn’t do anything except watch Eddie’s back as he walked past Wayne. Silently. Jaw set and shoulders slumped. And as the tingling inside you started to fizzle out, as the ache between your legs finally found a dead end, the two disappeared.
And you were left with the sullen fact that you hadn’t even considered the fact that Eddie would likely never marry and would never want to marry. And you’d…you’d kissed him. You wanted to kiss him again. You wanted to run after him and grab his shoulders and kiss him again.
And the worst part was even if he did, even if Eddie would’ve simply turned right then and there and proposed, even if you would’ve said yes, your parents would never bless it.
Did you feel something when you looked at any of the suitors inside?
No.
Your exhale came out as something on the verge of a sob, and you stared down at your messy, teary-eyed expression in the moonlit water.
But you felt something for Eddie.
And as you listened to the ball continue on, listened to the distant sounds of hooves hitting the cobblestone, you had to face that fact.
You were fond of very possibly the one singular person in the entire town who you could never, ever be with.
A few tears slipped down your cheeks and caused ripples in the water.
And you hadn't a clue how to face that.
There in came the ball minutes later. With your gloves returned to your hands with trembling fingers, half of Eddie’s drink downed, panic and nerves and dread plunging into your stomach, you trudged back to Ella’s house. Went with impossibly slow steps that made your legs feel weaker and weaker with each one.
Your lips tingled.
They ached.
They ached for Eddie’s as your chest broke into piece after piece.
What had you been thinking? You passed by the gazebo and studied the craftsmanship, smiling at the few people who were out there, clearly intoxicated. Gratefully so. Their lack of focus on you said they hadn’t noticed Eddie slip back to follow you, nor had they noticed his departure with Wayne.
No, truly. You glanced up at the open back doors and hesitated. Music was in full swing, your cheeks stung beneath wet tears, and your heart stalled in the worst kind of way in your chest. What had you really been thinking back there? You took a step inside—what else were you to do? You had to return to the ball.
You kissed Eddie.
Your heels clacked against the floor as you settled just aside, looking for Ella. Looking for Ace. Looking for your mother.
Eddie had kissed you.
And Wayne saw.
Wayne pointed out the obvious.
You and Eddie would never marry. Your parents would never support it. And with Eddie’s reputation, be that one Wayne cared about or not, had anyone else found you, there’d be hell. Chaos, unforgivable consequences, and unavoidable circumstances. And should Eddie not desire to marry—and given his lack of interest in the marriage season, you assumed he did not—you could never force that upon him. No matter how much the thought hurt in your chest, in your stomach, in all of you.
Because as you looked around the ballroom, you felt…nothing.
You were still back by the fountain.
Still in his arms.
Still with your mouths together.
And yet, you had none of it. You had nothing. No Ace. No Eddie. No hope.
“Hey, there you are.” A familiar arm wrapped through yours, and Ella nearly bumped into you as she came up beside you. “You vanished for a bit. Everything okay?”
You didn’t look at her as you nodded.
“I merely…committed a social blunder,” you muttered, dragging your eyes across the room, looking for your mother, looking for Ace. “And I got a tad overwhelmed and required some air. Sorry.”
Ella’s grip tightened, and you didn’t need to look at her to know she didn’t fully believe you.
“What blunder?” she ended up asking, and you’d never been so grateful for such a small kindness right then and there. You nearly cried.
“He was not fond of my dress color and began to lecture me about structure and moderation and…and things I find rather pointless, and my weariness got to me. I pointed out his hypocrisy upon addiction and self-control regarding his business and fear I overstepped.”
Ella, wonderful as she was, laughed.
“How brave. No wonder he’s been sulking for the last few songs.” She pointed over at the worst possible sight you could’ve seen.
Ace.
Next to your mother.
You contemplated going after Wayne’s carriage and imploring him to house you for the evening. Or eternity. Or simply cashing out your dowry yourself through a hair-brained scheme and then fleeing. Because if Ace told your mother of what’d happened, she’d have your head.
In fact, she’d do much more than have your head if she knew about anything that’d taken place that evening. You’d be shipped off somewhere, forced to marry someone who’d take you for your dowry and produce an heir, or you’d just….
Pure panic set in as you found Ace nodding along to something your mother said, your heart racing and hands shaking.
You had no idea what your parents would do.
Had you gotten caught with Eddie and there’d been a scandal, what would’ve happened to you?
Ah. You were struggling to breathe again as you slowly moved with Ella. It was hard to tell whether you were moving yourself or she was guiding you, but she walked arm and arm with you. She was talking about something regarding where you’d gone, and you’d answered out to sit by the fountain to simply collect yourself, forcing a smile, forcing composure, forcing everything to keep yourself together as you walked toward what could be your end.
Please.
You had to apologize. You had to apologize to Ace regardless of what the next step was. As ridiculous as it was, given his ridiculous stance on moderation, you had to. Then…. Your body twisted and turned and coiled and burned. Then you could figure out how to handle what'd happened with Eddie.
And how your mind was still back by the fountain and your heart was still in pieces underneath Wayne’s disappointment.
And Eddie’s departure.
You’d never expect him to marry you. You’d never ask him to. You’d never put him in such a position with your parents or yourself or….
You knew the rules. You knew the expectations. And yet you’d kissed him.
You let out a considerably nervous laugh as both your mother and Ace peered over at you.
Why had you kissed him?
“Mr. Kester,” you started, putting one hand on Ella’s arm when she graciously didn’t leave. She made no intention of doing so, either. It was the first moment of grounding you felt the entire night. “I really must apologize.”
Your voice trembled.
Your chest moved too fast.
Your thighs still felt uncomfortably wet and sticky and cold.
The weight of your mother’s unreadable gaze was pressing blade after blade into you.
“I was out of line earlier, and I would simply like to ask for your forgiveness.” You tilted your head down like the good, obedient future wife someone in there would hopefully take you as. That he might. “Please—”
“I have often been told by my sister that my thoughts are much too rigid.”
You swallowed hard, hand tightening on Ella’s arm as she shifted closer. Almost protectively. Whether that was from whatever Ace was going to say or from whatever look your mother was giving you, you weren’t sure. But you were grateful.
Beyond grateful.
Yet you still missed Eddie.
"You needn't apologize for what I am sure my sister would have thrown a book at my head for saying." Ace cleared his throat, and your eyes went wide. You still didn't lift your head. "It's been a considerably stressful day—as I was telling your mother, we are closing in on a rather beneficial deal with a local manufacturing company. My mind has been in many places all at once."
Gradually—so very, very gradually—you lifted your head. You met those quizzical, serious, awkward green eyes that quickly averted from yours. He peered back out at the dance floor as he nodded his head. Rather stiffly, his hands found their way into his pockets, and his jaw clenched.
Your mother hid her frustration well, but you could see it when her eyes landed on you.
"The fact of the matter is simply that you do look lovely in such a color. Be it spring, summer, fall, or winter.” He cleared his throat as the song playing began to end. “I…would very much like to see you in that shade again.”
“Of…of course, Mr. Kester,” you murmured, voice breathy and high with disbelief.
Even Ella looked surprised.
“We shall have more gowns in that color made tomorrow,” your mother declared. “And do come by any time, Mr. Kester. You and your sister are both welcome any time you require any business advice. My husband is a goldmine of information.”
Oh?
You flicked your gaze between them as Alice and Winny both approached. Winny was blushing something fierce as Alice held their arm. Winny couldn’t meet anyone’s gaze, but Ella instantly perked up. She still held your arm, though.
“Must we depart now, brother?” Alice asked with a frown. “Can we not push the meeting just an hour tomorrow?”
“You know we cannot,” Ace said plainly. A monotone voice that replayed your last conversation. He was truly a rigid man of unbending structure. Even if it meant short appearances at balls and working everything in.
Perhaps that was a good sign? He’d always have time for everything. Or perhaps it meant his already busy schedule would hardly have room for anything more. But when you were on the cusp of ruining everything…when you had ruined everything internally for yourself, did you really have a place to wonder and complain? To worry?
"I will call upon you again in the coming days should you have me," Ace said bluntly, first looking at you, then your mother. "It's truly a…dashing ball, Miss Ella. Thank you for the invitation." He looked at Winny and nodded. "And for giving my sister such a wonderful partner."
Alice smacked Ace's arm, and you saw your mother's eyes widen briefly. She'd been an only child, her parents had both been only children, and your father merely had cousins he'd grown up with. They never understood such a dynamic. They never even understood your dynamic with Ella or Eddie or even Bal.
Nothing else was said as Ace and Alice departed, leaving you, Winny, and Ella all standing there with your mother. The growing tension becoming unbearable as she nodded at both Ella and Winny, and unilaterally decided the night for you two ended there.
And what else were you expected to do but listen?
So, you listened. You followed her in silence out to the front of the Mitchell home upon saying goodbye to your friends. You stood listening to your heart stutter and your breathing nearly wheeze as you waited for your carriage. And you followed your mother inside of it while trying to wring your hands.
The carriage jerked and the horses’ hooves clopped down the street.
“You’re an imbecile,” your mother whispered, her eyes on the small window on the door. You couldn’t look away from the other, watching the street give way to other homes. “A complete and utter foolish, foolish imbecile. Not only did you insult a suitor, you risked ruining your chances with others because of such argumentative, ridiculous, unfounded behavior.”
You clenched your jaw and still did not look at her.
“From now on, you will agree with whatever Mr. Kester says. He is still interested in you, and you will not blow that for yourself. You will nod your head prettily. You will agree. You will do as he says. Do you understand me?”
Your inhale was slow and shaky.
“Yes, mother.”
“And you will not, by any means, ever do something as foolish as departing alone.”
Your hands twitched once more, and your gaze—in a panic—jerked to your mother's. She was beyond seething. There was disappointment and annoyance and disgust. Dread sank lower into your stomach.
“You are so very lucky someone did not decide to scandalize your departure.”
Your heart thundered in your chest.
“Chaperones are important for a reason. Years, (Y/N), it has been enforced upon you for years, and yet you still find yourself exempt from the rules because…what? You were overwhelmed? Frustrated? You do not go where others cannot see you. If others cannot see you, then what? How are we to know you did not run off somewhere to scandalize yourself with another?”
“Would you think me so foolish as to do so and not be married and with child already?” you murmured, voice weak. Voice cut off.
A sharp, overwhelming stinging seared into your cheek, and you weren’t looking at your mother anymore. Her glove was off and clutched in her other hand while you stared down at the empty seat beside you. As your eyes watered and your breath caught and your cheek stung.
“Do not get smart with me. Do you think any of the men at that ball would marry a whore?”
You said nothing. You did nothing. You didn’t even look up.
You didn’t even touch your cheek.
“Jillian will accompany you at all times from now on. There will be no exceptions. Do you understand me?”
Silence.
“Do you understand me?" she repeated.
The stinging in your cheek cracked along your chest.
“Yes, mother.”
"Good." She blew out a long breath as the carriage jostled once more, pulling through the gates to the front of their home. "Now, I must go explain your failures to your father. Really, we tried our best with you, and you still cannot remember what to do."
You did not look at her until she departed the carriage.
You did not say a word to her, to Jillian, to anyone as you readied yourself for bed.
And you did nothing except roll over and find yourself dampening your pillow as you choked on sobs.
Your mother did not know about your moment with Eddie, and if she had?
You hugged one of your pillows and tried so desperately not to think about Wayne’s disappointed expression, Eddie’s sunken features, the feel of his lips on yours, the burning desire now open and new yet tarnished and tainted. Tried not to think about what true hell your mother would have planned for you had she found out.
And so you slept.
At least in your dreams, you could replay the kiss.
Your mother was always true to her word, at least. She had that honor to her name. Upon waking, you found three things to be true. Jillian was practically glued to your side, an appointment slip had already been sent into town for the local tailor to acquire fabric as green as your ball gown was, and your father had been filled in on your errors.
He had not been filled in on why your cheek still stung. But in an effort to simply leave it as his exasperated sigh, you did not say anything about it. You did not say anything except yes, sir.
And you spent the day in your drawing room, pretending to be the obedient daughter that you were while sewing and stitching. Yet your hands trembled, and your breaths were shallow, and on repeat, you tortured yourself.
The night air, the rushing water of the fountain, the warm touch of his hand against your face and fingers lacing with yours. The brush of his nose to yours and the tickling of his breath on your cheek. The feel of his lips. The taste of his tongue. Bitter and sweet and as new as it was addictive.
You drew your teeth over your bottom lip. Again and again.
And as good as it felt in that moment when you could recall the flicker of something in Eddie’s eyes before you’d kissed, there always came the dread. The pain. Hurt. Anguish.
The utter disappointment in Wayne's expression. His voice.
The distraught look on Eddie's face as he slumped away.
And you’d let him. You could’ve spoken up, even if Eddie had stopped you. You still could’ve. You should’ve.
But Wayne was right.
None of that mattered should you and Eddie not wed. So what was it then? Nothing. It was nothing. A mistake. A horrible mistake on your part. And yet, no matter how many times you repeated that to yourself, you still found yourself replaying the memory.
Countless times.
Your first kiss.
And Eddie had made it much more than memorable. It was haunting.
You did not see Eddie for…days. Far too many days. Between new lessons encouraged by your mother to take up relearning how to read sheet music you knew like the back of your hand, visits with Ella, Winny, and Loraine, and seeing a handful of random suitors, you weren’t visiting the general store or the town square. Nor was Eddie called to your home for any repairs or deliveries.
You woke, you ate, and you slept, all with the gnawing guilt that grew worse and worse with every passing day. From guilt to disappointment to stress to desire. You never knew such a complicated arousal of feelings could haunt you. You never knew you could…want.
Like that.
The kind that kept you awake late in the night. All other thoughts were forgotten as your body burned and your legs tangled with the sheets. Never knew wearing such a thin nightgown could feel so heavy and thick. Never knew you could claw at your sheets as you pressed your head back, heart thumping and eyes shutting while you replayed the touch of his lips to yours.
Again.
A memory stuck on repeat until you could not bear to be awake much longer.
Then, Ace called upon you. You'd managed to get a dress into the tailor's in time, and for the first time in a week, you were slipping from the carriage with your mother and Jillian. The square felt much too busy and the sun was too bright and the park was too full. The breeze caught you weird, and as you adjusted your footing on the ground, your eyes ended up in the direction of the store.
Across the way. Far and out of reach.
Movement inside could’ve been anyone, and yet your chest ached as you stared. Much, much longer than you should’ve.
“Are you alright, Miss (Y/N)?” Jillian said, appearing right where she’d been the whole week—just beside you.
“Oh, yes.” You quickly tapped your foot against the stone and gave her a smile. “My heel snagged. My apologies.”
And with a force that felt like you had to physically pry your hand up, you turned and went into the shop. You stood in silence as you were measured and the gown was pinned over you. Hardly the style you enjoyed, but the color was close to that dark emerald. A dress was a dress, and if Ace wanted to see you in it, so be it. Your mother would make it happen. Even if you were certain that he was merely saying that out of some strange courtesy.
He hadn't apologized, nor had he accepted your apology.
He merely just…decided what was to happen. If you’d see him, of course.
And, of course, you would. You'd see him in the out-of-season green he'd been going on about with such a lack of structure and moderation and in a dress that even pinned back, even with the tailor's best work, was far from your favorite.
Jillian helped you dress as your mother spoke with the employees of the shop. She wanted more dresses. More gloves. More everything.
You found yourself staring out the front windows as she spoke. Watching as you imagined Ace often did, except…you couldn’t pick someone to focus on. You tried—really, you did. From the young girl and boy running the park to the young man washing the sides of carriages for a few coins, to the teenagers feeding horses and stealing longing looks at each other, to the suitors in the square eyeing more across the way.
Your eyes just continued to wander. Not to nowhere, unfortunately. Nowhere would've been preferable. Nowhere would've worked. But that wasn't your luck. No. It was right on back to the same spot every time. Perhaps a detour was taken on the way to look at a fountain or another potentially interesting person. But it was always the same place. Same ending. Same results.
Your hands wrung as you watched the movement in the general store.
Was he there?
An overwhelming urge filled like a balloon inside your chest. It expanded and inflated until your next breath simply remained as one, and you wrinkled the fabric on your gloves as you made your hands into fists.
Was Eddie in there? Was he? Was he thinking of you? Was he punished by Wayne? What had Wayne thought of you? Not an ounce of it had left any of your lips, per the check of the gossip each and every day through Jillian, although you did not mention to her why you were suddenly so interested in knowing it.
You missed him.
You missed him to the point where it felt like you were being torn in two. The desire for your friend and the desire for whatever he'd been that moment in the garden. Whatever had driven him to allow your lips to touch his and the fervor that kept them there. Be it good or bad, you had simply never known such a desire.
And it was so impossibly hard to find anger within yourself because you’d seen that anguish on his face when Wayne found you.
There hadn’t been a second thought in your head when you’d kissed him, and if you still knew Eddie even a fraction of a bit as you once did, he would never be so cruel to you. Not purposefully. Mindlessly?
You swallowed hard.
Why had he kissed you?
Why?
What could he have possibly gained from it besides the simple interest in doing so?
“I do find that it is a nice day outside.”
You nearly jumped at the soft scuffling of Jillian’s shoes against the store’s floor. Your mother’s voice continued to ramble on as another listened, and Jillian merely tipped her chin up and pursed her lips.
"I have an order to submit for a paper, ink, and quills delivery." Jillian held up a tiny slip of paper on your parents' stationery. You recognized your mother's handwriting for the lofty order. "If you'd desire a bout of fresh air, I would enjoy the company."
You blinked at her as she glanced back at your mother. Then came a flash of innocence. Batted lashes as she merely waited for your answer, hands folded in front, eyes slowly drifting over to the window. Toward the general store.
“Mother,” you said without a second to even think about what you were doing. “I am going to accompany Jillian across the street to submit your work order and pick up some more sheet music. Would that be alright?”
Your mother merely raised her hand. The best response you could’ve hoped for. You’ll be with Jillian. Go. Do not interrupt me, daughter. Goodness. And with a pounding heart and fidgeting hands, you peered at Jillian. What was she doing?
With a pull on the front door, you stepped out into the heat with her walking beside you.
"Should I inquire about your courteous invitation, or do you simply enjoy spending nearly every second of every day with me now?" you asked underneath your breath, giving Jillian a nervous look.
She simply smiled as she studied the parchment. You felt unsteady on your feet as she shrugged.
“I merely thought you’d enjoy a moment of fresh air after being stuck inside so often these past few days.” She held up a hand toward the front of the shop as you grew closer and closer with every step. “And you’re fond of the shop, am I correct?”
The shop.
Your eyes briefly met before she was glancing forward once more. She didn’t bother to hide her smile.
“I am,” you said softly, peering down as you took the steps one at a time. “Although, that was when I was a child. It’s…. A lot has changed since then.”
You held your breath as Jillian got to the door before you, holding it open for you.
“I imagine it has.” She cocked a brow and gave you a sly, teasing smile. “You are adults now. Much can change between people in adulthood.”
The bell rang above your head, and you simply nodded. She was right. More than even she realized by having a simple bribe under her belt. What would she have thought about your arrival there if she knew about your moment in the garden? Would she have invited you along anyway?
It hardly mattered. You were in the shop. Hypotheticals were simply that as you stepped aside, earning a nod from Jillian as she went to the front counter where, thankfully, neither Wayne nor Eddie was working, to talk with an unfamiliar face behind the counter. And grateful for the public eye actually giving you a second to yourself despite the sea of faces around you, you walked slowly to where the sheet music was stocked with the books.
There was noise in the aisle, and oh, the torment of being stuck between wanting to see Eddie and not wanting it. Wanting to tell Wayne the truth but being unable to look him in the eye. And yet you rounded the corner, heart pounding, hands shaking, breath held. And….
Customers.
Just customers.
A few smiled as you smiled back, and in you went to idly thumb through the sheet music that was all copies of what you already had. New books were shelved, however, but none really caught your eye. And so…. So you contemplated. You peered back down the aisle at the townsfolk and tried to decide which were you to do. Simply return to Jillian’s side? Wander the aisles in hopes of seeing Eddie or even Wayne to face the growing guilt and dread inside you? To torment yourself? To put yourself through the anguish of knowing you’d surely ruined all you’d had left with Eddie and potentially caused a wedge and an argument—at least—between him and Wayne?
Up front, just as you started to walk to the end of the aisle to just contemplate checking the others, you heard a familiar sound. Not of a person. Not of music. But an old sound you’d long forgotten. A ding of the register when it was opened upon payment. But it wasn’t the one that rang out in a satisfying echo in the store. But one broken. Cut off down the middle and left wanting and unsatisfying. Like hands holding the sides of a bell as one turned it on its side.
The drawer was stuck.
There was a bit of odd laughter, and then one, two, three loud clunks. A hard shove, the pressing of buttons, then di— Another unfinished ding of the bell. Rinse and repeat. You turned on your heels as you heard an exasperated sigh, and you poked your head out from around the corner. Jillian was two people back in line while an exasperated older gentleman—Lord Jamis—frowned at the young man desperately trying to get the register to open.
It would not.
"Really, they either ought to teach their employees how to work their form of payment return and acceptance, or they must get new equipment. My goodness," came Lord Jamis' rather grumpy voice. His gray hair poked out through a cap he probably should've taken off, but he was old enough that any pesky societal rules no longer applied.
"My apologies, r-really," the young man said. Probably no older than sixteen or seventeen. His pale cheeks flushed. "It's never done this to me before. Just a moment, and I will return your change to you."
And again, he shut the drawer, pressed the keys, and pulled the level.
And again, the ding rang out broken.
Lord Jamis looked ready to throw something. The teenager looked ready to cry.
And with no one else around….
Eddie had shown you how to fix it when you were around eleven. You’d needed change for the dessert cart outside, so you’d gone behind the counter with him to swap the bill for coins. A simple exchange that ended with the drawer only popping a few inches open. A frown came from Eddie a moment later, then a sigh, and yet without a beat—and with a flair of dramatics—he reached underneath the counter for a thin piece of metal. An old wire hanger of sorts that seemed rather dangerous in the wrong hands.
But it was small and sturdy enough.
And with a wicked grin, he shoved it up the left side of the drawer, wiggled it a few times to find whatever annoying latch occasionally fell to catch the drawer, and then there. The end bumped against your stomach as he triumphantly bowed a step back, grinning like he was a magician. Then, in went the wire back to its original hiding spot, out came the coins, and then, with a happy shove of the drawer, the two of you were running out to get a cold treat.
What were the odds it was still in there?
When the teenager merely tried the same unsuccessful attempt again, you overstepped, but there wasn't much else to do. You could not poke your head up into their upstairs loft without Jillian, and you certainly couldn't do it when you weren't sure if they were up there. But Wayne wouldn't be so cruel to such a new hire in the store which…. Your heart stopped as you started to move around the aisle to tell the boy about the wire when Lord Jamis slammed the bottom of his cane down on the ground and shouted for Wayne.
In a voice that almost made you step back. It made Jillian and the teenager jump. All those around them did so, too.
Was there a new hire because of something happening between Wayne and Eddie?
No. No. You sucked in a slow breath, watching tears well in the teen's eyes, and acted on instinct. Wayne always hired teenagers so they'd have a place to work. To prove themselves. He'd grown up working in the shop alongside his brother. Eddie had grown up in the shop and found his own there. Wayne wanted to give all working teenagers that option. To give them something to aspire to.
There wasn’t a single chance Wayne had taken that away from Eddie, and Eddie…. He wouldn’t have left. Not…. No.
You shoved the thought as far from your mind as you could as you smiled at Lord Jamis.
“Lord Jamis,” you said as you slid in behind the counter. “My goodness, it’s been far too long. I haven’t had the chance to see you since I’ve returned from schooling.” You gave him the brightest smile you could muster as you reached onto the messy shelf, feeling around and pawing for that thing metal wire. The teenager beside you looked utterly confused, and you simply gave him a little smile. “I heard sweet Maria is attending that very finishing school this upcoming year.”
Lord Jamis' eyes narrowed and then widened. The one fondness you had for being your parents' daughter was that your name, unfortunately, carried weight. A double-edged sword that seemed to fall on the side of favor at that very moment.
You continued to feel around for the wire.
“Oh, sweet young (Y/N)!” His brown eyes grew wider. “You’re all grown up. Forgive me. I feel like it was just yesterday you were a child running around this very store. My Maria is rather excited yet nervous to be gone for such long periods of time, but I do believe the school is beneficial. You are a prime example of that.”
Oh, were you?
"I suppose I am," you said with a small smile. There. You nearly jumped for joy as you plucked the wire out. To the teen, you whispered, "Excuse me a moment?" And as he took two, then three steps back until he was out of your way, you did your best to replay the code to unlock the register that you hoped had remained. It worked. "It can be a rough adjustment. I do hope you’ll give young Maria the leeway and courtesy of gifting many, many stamps. I know I sent so many letters that my hand began to cramp.”
You slid the wire up the left side just as you recalled Eddie had and felt for that latch.
“I felt rather guilty, I’m afraid,” you said with a small laugh. There. It slipped a few times before finally catching, and suddenly, the drawer hit your stomach with a satisfying bounce. “I spent far too much of my allowance at their local store on ink, parchment, and stamps that I felt as if I was betraying the Munsons here.”
You squinted at the receipt with the two bills atop it, thrown down in a panic by the teen. And old muscle memory of when you’d taught yourself to count, of when you’d watch Eddie, his mother, his father, Wayne, and all employees in between count back change came back as you plucked up the bills.
“Ah, and here’s your change, Lord Jamis.”
He had a brow cocked as he took it, giving you a curious look while he tucked it away into his pocket.
“Did they teach you all of that at that school, because I ought to give their curriculum another read if so,” he said in a tone so sly, you couldn’t decipher whether it was a positive or a negative.
So, instead, you laughed as politely as you could and gave the teen worker a little touch on his arm as you slid from his original place. You could see Jillian’s fought smile as she peered down at her slip.
“It’s as you said yourself, Lord Jamis. I spent ample time running around this store as a child. I picked up a few skills here and there.” You folded your hands behind your back and kept that polite smile going strong. “Apologies for the delay. It is not a successful outing if there is not some fun in the works, is it not? What would we be if each day was the same upon same upon same?”
“Mmm. I suppose you’re right,” he said with a low hum. His eyes narrowed as he gave you a curious look.
"Do give Maria my best, please. And if you or she require any reassurance prior to her schooling, do reach out. I am more than happy to be of assistance."
“How kind, young (Y/N). Much appreciated.” He nodded his head before jerking his gaze over to the teen worker. But he said nothing as he turned, hitting his cane much less harder than before as he started toward the exit. “Pass along the gratitude and well wishes to your parents as well for me, please.”
He waved a wrinkled hand before disappearing out the door. The ringing of the bell allowed you to let out a small sigh, and your shoulders slumped.
“They really ought to fix that register,” you murmured.
“It’s on a list.”
Your heart stopped. There were footsteps all around you, but that was how it went when their shop was busy. Always noise. Always people. Always a mix of gaits that came together in a conglomeration that you couldn’t always differentiate whose was whose.
Apparently, in your attempt to help the young worker, you’d missed not one, but two distinct ones.
You saw Eddie first, standing with his shoulder against the end of a tall case of shelves covered head to toe in parchment. A dirty rag was wrapped tight around his hand as his brown eyes fell on you in an unreadable expression. But you couldn't process that alone when his lips parted and his chest expanded with a slow breath. You couldn't do much of anything when he was right there, and he was looking at you with such an indecipherable expression that you couldn't figure out whether it hurt more or less.
Then Wayne walked by you with a stern look thrown at Eddie.
“It is on a list. Sorry, Marcus.” Wayne went up behind the counter and gave the boy a dismissing pat. Wayne seemed hesitant to meet your gaze as you followed his movement, but it wasn’t malicious. Just…nervous. “Should I ask where you learned to do that?”
“I imagine you can guess the answer, Wayne,” you said softly.
Eddie shifted his weight around enough to make the board beneath him creak.
“Well, either way, thank you for saving him and helping. Your kindness still knows no bounds.” Wayne rubbed the back of his neck as he gave the next customer a smile, doing everything by hand. And the elephant in the room felt like the entire size of it.
“Always.”
“Eddie, don’t you have stock to finish?” Wayne interjected. His look was sharper than most you’d seen on him before, and you felt your hands flinch behind your back.
“I do.”
And you were merely human. You couldn't stop yourself from peering back at him as he took a step back, eyes going down to where the cloth seemed close to ripping as it was pulled taut around his knuckles. Then, before he disappeared around the corner, those brown eyes met yours.
It felt like a nail shoving its way into your chest.
And you were at a stalemate. Wayne was there behind the counter, Jillian was approaching it, and Eddie had slipped away. You couldn’t even hope to talk to Wayne to try and explain anything while surrounded by so many people, and if you went after Eddie, it might just upset Wayne further. But Eddie was still there. That was one relief. And as you watched Jillian pass the order to Wayne, you felt the slightest opportunity slip from your fingers.
You had to talk to Eddie.
You had to.
You had to just…anything. Even to just…even around so many people. You had to apologize. Even in backward sentences and speaking around the point. You had to apologize. You had to fix what your dumb action had broken.
“Another moment when you finish, Jillian,” you said rather quickly. “I believe my mother requests some clips as well. And some cinnamon for cocoa tonight.”
You were not subtle. But Jillian had much more grace than you as Wayne gave you the slightest look of warning while she sweetly nodded.
"Of course," she said with the sweetest smile. "It slipped my mind."
And what could Wayne protest, really? It was the same deal as accompanying Jillian and parting ways inside the store. It was packed upon nearly every aisle. Nothing untoward could possibly happen. Besides, you were fetching clips and cinnamon. You had no idea what aisle Eddie was in.
None at all.
And so you went out of your way to not go the path Eddie had departed from, and you walked to where you knew cinnamon was on the far side of the store to just feign innocence. It was back closer to the stockroom door, and you smiled as you passed every other aisle left in the store to get there.
And as you passed the one just on the other side of it, you found Eddie stocking shoe polish. With very, very easily wandering eyes.
Your plan suddenly felt flimsy when you lacked the courage to even know what to say. Or how to speak around it. And as your eyes briefly locked, you turned to slowly walk past the less than a handful of patrons plucking up spices they required for the evening. Baskets were filled and feet were moving as you got to the spices lovingly titled with c.
And as you reached for the bottle just in front of you, a hand stopped you. Stained with black and brown splotches, the warm feel of his hand coming against yours made your breath hitch. He stood a little too close behind you for one, two, three, four beats of your heart before he walked around you. He maintained the close distance as he lazily dropped your hand and leaned against the shelves.
“You don’t want that one,” he said plainly. “It’s overpriced.”
Your brows pinched as you desperately tried to maintain some semblance of calm, but it was impossible when he was there. Right there. After a week had felt like an eternity and all you were thinking about right then and there was kissing him again. Everything else be damned, you were caught in a loop of fantasizing about his lips.
You had to look away.
“It is the best, is it not?” you said with a lopsided smile. You still couldn’t look at him, so you reached up and grazed the bottle with your fingers. “Overpriced doesn’t mean it is not tasty.”
“No, it means it’s overpriced.” He reached up, leaning closer as he grabbed a bottle from two shelves up. His chest nearly touched yours, and you had to actively remind yourself there were people around you, so you took half a step back. “Why overpay when there’s something just as good for cheaper.”
He slid the bottle into your hand and closed your fingers around it.
Your heart stuttered right along with your ability to form a response.
“Sometimes, it can even be better. So I’ve heard.”
His eyes narrowed slightly as they found yours. His hand lingered on yours as your heart swelled and your stomach fluttered.
“I’ve only ever had the one,” you muttered so, so slowly. But then your brows pinched hard. Eddie’s mouth curled into a smile that was cruelty incarnate when, in the back of your mind, reality was trying to drag you back. “I must confess that’s a lie. Because I have had many of the spices from here before, I just know my mother prefers us to buy the previous. I was merely—”
“I know what you were doing,” he answered with a whisper. Your cheeks erupted in flames. And slowly, with a cocked brow, Eddie pulled the jar from your hands and plucked up the previous one. He swapped them with a sleight of hand. “Gotta listen to your mom, though, right?” He slid the other jaw back onto the shelf, leaving you with the overpriced one in your grasp. “It’s how this works.”
Ah. There went all the good feelings. Vanished in a heartbeat as you held his gaze. His smile wasn't entirely gone, but the size it'd shrunk to hurt. You'd been arguing since you'd gotten back, and when you finally had the briefest of good between you, it was gone. Mere seconds of it.
“Eddie,” you said under your breath, glancing back at the man far at the other end of the aisle squinting at the back of two boxes of crackers. “I didn’t…. What’d happened—”
Eddie held up his hand, the tips of his fingers brushing your wrist. It was like heaven on earth before it became hell. You actually took a step toward him. His next breath was slow and deep, eyes down where his hand remained on you.
"It never happened. Plain as that." His hand fell, and he took the faintest step closer, eyes flicking back around you as he got much, much too close. "I'll ruin you, (Y/N). And if I can't marry you, I can't ruin you." His breath tickled your ear as he took one step around you. "Neither of us can be selfish here 'bout that, can we?"
He only made it the one step.
"I won't fuck up with Wayne again." His hand skimmed across your arm before it fell, but the goosebumps were already there. Your breath already hitched and your heart already raced. "And I damn well won't risk scandalizing your sweet, innocent reputation."
His next breath was slow and shallow.
“Not you.”
And then, before you could even fathom a response, Eddie was gone. He threw his hand onto the man's shoulder at the other end of the aisle, as nonchalant as one can get, and immediately started helping him. Immediately left you to let out a shaky breath and walk on shaky legs. Left your heart twisting as it skipped beats and you felt trapped somewhere much too warm and much too cold.
You grabbed the clips from a few aisles over and met Jillian at the register.
It was a miracle there wasn’t polish on your gloves, yet Wayne still eyed them like he knew. And surely he did, but there was really no evidence.
“Thank you,” you said as Wayne passed you the items.
“‘Course.” He rubbed the back of his head and blew out a long breath. “Always looking out for family, (Y/N).”
And as heartfelt as the sentiment was, it just made your chest crack in two.
You nodded.
"I rather enjoy conversing with Mr. Munson," Jillian said as you remained silent beside her every step of the way back to where your carriage was being fetched. Your mother was climbing inside as you crossed the square. "Should you ever desire more trips, you need to just say the word. He's a kind soul, and I am sure I can always find an item to replenish in the household inventory."
Jillian gave you a small smile that merely hurt worse.
“Thank you,” you muttered as you got within an arm’s reach of the carriage. “But I don’t imagine I’ll be making many more stops inside the general store. For a while.”
And without another word, you climbed inside.
You had an upcoming meeting with Ace you had to prepare for.
There was no turning Lord Thorburn away. It wasn’t as simple as they, nor would you ever be so rude. He was kind. He was the pick of the season. And his interest in you would drive others toward you as well. Especially once they found out about his visit to your home.
Atypical, really. Sometimes, home visits started immediately after the first ball. But the season was both crowded and slow at the same time. Many to pick from, many to dance with, much to decide and decipher. Courtships to start, letters to write, business dealing to solidify.
According to the gossip, only a few who'd vanished off alone after the balls seemed to have callers at their homes. And there were already rumors of quick weddings to happen between a few folks. Names were rumored, and thankfully, yours wasn't among them. Were your parents not dead set on maintaining a proper name more than receiving an heir, you might’ve worried they’d push you toward some version of entrapment.
Even if they decided to do so, you had to draw the line somewhere. And as the thought briefly crossed your mind with Lord Thorburn, you had a solid belief that it would be there. Even as your hands twitched on your mug with every thundering step above you, with every hammered nail, every removal and replacement of hinges and doors and floorboards—you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t even so much as kiss a potential partner until you knew.
You didn’t want your first kiss to be with someone you’d regret.
A smile came as you finished your second cup of tea, and Lord Thorburn began to rise, thanking your mother for both her time and yours. Gracious and kind and well-playing of the marriage mart rather surprisingly.
You gave him a small curtsy as he turned to you. As he picked up your hand and pressed a relatively smooth kiss to your gloved knuckles, you felt another twinge. Guilt. Exhaustion. And you thanked him for coming by before having to watch him depart. Before you gradually relaxed as much as you could when your mother was already coming up beside you, sighing. Her needlework was put down, and she shook her head.
“Really is a shame,” she murmured. “Handsome, kind, and of good genetics. He would’ve made a wonderful husband.” She gave your arm a squeeze like, for a brief moment, she was actually viewing your attempts as a love match. Or…or something other than their desire to make up for their lack of a son. “I supposed we could return to him should no other matches work out. Hm?”
You simply nodded, eyes getting heavy as you peered at the door he’d left through. The sounds upstairs began to quiet, yet the house felt too loud. The room felt too loud. Everything felt too loud. Your dress was tight and itchy. Your shoes were hurting your feet. Your stomach was churning with an unease and failure that wasn’t even your fault. And anger was so deeply set into you that you wanted to run or scream or sob. It was a hard choice.
"All points considered, I find you did rather well with him today," your mother said. "Continue to do so, and perhaps one of the available men will be quick to snatch you up. We're already weeks into the season; we shouldn't dilly-dally."
“Yes, mother. Of course.”
Your voice was tired. You were tired.
“Mind if I retire to the garden for a short while? I merely wish for some sun before it sets.” You couldn’t stop your longing glance out the window behind you. It overlooked where you saw Lord Thorburn’s carriage taking him away. Handsome, tolerable, and would’ve been well-worthy of gossip, but as disheartened as you were, you were happy.
“Of course, dear.”
Your mother waved you off, and you almost trudged out. Down the hardwood floors and a careful descent of stairs. Past the front entrance, where the sounds of the staff murmured and gossiped behind the walls and closed doors. A few eyes turned your way, and you merely glanced at them—there was no energy to smile. No energy to do much else besides pushing the back door open and stepping foot on the thick grass.
There.
If there was one grand piece of your parents' estate that you enjoyed, it was their garden. Staff filed out as you followed the stone path leading from the back door. They were the sole providers of it, except for the rare exception when your mother did actually come and tend to the food, the flowers, the bushes, and the trees. Lattices of roses created hallways, and branches on tall trees became roofs.
There weren’t many out tending to the garden, thankfully, giving you the space you so graved. The sweet, soft drag of your feet over the grass. The scent of flowers and nature spinning together. A ray of sun creeping through the branches as it went past its high point in the sky. A soft breeze that pulled every bad emotion from inside you and plucked it right on out.
As you rounded a corner to your favorite spot—a bench hidden at the back beneath a massive tree with just enough shade to keep most of the sun out—you weren’t thinking. Not about Lord Thorburn. Not about your parents. Not about the ball they were hosting in a few days time. Not your requirements. Not the countless people you had to flirt with and try to get to fall for you. Not the ache in your chest and the fear setting deeper. And certainly not the anguishing anger that came with just a brief thought of—
You staggered to a stop as a stretched-out body of white and black took up the expanse of the bench. One foot up, knee bent, the other off and thrown out to the side. An arm beneath that head of curly brown hair and a cigarette between his lips.
He tilted his head the second you stopped, and those annoying eyes found you.
You blinked.
He blinked.
You were unchaperoned. But you really wanted your spot. You really just wanted those five unchaperoned minutes to simply enjoy the peace and quiet. To not have the constant voice in your head repeating reminder after reminder that made your stomach hurt. And you felt your chest heave as Eddie merely cocked a brow, his eyes doing a slow, slow drag over your lilac dress.
“You’re in my spot,” you found yourself saying. Your voice was too strained. Too quiet.
Eddie didn’t move. Eddie didn’t do anything except pull the cigarette from his lips and do a long exhale. His eyes looked at your dress again, his lips curling and jaw setting tight.
Your gloves wrinkled as you closed them into fists.
“Mr. Munson, I would very much like to have a moment here to myself. So would you be kind enough to—”
“Thought you had some lord calling on you. He leave already or was he not good enough for you?” he blew out a long breath while he sat up. He still didn’t move from the bench. “I thought the point was to find a husband, not shoo them off.”
"You…." Your inhale was sharp and cruel. It caught in your chest like a nail snagging on cloth. He…. Eddie truly…. You took a step forward, lowering your voice because even in the daylight, the two of you alone was an accident waiting to happen. But your anger was growing. Your frustration and your annoyance. "You are incorrigible. You're unbelievable.”
You opened and closed your hands while peering around. While trying to keep your eyes and ears everywhere at once as you took just another step closer. Twigs broke beneath your shoe and your heel threatened to click against the stone path just a smidge too loud.
Something twitched in Eddie’s jaw.
“I am merely trying to relax for the brief moment that I am allowed it, and it is one thing to find you here, and it is another to find you unwilling to leave while knowing every passing second we are together alone, I am at risk." You shook your head, and there was no stopping the build in your chest. It broke apart as a frustrated groan that turned to a dry laugh partway through. "So, please, could you find it in your heart to allow me just this one second without us sparring about it?”
Eddie blinked at you as he took another drag of his cigarette, then his eyes were down where he rested one arm over his leg. Your heart pounded as the silence grew and his exhale brought another cloud of smoke around him. The breeze carried in the scent of roses that you wished to smell while actually attempting to relax. Not like this. Not with the worry of someone finding you there together.
Although, if it were someone on your parents’ staff, they could be bribed.
But then your parents would know, and based on your mother's reaction yesterday, those consequences were too great to bear. For yourself or Eddie.
“You never answered my question,” he said as he finally spoke. As he finally moved. His foot fell from the bench, and he gradually rose. And…and your eyes snagged on where his sleeves had been pushed up, his forearms exposed.
The dark ink of mythical creatures you'd once seen in books was left permanently tattooed into his skin. They twitched with the movements in his hands as he flexed them. He took a step toward you, tapping his thumb against the end of the cigarette while peering down at it.
“I beg your pardon?” you asked. Softly. Your voice was still strained as he decided to pick a path that brought him right toward you.
“The lord—”
Exasperation hit you, and you closed your eyes, shaking your head at his audacity. Because there was no care in his asking. It was to mock. To bully. To tease what he'd made clear that he detested.
“Lord Thorburn came, I spent an enjoyable amount of time with him, and he left. He's kindhearted, handsome, and considerably a wonderful match should circumstances arise to it, but if the question you're asking is if there's a proposal, then no, Mr. Munson. There isn't, and odds are there won't be." You clenched your jaw while clearing your throat. "He is not the best fit currently.”
“Wow, and who decided that? Him or you?”
Eddie stopped just beside you, still partially in front of you, those dark brown eyes landing on you with mocking disbelief. You hoped the look you gave him conveyed the amount of vitriol you felt. He acted like he knew so much about the season—and perhaps he did, to some extent. But he had no right attempting and assuming to know you. To know your motivations and desires and interests.
"Neither. Why do you care to know so badly? If you're beginning to scout for prospects early, I do hope you don't think I'd ever find myself sobbing on your porch looking for comfort from you."
Eddie stopped mid-raise with the cigarette. It never made it to his lips before it was stomped out on the stone. Now, he had vitriol in his eyes. A disbelief that came obvious—so obvious you almost felt guilty. Almost. But he was still standing there. He was in your spot in your parents’ garden. He was still right there while there was no chaperone to make sure nothing untoward happened.
He was still right there.
“Do you think I’d ever do that to you?” He frowned at you. Deeply. There was a strain in his voice that made your chest hurt. “Do you really think that if I ever found you in any state searching for comfort, I would take advantage of that?"
Your heart was beating a little too fast. Your breathing came much too quickly with it, as well. And the garden felt too small when Eddie was standing right beside you. When he looked at you not with anger, not with irritation, but a sense of hurt. As if he had the right after how he'd treated you thus far.
“I do not know, Mr. Munson,” you said lowly. You tried to keep your voice steady, but it was an impossible task. “But you’re still standing here with me even after I’ve pointed out the damage being seen in chaperoned could do. What am I to go off of except that? What am I to go off of to know you besides old memories and letters that went without responses and the town gossip’s spiel about the outcast, dangerous rake who is nothing like the man I remember?”
You dared a step closer. Much too close. Beyond a closeness you'd ever had with anyone until that moment. Your chest touched his, and his pressed to yours as he seethed, as he challenged your words in silence, a heavy glare laying upon you as something flicked in his hard-set jaw. Your heart pounded at the warm press of his chest coming through his thin shirt and your suddenly thin yet much too heavy and tight dress.
“What am I to think of you, Eddie, when you have given me nothing but hatred and disgust like I am nothing to you?” Your eyes searched his as your voice came out with much too much sincerity in it. It was supposed to be all anger. Supposed to be self-righteous because he had some audacity. Some nerve. But you were losing steam standing so close to him.
You’d be considered wrong if you did not acknowledge that he had grown into a handsome man. But to acknowledge it then when you were already on edge, when you were touching where you really were not supposed to be, where you felt his heart pounding right along with yours—you had rather poor timing.
“You left me.”
You blinked at him. His mouth moved slowly, and his voice was so low. His brows were pinched hard when your eyes flicked up to them, and his gaze…was set lower. On your jaw? Your nose? You felt a pinch of pain in your chest when his lips quivered.
“What?”
Eddie sucked in a slow breath and brought his eyes back up to yours.
"Christ, you're so self-absorbed you don't even realize it." His laugh was dry, and he shook his head. The hurt on his face…. It almost wiped away the sudden processing of his words and almost spared you from the insult. “Good luck with the fucking marriage bullshit.” His shoulder bumped yours as he passed by you. “Maybe the next one’ll work out if you take five seconds to stop focusing on yourself.”
And just like that, you had your space in the garden back.
But it felt all wrong. Horribly wrong.
You plopped down on the bench, tears welling in your eyes, a twisting sensation crashing into your chest. A sob slipped from your lips as your dress bunched around you. All that relaxation…gone. Exhaustion and guilt and frustration—it came bubbling to the surface.
What was he talking about?
You clung to the edge of the bench and hung your head. Every attempt to catch your breath was proving to be more and more difficult. The fresh air helped fill your lungs, but everything came as a spiral. Lord Thorburn, the constant and endless expectations, your parents, your friends, your family that was so devoid of a son, of an heir. Eddie.
“You left me.”
Was he talking about schooling? You couldn’t…you couldn’t avoid that. It’d been decided for you. Any attempt you’d made had been shot down. No point in paying private tutors when you’d thrive without any distractions out at the school. And it was such a prestigious school to attend. Who could possibly do better than countless educators trained with years upon years of shaping struggling young girls like yourself into proper women?
You hadn’t even packed your own trunk. Jillian had done it. And your mother. Your father hadn’t even gone with you when you were dropped off. Just your mother and Jillian, and then you were left to your own devices. Forced to fend for yourself. Forced to stay.
He couldn’t hold that against you. He…he had to know it wasn’t your choice. Did he really think you’d jump at the chance of running off to a finishing school? Did he not understand that you had such little choice in the matter of your future? He knew so much about the marriage season, about the expectations of those who failed and even turned to him—supposedly—and yet….
Your glove was wet as you ran the back of your hand over your cheek.
Your cheeks stung as just a few more tears slipped out before you could stop them.
You left him?
You’d written to him constantly. Even when he hadn’t written back, you still wrote to him. You wrote to Wayne. You wrote and you wrote and you wrote for years. Even after you were sure he’d gotten the letters and he was just not responding. It wasn’t until your last year that you gave up. You couldn’t stand checking the mail only to find maybe one letter from Wayne or another from Ella.
You couldn’t do it.
A quiet sob snuck out again, but it was the last one as you leaned back until scratchy bark pushed through your dress. Then, it was just a sigh. Just a desperate attempt to go back to when you used to sit side-by-side on the bench with Ella or Eddie, drawing, reading, listening to him play music, or watching Ella run around like she was a princess. When you could go back to when there wasn't a single worry about galas and dresses and which people to impress.
Your cheeks were still wet when you closed your eyes.
The ball was tomorrow evening, and you were far from prepared.
The ball was tomorrow evening, and you wanted nothing more than to run and hide and allow yourself just a moment to breathe. Just a moment to have for yourself. Just a damn moment to exist as your own. Nobody else dictating it. Nobody watching over you. Nobody but yourself there telling you what you can do.
Your next breath came more strained yet still…easier.
Easy enough.
Your eyes cracked open, and there came the green of the leaves. They caught the soft breeze that made them wave and shake. The sun warmed the parts of your cheeks that stung, and the sweet scent of roses finally came through on its own. No smoke. Some sniffling. But just….
It was all you could get.
So you took it.
And you stayed right there on that bench until the sun went down. Until you were certain they'd actually forgotten about you. A miracle that could've allowed you to simply run. To run as far and as fast as you could. To run until your legs gave out, and then you wouldn't be shackled to the very people who'd gifted you life. Who'd given you safety and a dowry that should've brought in a willing and interested partner by itself. Who you'd leave in the dust if it meant you could simply exist.
Even if you had to make it on your own.
You’d do it.
But unfortunately, they hadn't forgotten about you. You were fetched for dinner by a slightly worried Jillian, who visibly relaxed upon finding you half-asleep on the bench. And there it came—another step closer to the next day. To the next ball. To the next endless night of relentless flirting and romancing and courting.
You ate slowly as you listened to your parents talk about potential matches for you.
And all you did was nod along.
What else was there for you to do?
* ch five - warnings: sexism & classism, descriptions of a panic attack *
“You left me.”
Three words.
From dusk until dusk—dawn to the threat of the coming day’s dawn—the words haunted.
Morning came, and you rose from your bed, readied yourself for the day, and spent the early hours going through potential gowns to wear with Ella. Winny and Loraine came over shortly after, enjoying tea in the drawing room as the final touches were put into place for the ball. You talked of Lord Thorburn, talked of Lord Karl, who had their eye set on Loraine and Duke Braden, who seemed interested in Ella, Winny, and made mention of you to them as well. Found comfort in the way the piano keys dipped beneath their fingers as Ella and you skimmed sheet music.
You lounged in a warm tub of water, eyes staring at the closed curtains on the window, listening to the movement inside and out of the house. Preparing. Chatting. Gossiping. Jillian talked about all you had to ready yourself for that evening. Names to remember, who you ought to try and dance with. Important information you really ought to have been paying attention to. Yet your mind was far from itself.
Had you left him?
You ate a mediocre lunch that sat uneasily in your stomach even then. The warm water started to cool as you replayed, first, the small moments, then the medium, then the large. But there was a steady stream of evidence that every person in town followed. From birth to death, depending on one's class, there was a stricter and stricter path they followed. And when you were expected to be a wife, that strictness grew into a noose.
How many had you witnessed follow the same pipeline into child, womanhood, courtship, then wife? Mother? Aunt? Grandmother? There were those that worked, but your parents had always harped that it was never a glamorous life. Just look at your grandfather, your mother would say, and point to the painting above the fireplace in the drawing room. Your grandfather old and gray, a younger death for the time. Worked himself to the brink until he took his last breath. Trades and accounting and imports—you were their daughter, their only child; you weren't expected to know anything about your family.
But you knew your father merely managed the wealth that trickled down in vast amounts from the deals he still occasionally worked to maintain.
And you knew the feel of rough and heavy items in your hands from when you used to sit in the store with Eddie on a stormy afternoon or when the sun got unbearably hot. When Ella was too busy and Bal was too afraid of the storm to leave—you were at the general store. Sometimes you'd play, sometimes you'd just read. But occasionally you and Eddie would pluck up stock and fill the shelves.
To call it gruesome and exhausting work was different when you were a child. The two of you ran around the store laughing, playing, spending the hours in the mostly empty store running from dragons and mythical beasts. Sometimes, displays got knocked over, and you'd spend the next hour scrubbing up ink from the hardwood floor. You ruined a pair of trousers like that, but it'd never stopped you from wearing them.
“They look better like that,” Eddie had proclaimed, grinning and holding a thumbs up at the splattered black ink going across your light brown pants.
Your mother did not agree.
Your mother did not agree with you on many things, including the dresses slated for the evening. Newly tailored and everything, and yet she was hesitant on each and every one she popped in to see you in. Nope. Nope. Nope.
A light blue was dismissed. A sparkling pink, too. Then a purple. A yellow.
You hadn’t the will or the strength to argue with her over it, so you let Jillian and her hash it out as you sat in your slip, eyes on your window. You pulled the curtain back just enough to see the night sky creeping in.
When you were ten, and Eddie was just about to turn thirteen, there'd been a festival of fireworks at the park. There was a divide of the social classes back then, but it was a town event, not a gala hosted by one of the elitists. Wayne was there. His mother and father, too. They were back enjoying the music while you and Eddie snuck away from the rest of the rowdy kids to get a better view from up in a tree.
His idea.
You were foolish enough to follow.
And you stumbled and struggled a little, but he helped you up. He had a strong grip on your arm the whole time, reassuring you that the little bit of heights was nothing. He’d watch out for you and have your back like a true knight would. And while you might’ve wobbled on the thick branch, you managed to stare up at the starry sky for those few moments before the fireworks went off.
The minutes ticked by in wonder because how? You gawked at the beautiful colors bursting across the dark backdrop. Eddie's hand never left your upper arm, and you both let out similar woahs in unison.
You’d….
You’d forgotten about that.
He’d peered over at you with such a wide grin, it’d been absurd. He was just in awe of the impossible becoming possible. Of the beauty of the specter and the magic that momentarily filled the air. It was like being transported—so briefly in hindsight—into one of the many fake realms you two would pretend to be a part of when you’d play pretend.
You stood as your mother and Jillian frowned at the state of your gowns, and you plucked up the first one you saw in the wardrobe. It was a pastel orange gown that almost looked pink in some lights. Perfect for the dim lighting—it’d cause an optical illusion and might draw eyes without being overly dramatic. A humble host.
You frowned at the window, at the stars lost to your sliver of a reflection as the interior got too bright to see the exterior. Jillian helped you dress when your mother had no complaints about your gown choice.
Your shoes pinched your feet as you descended the steps. Carriages would arrive soon, and yet your head was hardly in a place of focus. Ella and Winny were the first to arrive with Ella’s parents. Lord and Lady Mitchell, both kind. Both significantly less…intense with Ella and Winny’s chances during the season.
There came the envy you’d been taught so many times was just so ill-advised to feel. Yet it hung strong as they came to you. Hugged you. And you stood aside as you pretended to greet and only greet them while admiring their stunning dresses. Winny in an off-white that made their hair pop. And Ella in a pale pink that made her look absolutely ethereal. How the gossip never stated either of them as the potential picks for the season was beyond you. But then again, there hadn’t been a mention of who might be the best amongst the new arrivals. Merely Lord Thorburn, and that was it.
How grand.
“Are you feeling quite alright?” Winny asked, leaning in with a cocked brow. They went to put the back of their hand against your forehead, but Ella smacked it away.
“Stop that, people are arriving. If they believe her to be sick, they may not approach her.” Ella rolled her shoulders and pulled up a smile. It fell a second later. “Wait, you aren’t ill, are you? Because you do look rather…tired. Or perhaps distracted is the better word?”
“I’m quite alright,” you said unconvincingly.
The look Ella gave you was downright comical. The kind that brought a lowered glass down and a raised brow your way. The kind that distinctly said you want to try that again, (Y/N)? But you didn’t. You weren’t going to. Not when the ball was moments away from beginning and you weren’t exactly sure how to broach the topic with Ella.
She’d been there, but she’d…she’d never quite gotten along with Eddie.
Not how you and he had.
Not even remotely.
Maybe it was a victim of your status, but the only time you ever saw the two of them together was when you were there in between them. You brought them together, and even then, they tended to argue and disagree. Then, one of them would always go off early. Or simply find something else to do.
She gave condolences when his mother passed, and that was the last you’d heard of any interaction between them, really.
Winny came and went at random and was much too shy to handle an abrasive Eddie.
Loraine—who’d arrived in a stunning green dress—was much too new. She might know gossip, but not much else. And you weren’t interested in gossip right then.
“You left me.”
Haunting words that did just that.
“Are you sure?” Ella said once more.
"Quite." You didn't look at her. You didn't look at Winny. You didn't look at Loraine. Your eyes stayed forward, and you forced polite smile after polite smile as more and more guests arrived. "Just a lack of sleep and the marriage season stress. I imagine I needn't explain further?"
You really did try to hide the pleading look, but Ella knew. Ella had been through it all on your behalf and her own. Just different levels of intensity. And she had two brothers already off and married. Both had sons.
She gave you a small smile and a simple nod.
See, she understood.
She got it.
She said she'd talk her parents into letting her join you off at finishing school, but you refused her. Partially because you knew her parents desired her home for those last four years—quality time, traveling to see family, celebrating, and continuing schooling in the town. There was that envy again, but you'd known since you were fifteen that you had different expectations.
You had to produce a son.
You took another sip of your drink and shivered. A quartet began to play music that was already beginning to give you a headache. One that started low in the back of your skull and slowly spread out over the rest.
And as if on cue, in came another rush of people. Lord Thorburn. Lord Hallwater. Duke Braden. Lord Karl. Darien Callfor, owner of half of the shops in the town square. Ace Kester, a tobacco tradesman with his sister Alice. Grey Elliott, older but not yet gray in his hair. A professor of mathematics. Erle Connell, forties yet built strong. A theater man. Written many operas and plays and actively worked on the last restoration attempt on the local opera stage in town.
Not acted as an overseer. Not stood idly by and pointed at where one thing ought to go over another. He learned a great deal of handyman skills during his time working alongside Wayne back when they were teenagers. But they’d gone their separate ways when Wayne took over the general store with his brother. Erle ended up turning to the arts shortly after.
Seeing him there was a genuine surprise. For as long as you'd known of him, Erle had only taken others to bed, never a spouse. Never had an interest in a spouse. Guess the gossip train was slow to catch up for even those around you looked surprised to see him there.
Unless he was merely scouting a person to take home with him should they end up interested.
Was that the path Eddie was on?
You frowned as music got louder and the room got fuller and fuller.
Who was Eddie anymore?
A sharp pain was back in your chest as a few familiar faces moved your way. People looking to greet and dance and get a look at the home that you’d grown up in. Looking to get a piece of you. A peek inside your mind. A prying of the door to you to peer inside at all the vulnerabilities laying bare behind it.
You tightened your grip on your glass.
It was simply cruel that Lord Thorburn was the first to find you.
“I rather enjoyed our afternoon together yesterday,” he said amidst a dance.
All eyes were on you not simply because you were the host, but word had spread. Lord Thorburn had called on you. It took the three balls for him to step out and call on someone, and who had he chosen? You.
Oh, the guilt was unbearable.
And that wasn’t even dipping a toe into the havoc being done inside you when you let that drift to thoughts of Eddie. So you tried not to think about him. Except not thinking about him meant having to look Lord Thorburn in the eye as he smiled down at you. When you had to figure out a way to not reject him but to not accept him. To string him along.
That wasn’t you.
The music swelled as you spun with it. It grew louder and stronger, and the night was getting hotter, and the room felt much too small for the amount of people there. You merely agreed with Lord Thorburn before excusing yourself after the dance ended.
Coward.
Your thoughts bounced around in your head as you tried not to rush too quickly to get a refreshment. You avoided your parents, avoided Loraine and Winny, passed by Ella giving Bal a reluctant dance, and tried not to look too out of place at the table. You plucked up a lukewarm glass of lemonade, taking a delicate sip that did little to quell the sudden heat coming over you.
And in came another voice.
“I see Lord Thorburn got his fill and went so far as to fling you from the dance floor.” Duke Braden snorted. When he’d appeared beside you, you hadn’t been sure. But suddenly he was there. And the scent of his wintery cologne was overwhelming. “Perhaps you need a better partner. I would love to try my hand if you’ll have me.”
“A moment,” you almost stuttered, knowing how much trouble you’d be in if you passed up even the rakish Duke Braden. “Then you can whisk me away, how’s that?”
You forced a smile while raising your glass. Your hands threatened to shake as your chest heaved a little too much. Whether he noticed or not, you weren’t entirely sure he was interested enough to say anything. He certainly must’ve noticed something, however, because his eyes were on your chest.
Rake.
You still abandoned your glass and met the eyes of countless others—even some who’d already shared a dance with him—as you went out to dance with him.
“Do tell me what the hidden secret to Lord Thorburn is. I’m aching to know what makes him the talk of the town this season,” he whispered as the song began. “He seems rather plain to me.”
A small laugh slipped from you before you could stop it, and there was much you’d wanted to say there. But none came out. None as blunt as you’d been desiring to say.
“If you are so interested, I imagine you should inquire with him. I am not one to spread gossip and you should not be one to pry in it. Lest you hear what they say about you.”
You leveled a playful look.
He matched it with a cocked brow.
“And what do they say about me?”
“Hm? I do wonder. But, truly, Duke Braden, I am not one to spread gossip.” You did the appropriate spin in his arms. His muscles, at least, were not all for show. He moved you with grace and ease. “Even if it’s to the owner’s ears.”
Hypocrite.
You saw Eddie’s brown eyes that seemed to be deeper and darker than when he was younger. You saw that goofy smile you found yourself mourning as you spun to find Duke Braden across from you. You missed—plain and simple.
And you felt like that jagged end of the wooden sword was plunging into your stomach and twisting as you repeated those damn words. Again and again. As the song ended, as you parted ways, as you hid in the bathroom to catch your breath, as you danced and danced again with person after person. As you tried to catch a break beside Ella and Loraine, but Loraine was snagged away just before Ella was, and then you earned a look from your parents. A warning look.
And the night wore on and on and on and on.
Too many people. Not enough food. Too much clothing. Too much touching, even politely. So many people to smile and pretend with. So many masks to pull off and on to fit the mold of who you danced with. Constant and constant and unyielding constant.
“You left me.”
You slammed your hands down on your desk, the last of the carriages pulling away outside your window. The clock before you read past midnight, and your body…ached. It burned. It felt pulled apart at the seams.
All had gone home.
All had departed.
All had taken up your time, and if you knew one thing was certain, you might not have been the prize or the pick of the season, but you were entertaining enough to gain attention. So much attention. Too much. You hadn’t…you hadn’t enjoyed it. Hadn’t wanted it. You craved your bed. You craved a midnight walk. You craved anything that brought you away from the cage that was your bedroom.
“You left me.”
You didn’t. You didn’t do it on purpose. You didn’t. One second, you were best friends, spending countless hours together. The next, you were getting older and your parents were directing everything. Then, he was getting older. Then everyone was getting older, and his mom got sick, and his dad left, and you—
Your knees locked
Oh.
Oh.
Both hands clutched the back of your desk chair.
You….
You left him.
Alone.
You—
Tears pricked your eyes before they shut. The searing guilt turned the room on its head as a soft knock came against your door. Your cheeks were wet as you slowly blinked, listening to Jillian say your name before poking her head in. And suddenly, everything felt too thin. Too wrong.
Too wrong.
You glanced down at the locked drawer in the top of your desk as Jillian came up behind you, your bedroom door shut. And for the first time, you unlocked the drawer, mind racing, hands shaking. You wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing for sure. You wouldn’t be able to do anything with the guilt ripping through you. You…you couldn’t wait.
You were so tired.
So pulled apart.
So…desperate.
“Would you like help undressing?” Jillian asked softly.
And you shook your head.
“No, thank you.”
You sniffled. The hidden key was easy to find on muscle memory, and the drawer opened smoothly. Hidden at the bottom was a stack of bills. Saved from years of allowances you'd determinedly saved up.
You thumbed through it while Jillian remained behind you.
Waited.
You pulled out a few bills and held them back to her, your eyes locking. Whatever she saw in yours was enough to speak for you. She’d always helped your parents when necessary, but no person was a good enough actor to fake the small acts of kindness she’d given you over the years. It was still a risk, but fortunate or unfortunate, a lesson you’d learn rather quickly as a child was a bountiful bit of money could prove valuable in more than a simple purchase or trade.
“I need a favor,” you said softly.
Jillian glanced at the money, and there wasn't a moment of hesitation when she glanced right back up at you.
"I am at your service, Miss Mitchell."
And with a shuddering breath and one last glance out your bedroom window, you said probably the riskiest, dumbest, truly the most foolish thing you could.
"I require a visit to the Munson Family General Store. Please."
And with a cocked brow, Jillian merely nodded. She said nothing else as she slipped out of the room, and you had to play the heart-pounding, hand-shaking, nerve-wracking game of waiting. Because the next person who came back through your door was either going to be Jillian with a message that the carriage was ready, or you'd be facing a certain level of consequences you hadn't planned for when passing the money along.
But you had to see Eddie.
Or, as the minutes passed and your nerves worsened, as footsteps finally sounded outside your room and carried down the hallway, as the knob on your door turned—
You simply had to wait.
And as the door swung open, you clutched the thick wood of your desk chair until your gloves wrinkled and pressed the pattern into your palms. You held your breath at the consequence and outcome of your attempted risk.
* ch six - warnings: angst, sneaking around, sexual tension, purity culture, sexual awakening *
By all miracles, Jillian stood in your doorway with a hooded cloak on. She gave you a small smile and a nod before you visibly relaxed. Not entirely; despite your parents retiring to their room, you still had to do what you'd never done before—sneak out. And there was a significant difference between sneaking out to go up the road to see Ella or Winny or Loraine.
But Eddie.
You were going to see Eddie.
Or, well, attempting to, at the very least. And if you got caught….
You were a nervous mess by the time you managed to follow Jillian into the carriage. And she gave you a curious look as it drove off, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t speculate.
“Long night at the ball, hm?” was all she said, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear while glancing out the window.
“Something like that,” you answered. And then there was silence. Long silence as the carriage brought you closer and closer to the store. With every passing minute, your stomach churned harder. Stronger. Nerves danced along your spine and your hands trembled. But you had to speak with him. You had to see him.
If he….
If it was about that….
You also could not bear to spend another second in that house. Just a moment of your own decision-making. Just a moment of yourself. And apparently, that brought you to the front of the general store. A single light on inside that sparked both hope and nerves because your plan was not thought out.
Your plan was considerably flawed.
There was no certainty that Eddie was even there.
But there was a strong certainty that Wayne was.
Yet, still, you hopped from the carriage. Jillian did not follow, not beyond simply poking her head out of the carriage as you wandered up to the front door, eyes flicking around the empty square as you walked up the creaky steps.
Please.
You knew the lock would be done, but there was a light on inside. And you tried to peek through—you really did—but the glass was fogging up in the humid heat. A thick condensation covered most of the interior as you brought your hands up. There were the shelves, the front counter, the locked register. A light flicked on in the stockroom and….
You could make out movement.
Not just movement but music.
Guitar strumming.
Strumming that you knew like the back of your hand.
And you acted on impulse first. Accidentally, really, because you should’ve known better. And knocking your fist against the window might carry much more than you realized, but it was too late. You knew the familiar sound of the soothing and the chaotic of Eddie’s playing, and the second you heard it, you knocked on the door.
When it paused—just briefly—you clenched your jaw and prayed nobody would see or hear you, and you knocked again.
Then, there were steps.
Familiar ones.
Ones that weren't Wayne's. And yet, even still, you held your breath as you struggled to look through those windows. But there was movement. Lazy yet quick movement. Movement that came up to the door and movement that nearly stole your breath away when you heard the lock unlatch and a gust of wind pulled at you as the door pulled open.
“Really hate to point out the obvious, but we’re closed—”
Eddie's eyes found you, his hand once near the top of the door suddenly sliding down to the knob on the exterior. Your eyes locked and you got a sight that was cruel and unfair to your current state. Framed in the golden light of the lantern inside, his hair was down, shirt unbuttoned at the top, and sleeves rolled up past his elbows. It was hardly tucked into his pants anymore, and his belt was off and tossed somewhere with the tie he'd never worn, even as a child.
“What the fuck are you—”
“I need to talk to you,” you breathed.
Before you even finished your last word, Eddie's eyes glanced up at Jillian slipping back into the carriage. And then there was warmth, a sudden warmth first on your upper arm, where your dress and glove did not cover. The skin beneath the rough patch on his palm and the stern yet soft grip burned. Then, you felt his arm wrap around your waist.
Your breath hitched as he moved you. Hauled you. Pulled you inside the shop without a second thought.
Your head spun as he not only locked the latch but walked you all the way back to the stockroom. The windows were gone, and between all the shelves and tall aisles, between where Eddie stood in front of you, half-blocking the doorway, you were safe from wandering eyes. Sans your carriage, but Jillian had taken the one for staff. You wouldn’t be the first assumed to have taken it. Hopefully.
But that was only a fleeting thought in your mind as you blinked at Eddie. Ruffled, dressed down, glowing in the orange light Eddie. The way it flickered across him was unrelentingly like a painting. A moment captured in secret that you were never meant to see.
You jerked your eyes away out of habit, finding yourself staring at the came guitar he’d had since he was a teenager. His mother’s.
Your jaw clenched hard as your gaze stayed fixed on it.
“Are you insane? What the hell are you thinking?” he asked, head shaking in your peripherals as he took a step toward you. “If someone finds you here, don’t think I need to point out the obvious repercussions it’ll have on your reputation, so whatever the hell the reason was you just had to come rushing out here to see me, just spill it so I can get you back before the worst happens.”
The tabs were so worn on the guitar. The strings had long since been replaced countless times. But still on the edge, untouched by the rest of the knicks and the scratches was his mom’s initials. Carved right into the wood. With Eddie’s right beside them in her perfect cursive.
“You said I left you,” you murmured, still unable to look at him.
“Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? If you’re so desperate to hash that out, by all means, sure. But later. Christ, when your precious reputation isn’t at stake. Alright? Go back out there and—”
“No.”
You shook your head and managed to barely look at him. He had a hand raised and pointed back at the front of the shop. But he lowered it. Slowly. His jaw was set tight and his shoulders looked stiff.
His exhale was slow. Frustration crawled into his face, but he said nothing regarding it. Surprisingly. Instead, he just held up his hand toward you.
“Fine. But Wayne’s asleep upstairs, so unless you want him poking his head down, keep your voice low. You have five minutes. What about that was so urgent that you had to run outta your house in that getup to risk being seen with me, hm?” He crossed his arms. “I would’ve thought you’d be sleeping soundly while dreaming about all the prospective husbands you could pick from.”
"Yes, well, unfortunately, I am much too distracted to do any of that," you muttered. Perhaps you should've practiced what you'd wanted to say during the carriage ride over, but you hadn't fully expected to find anyone there when you'd arrived. And with how your skin was tingling from where he'd been touching you, it was even harder to think.
So you just…spoke.
"I did not mean to…." You frowned. They were such poor words to choose from, but what else were you back then? "I did not mean to be such a horrid friend." Your hands twitched and you wrung them together. Eddie said nothing. "Back then, Eddie, with everything, with your mom and your dad, and then—"
You cut yourself off.
His silence was worse than anything he could’ve said.
His silence hurt. It was heavy. It was a punishment of its own making. And the weight of his gaze kept you pinned in place even when you weren't looking at it. When you did, though, you heard your breath stutter. Your dress wrinkled under a harsh grasp of the bottom of it.
“It was not intentional,” you said strained and slowly. “Eddie, I wrote to you for years. You have to know it was far from intentional. I did not choose to leave. I did not choose to board a carriage and spend four years of my life learning how to be a good wife and daughter, but I had to do it.”
He had to know that.
You felt your lips quiver as your eyes locked. How else could you get that across to him if he didn’t? You gave him a pleading look. You weren’t going to drop to your knees and beg him to understand, there was a dignity you had to maintain for yourself. Because he…he had to know it wasn’t on purpose. Or outright malicious.
“You have no idea how much it fucking hurts,” he muttered, eyes falling to where your necklace sat lopsided on your chest. It was a collection of diamonds you should’ve taken off the moment the bale ended. “I lost my mom, my dad, my home in one fell fucking swoop. And to top it all off, the one person I mistakenly thought I could count on was gone. I thought maybe there’d be some fucking understanding because I lost everything. Maybe you’d take a breather, but you never looked up from your books or your lessons or your tailoring bullshit to help me breathe when I was drowning.”
Your hands twitched.
Your chest hurt.
“But you wrote to me, yeah. A year later. Then again and again and again while acting like nothing was wrong. Like you hadn’t even seen that something was wrong.” He took a step closer. Then another. “Then you come back for a little bit, and I start to wonder if maybe you’ll just come by to even say hi. And no. Nothing. Nothing, (Y/N).”
He stepped closer. You instinctively took one back.
“Four years.”
Your back hit a bookcase and your hands gripped the edge of one of the shelves. The hurt in his eyes was catastrophic. A punch to your gut again and again as he leaned in, one hand landing beside your head to grip the shelf pressing against the back of it.
“And then you come back all dolled up and parading yourself around like every other goddamn person in this town. Throwing yourself at the feet of whatever handsome, rich lord will take you.” His mouth folded into a tight line so harsh it bordered on being a frown. “How the fuck else do you expect me to react to that?”
His long, curly hair shook with his head. His chest heaved.
“I can’t even look at you the wrong way without you flinching and worrying about what my reputation might do to you if it were to tarnish you. So look at me and tell me what the fuck you really expect from me when you threw me aside like I was nothing?” There was the soft graze of his chest against yours as deeper and deeper breaths tightened your dress. Your heart pounded as your eyes remained locked. “Tell me.”
One last step.
The entirety of the shelves pressed into you with rounded edges that almost felt sharp. Trapped in the single spot, sandwiched between Eddie and it. Uneven spaces versus the warm, hard press of his body that was almost there. Much too close. Chest to chest; chest bare beneath the few undone buttons and arms thick with muscle that’d never been there when you were younger. A few scars, too. And not the ones he’d gotten from falling out of trees or over loose stones in the street.
Your heart rushed in your ears with unsteady pounds while your eyes locked. His brows pinched to form a crease between them, and that jaw of his—littered with a bit of stubble—was once again set hard and tight. And those damn brown eyes were so full and raw, so angry yet so…pleading.
And…and you had nothing. Explaining your circumstances wasn’t going to fix the hurt coursing through him. It wasn’t going to mend your guilt. Guilt tied with ropes pulling you at every direction because you couldn’t have helped it but, really, you should’ve known. You shouldn’t have been so blind to it quite literally until that point.
He'd lost his mother, and his father just…vanished. Abandoned him seemingly without a second thought. Wayne was all he had.
You could’ve….
You should’ve noticed. You should’ve noticed no matter how thick the cloud of lessons and expectations were. He was your friend, and all you could really say right then was just….
“I’m sorry.”
Eddie’s breath hitched. Hard and audible. A crack in the sudden silence that gave way to you listening to your own. Gave way to the wetness slipping along your cheeks before you abruptly averted your eyes. You looked at the painting on the wall, a sketch of Wayne working at the front counter, tacked to the thick wood, old. Years old. You’d sat on a barrel in the very room while watching Eddie draw it.
Your exhale shuddered.
“I’m sorry.”
There was the softest sound beside your head. Metal on wood. A…a quiet drag.
Eddie shifted his weight on his feet, but moved no more.
"Great. You said your piece. Now go before someone fucking finds you here, and I get labeled the asshole that ruined you for all the pretty, spoiled prospects just creaming themselves to dance with you.”
But you didn't move. Not simply from the crass words making your head spin and your body burn, but you couldn't. Eddie practically had you pinned, and to move, you had to literally slide against his body to slip out, and you…couldn't do that. Just feeling him against you was making your knees feel a unique kind of weak.
You also had more to say. More that crawled through your chest like a spider of claws and sharp legs and desperation. Of pain and guilt and anger that bubbled up. Of a desperation that was getting lost in the sudden buzz sneaking into your thoughts as Eddie framed your entire body.
He smelled good.
Considerably good.
“Contrary to what you might think of me, Eddie,” you said slowly, eyes unable to withstand his and they fell to where that sliver of new skin came bare on his chest. Chest hair you never thought him possible to have curled against the white fabric of his shirt. There were stains of ink and paint and maybe simple dirt ruining it. “While I care a considerable amount about my own prospects during the season, you are my friend. Once my friend, at least. I do not enjoy this…strain. I….”
Your eyes caught more ink hidden beneath his shirt, and your eyes followed the line until it vanished beneath the white cloth. Yet you continued to trace it with your gaze—continued to try and figure out what hidden image was there.
“What? Do you expect us to be friends again?”
There was a tone to his voice that was cruel, but not the cruel to simply be that. A strained truth. Your hands twitched on the shelves as you lifted your gaze. He laughed dryly and shook his head, and he did an old habit you’d never paid much attention to until then. One that’d always just been part of him that never even stayed as a memory until then. And all the times you’d seen him lick crumbs or juice or ice cream from the corner of his mouth were replaced not by soft childhood memories but….
Your breath caught as he shook his head, tongue dragged against the corner of his mouth slowly. A wet, uncaring, lazy movement that captivated you like someone had dangled a sweet treat in front of you.
Rather suddenly, it felt like a window had been left open inside the room.
Or perhaps a fire had been lit during the wrong season.
"We are not friends, (Y/N)." He scoffed, and his mouth curled into a bittersweet smile. One that simply made the guilt in you grow and worsen and your knees feel ungodly weak. "We will never be friends. Not how you pretend in your head. We grew up. We went our separate ways. Accept that.” He scoffed again. You could feel how his eyes seared into you. "Now go run back along so you can bat your lashes and curtsy at the next lord that comes knocking. Like a proper lady’s supposed to.”
Yet, still, you didn't move. Still, you took deep breath after deep breath, knees much too weak to hold you—let alone carry you as you walked. Your eyes had yet to meet his, and your grip was growing stronger on the shelves. What was happening? You gave your head a little shake, eyes once against following the curve of the little line going over his chest.
But you couldn’t move.
You couldn’t shake all that spun around inside of you. From the good to the bad to the new to the old. The guilt to the rolling of your stomach that didn’t bring bile or vomit. The anger at his lack of observational talents that he held over your head. The loss of…of one of your best friends while he stood right in front of you. Right there.
“If you believe that is all I aim to do, then you’re not the only one who’s been blind to the obvious, Eddie,” you murmured, and you watched how his mouth folded down into a fine line. “Do you think me so heartless that I would risk so much by coming here…for what reason?”
You shook your head. Eddie’s next breath came off rhythm.
"But, fine. Believe it or don't, you've made it clear. I came to apologize; I apologized. I tried…." You shook your head and felt that sting in your chest worsen. You still hadn't taken your eyes from how his jaw went hard, and his mouth twitched. "I tried to fix it but I cannot do that when the olive branch is snapped on the other end. So, fine. Fine.” You tried to stand straighter, but all it did was press your chest directly against his. You couldn’t back down, though. Neither did he, apparently. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Eddie. Okay? And I’ve missed you. I’ve missed my friend. I’ve missed—”
There was the softest creak.
Above you, the ceiling shifted, and as a jerk of adrenaline and pure panic spiked with you, both your eyes and Eddie's shot upward. Your words were lost to the room, and whatever else you'd had planned vanished inside your head. Eddie acted. Much, much faster than you had.
There was another creak, and before you could even fathom if it was something or merely the house settling, Eddie had his hand on your upper arm again. He had his other over your mouth.
One. Two. Three. Four steps moved you into a little crevasse between two bookcases full of merchandise. You barely managed to fit as Eddie came in atop you, pressing you further into the space with a warm, hard, all-encompassing melding of his body to yours. Chest to chest, thigh to thigh, your heart thundered as his hand remained clamped down over your mouth. The tips of his fingers were rougher than the patch of warm skin going across his palm, and the curling grip was just strong enough to keep you from even considering trying to move his hand.
In the shadowy corner, there was just enough light to make out how his eyes had lost their sharpness from before. And you could feel his chest moving at a quickened pace right along with yours as your gazes locked. You could hardly even breathe when he leaned a bit more of his weight against you.
“Shhh,” he mused.
That rolling in your stomach became something else. Worse than a fluttering.
Worse than anything you’d ever felt before.
Above you, up where the stairs led to the loft, you went entirely still when you heard the door creak open. Your heart painfully lurched—oh, no. Eddie's eyes didn't leave yours, and his other hand snagged on the edge of your glove as it skated down your arm. The thin fabric gave way easily, and even without being beneath his finger, it fell. Below your elbow. And you felt the tips of Eddie's fingers almost tickle the skin there before his hand just barely curled around yours. A light squeeze.
Something you deciphered was supposed to be some form of comforting.
“Eddie?” Wayne’s tired, scraggly voice called from the top of the steps.
The comfort wasn't working when you heard the top step shift.
You clamped your eyes shut and could feel yourself trembling. Wayne wouldn’t gossip. Wayne wouldn’t spread it. But it would still be bad if he caught you there. It could prove to complicate not simply your relationship with him, but your attempt to fix yours with Eddie, and you knew the odds of Wayne seeing Eddie down there with you in the middle of the night was not going to be something he just wrote off. No matter how much he adored Eddie.
“Yeah, just me, Wayne,” Eddie called. He kept his voice steady. “Practicing a song. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
You swallowed around a knot in your throat as you heard the next step shift beneath Wayne's foot. Then the next. Eddie actively stepped closer, your legs tangling together amongst your dress and his trousers. You could feel his breath on your upper cheek, where his hand didn't cover. His hair tickled the sensitive skin around it.
“It’s…late.” Wayne stopped on the next step down. His voice…got softer. “Know you got a lot on your mind, but try and get some rest tonight will you?”
“Yup,” Eddie called. You still kept your eyes closed. “I’ll be up in a sec. Sorry ‘bout the noise. I’ll open up tomorrow to make it up to you. Fair deal?”
Wayne’s grumble was low and incoherent from there, but maybe it was just hard to make out the words when you could only hear your heart. It bounced inside of you like a bat against the side of a tree. You shook as you tensed; let out quick breath after quick breath that came unsteadily against the press of Eddie’s hand. And you felt hot. Too hot. On the verge of needing a fan to cool the sudden burst of heat that flamed over your body as Eddie seemed to only radiate his own to worsen it.
“Alright,” Wayne muttered.
And your eyes remained clamped shut as you heard the wood of the stairs shift. And then creak. Creak. Creak. The hinges sounded as the door was pushed open. Then, finally, with a burst of relief that nearly brought tears to your eyes, the door shut.
And as if neither of you trusted it, you waited in the silence that followed. Waited as you strained to hear Wayne’s footsteps bring him back to his room. Waited body to body, hand to mouth, hand to hand, both taut and panting. Both letting out shaky sighs when there was the faintest sound of another door closing.
Eddie’s hand fell from your mouth and his forehead….
Your breath caught once more, and the knot in your throat grew when his forehead pressed to your temple.
“Jesus Christ,” he murmured. His eyes were shut for a second before they fluttered open. He pulled back just enough so you could find his gaze as the temperature within you rose and rose and unbearably rose. “See? That’s why….”
Your eyes found each other, and his voice…carried off. It fell to a silent parting of his lips that became a slow exhale, his eyes seeming to search yours. Whatever he found in your look—a look you had no hope of pretending to define when there was so much happening inside you—kept his words to himself. His brows twitched as his focus fell from yours and drew along your nose, your cheeks, down to where you imagined there were indentations on your jaw from his rings.
He licked the corner of his mouth once more just as he found your eyes again.
The rolling in your stomach traveled lower. Below the tensing of your abdomen. Below where your dress wrinkled around his knee. Right where his knee just barely pressed against the inside of your thighs.
Something was wrong.
It was an ache. An ache that made your stomach twist and your thighs twitch. Made you feel much too hot in your dress, whose neckline was leaving a permanent indentation in your chest with how it captured every deep breath. Eddie's eyes snagged lower. Lower where your necklace must've been lopsided and your dress felt all too thick and tight on your chest.
His fingers curled around your barely gloved hand.
“You need to go,” he breathed. “Now.”
He peeled himself back from you with a much too small step. It might’ve removed most of him from you, but it hardly gave you space to pass by him.
“(Y/N), go," he said again. Sterner yet…strained. The urgency in his voice, the slight desperation to get you to go, to spare you what consequences had almost came down the stairs in the form of Wayne, kicked you into gear.
You just nodded.
Then nodded again.
And his hand slipped from yours as you damn near dragged your body entirely against his to slip out from the crevasse. His hand slid up and dragged over your arm, the warm, strong grip stopping you one step past him.
You halted, eyes locking, mouth parting as he turned with you.
He said nothing as he moved his grip to soften. To slide up, up, up over the bare skin on your upper arm until goosebumps were there. Until you couldn’t do anything but watch as he tugged your glove back up to where it was supposed to be.
The burning feeling in your gut worsened as Eddie kept both hands there.
“Go,” he said softly. He didn’t look higher than your chin.
“I’m sorry again, Eddie—”
He shook his head and let out a shaky sigh. “It’s fine. Just go. Before I ruin your perfect little reputation you’ve spent the last few years creating.” His hands twitched on your arm and gradually slid down it before releasing you. “Go.”
And with only a brief locking of your eyes, nothing else could be or needed to be said. There was a glint in Eddie’s gaze that had your knees threatening to buckle, yet the sincerity in his expression. The…new expression you couldn’t decipher. You felt your heart stutter and your stomach flutter.
You nodded.
Before Wayne or anyone else could catch you, before you could say anything else that might tarnish what you were both doing yourself, you left.
You slipped out into the night with an unbearable feeling sinking into your bones, the soft ringing of the store's bell going silent while you climbed into your carriage. Jillian gave you a once-over before tapping for the carriage to move.
And you sat with your knees pressed together as the carriage lurched and brought you home.
You sat staring out the window as every rock of the carriage fought against the lingering tingling from the press of Eddie’s entire self against you.
The guilt remained. The anger pressed into you. And the panic and fear joined with the adrenaline of the risk.
As the carriage pulled up to your home in the dead of night, all you could picture was the drag of his tongue across the corner of his mouth. And all you could feel was just…him and that endless rise in temperature your body refused to acclimate to.
No, no. There was something else, too.
You gasped softly as the carriage jostled over a particularly rough patch of the cobblestone way leading toward the back. Your thighs tensed considerably hard, coming together with a sharp flex of your muscles to steady yourself over the jostling and….
And there was a new feeling amongst the ache there.
What was happening?
Your mouth parted for a soft, shaky, pleading sigh.
Why wasn’t it stopping?
* ch seven - warnings: inexperienced & sexually uneducated!reader, descriptions of guilt & anxiety, sexual tension, touchstarved!reader, reader slaps eddie once; fluff & angst *
Your parents never found out.
By a miracle, by a gracious bribe offered to all involved in the momentary departure from your room, not a single word was said about the excursion. Morning came after a sleepless night, the ache in your belly still lingering, the tingling in your arm still bringing goosebumps up when you thought about it—but your parents merely met you downstairs and said nothing except how successful that ball was.
Jillian never even made any allusion to it. Nor did your carriage driver. Nor did any of the staff who might’ve heard or seen your departure. Nobody said a single word about it as the day continued. Even when you sat on the edge of your seat waiting. Hope wasn’t your greatest strength, so you waited and waited and endlessly waited for something to trigger the consequence of such a risk.
And yet the afternoon came, and you simply sat in the drawing room with your mother, waiting for any callers.
Nothing about it was mentioned.
So you sat at the piano, fingers just brushing the keys, feet moving between the pedals, while you stared out the window. Watched the sun come down over the front pathway. Watched the breeze blow and trees wave. Yearned to feel the fresh air on your skin and fill your lungs while your mind drifted back to the night.
To Eddie.
Rules broken. So many rules broken. Touching. Hiding. Sneaking around. Dressed down in dirty clothes, wrinkled and open, your glove down and his skin so, so rough against the soft of yours. Your chest heaved as you peered down at that sliver of skin he’d first touched. Then the rest of your arm. Goosebumps rose at the mere memory of the tickling sensation of his fingers dragging over it.
How they’d laced through yours and squeezed to calm you.
To reassure.
His mouth….
The feel of his forehead to your temple….
His breath against your cheek. His hand clamped over your mouth. The hard press of his entire body against yours like a blanket. Like a shield.
The soft fabric of that orange gown dragging up against your thighs as his knee slotted just ever-so-slightly between them—
“There’s a Duke Braden and a Lord Hallwater here to call upon Miss (Y/N), my lady,” Jillian said behind you, and you straightened.
No, jumped.
Both men appeared in the doorway, Duke Braden looking much more confident than the slightly annoyed Bal. Stand. You blinked at them as your mother stood, greeting them with a wide, welcoming smile. Stand, now. And you sucked in a nervous breath as you forced yourself up. Your legs were like jello as you moved around the padded bench, coming up to greet the men as you were supposed to.
But Eddie was still there.
Last night was seared into you in a way that brought that heat right back to your body as you tried to shove it deep down and away. An attempt that only made it worse, it seemed, and a new feeling came between your thighs. The same ache as last night. The same…damp feeling that you only occasionally felt before, but never like this.
Your thighs felt uncomfortably sticky as you sat on your couch in between Bal and Duke Braden. Their words were hardly heard as they spoke. Every response you gave was automatic. The tone came to match what was necessary to fit the conversation, and you tried to be as present as you could, but when the two seemed to fall into an easy bickering—Duke Braden critiquing Bal’s dance moves and Bal joking that at least he knew the correct manners one must have to make it in society—you drifted back to the night.
Drifted back to the store.
You hardly even heard your mother’s critiques and comments when the men left. Your mind was a buzz and a blur of confusion and guilt and anger and adrenaline. Nerves that bounced back and forth as you walked along your garden, listening to Ella and Winny talk about those who’d come to call upon them that afternoon. Or, trying to listen, at least.
You just kept picturing Eddie left all alone while you were kept in your parents’ designated world. Mourning. Working. Living. Alone. Not that you would’ve made much of a difference on his path of life, but you might’ve….
What?
You smiled as Ella talked up a blushing Winny, who was nervously talking about how Alice Kester had called upon them earlier that afternoon.
"Yeah, and what else happened when Alice called upon you, Winny?" Ella teased, nudging them in their side as you passed by the bench beneath your favorite tree. You could still picture Eddie sprawled out on it, and, oh, the guilt of being a bad friend was there, yet you still felt the sudden burst of coiling heat crawl through you.
"Hm?" You forced yourself to turn and look not at the bench but at your friends. On who you should’ve been giving your undivided attention to. “Do not say a proposal already?”
“No, oh my.” Winny fanned themselves, turning their gaze to the ground as they followed the path between you and Ella, arms all locked together. “No, no. She merely wishes for my company in the park tomorrow. Supposedly, she and Ace are setting up a secret flower exhibit for some florists who’ve agreed to join business with them. Flowers and tobacco. A rather profitable business, apparently.”
Winny let out a shy sigh.
“I’m very nervous.”
"Hey, hey." Ella tugged them closer, consequently tugging you into them. You all stumbled, and a blush blossomed on Winny's cheeks. "We'll both be there right there with you, won't we, (Y/N)?"
Ella gave you a pointed look that, even at your most distracted, you wouldn't need. If Ella was practically a sister to you, Winny was practically your cousin. A friend, too.
“Of course.” You tightened your grip on Winny’s arm and gave them the first genuine smile you’d managed that day. “And if you’re nervous, we can use the next hour to practice any small talk if you’d like.”
Winny quite literally perked up. “Please.”
“Sure, of course.” Your laugh was a little awkward as you managed to finally fence off part of your mind from the night prior, but it was genuine. “Please, allow me to use the countless hours of practice forced upon me at the blasted school.”
Ella gave you another pointed look. An almost…longing one.
It wasn’t until the hour of practice with Winny ended that you got the explanation behind it. You were walking them both to the front gate when Ella leaned over to whisper in your ear.
“You know, speaking of callers and courtship, I heard you had two more today prior to us.”
You simply nodded and hummed.
“Those lessons must really be coming in handy. First Lord Thorburn, the Duke Braden, and even Bal.” Ella let out a quiet laugh. “Your parents must be overjoyed.”
It was your turn to give her a knowing look.
She, in turn, squeezed your arm much like she always did from small hints to pointed mentions of the obvious.
"They're happy I'm receiving callers," you said with a small laugh. "But they're not fond of the distance Lord Thorburn would provide, and once they discover the perilous adventures Duke Braden enjoys taking, I imagine they will be less thrilled. Bal is still a contender, and there are the others I can still contend with." You sucked in a slow breath and glanced down in the direction of Hallwater Manor. "Although, I'm starting to worry that Bal might be their number one choice if he relents as the only caller."
You frowned as Ella did.
"It's weird that he called on me, though, right?" you asked softly. "I mean…it's Bal.”
"Yes, considerably. He called upon me yesterday, and even my mother and father were confused!" Ella's nose scrunched. "We shared the most awkward cup of tea. Who would've thought sharing a cup with one you've known your entire life could be so silent and awkward. I eventually gave way to what was polite and simply could not withstand the silence and talked of old memories until he relented. He left rather embarrassed, but is it my fault that most memories ended with him pouting over a lost game or a broken toy he stole from us?”
Your laugh was close to a snort that was far from ladylike. One your parents would’ve gotten on your about, but Ella merely matched it.
"He really always has been a sore loser." Although, most of the time, it was hard to tell whether he was upset at losing or if he was upset at losing to you, Ella, or Eddie. The girls up the street and the local shopowner's son. You'd never been interested in knowing the true answer, but you felt you already knew it. Under your breath, as you stepped with her outside the opened gates, you added, "If I end up marrying him, please know it is not my decision."
“(Y/N), please.” Ella pulled her arm from yours and gave you one more rather pointed look. “I’m well aware most is not your decision.” She looped arms with Winny and they both waved. “We shall pick you up tomorrow to accompany Winny to the park. Fair deal?”
You nodded, but there was a sense of dread in your stomach. Ella knew. Ella knew without you even having to tell her just what was put upon you. The expectations. The forced decisions. And Eddie still…. You felt that guilt again, but there was an underlying mix of emotions that just brought internal confusion.
Oh, how frustrating it was to feel both irritation and guilt toward the same man at the same time. And…and something else. A third pulsing ache that dripped down hot and new in your stomach as you peeled the gate back on the fence that surrounded him inside your head.
Blast it.
You closed your eyes as you let the evening sky wash over you while you sat on the bench beneath your tree.
Were you not allowed a moment of reprieve?
By some miracles, luck, and tremendous planning on Alice and Ace's parts, come the following afternoon, the entire town square was surprised by the vendors upon vendors of florists encompassing the park. Ella's carriage brought you, Winny, and Lady Mitchell to the town square at the start of all of the commotion.
The sun was bright in the sky, the florists and flowers were out and in bloom, booths featuring tobacco, foods, and drinks had been set up along the stretch. All with the assistance of Darien Callfor, proving a worthy partner in the secret setup and added vendors along the paths in the park.
“Woah,” Winny, Ella, and you all murmured in unison.
And arm-in-arm, you stepped toward the marvelous display of rainbow flowers, eyes wide, and beginning just the start of the unexpected for the day. For the massive display of flowers hadn’t brought only you to the park. But as Winny found Alice and the three—four, counting Lady Mitchell—of you were shown personally around the stations Alice had set up herself, more faces slipping into the fray.
Lord Thorburn. Bal. Duke Braden. Lord Karl and Loraine already together. Darien Callfor made his appearance as a partner and found himself greeting the interested beside Ace. Grey Elliott found his way there, as did Erle Connell. Both mingling with families and other interested parties, seeing the eligible now coming out more and more.
Until you caught Ella cocking her brow as she glanced around, still arm in arm while trailing behind Alice and Winny. And she leaned in to whisper about Winny not being the only one using the romantic air to their advantage.
It wasn’t long until Lady Mitchell became a chaperone for Winny, Ella, and you. Although, you and Ella hadn’t needed much of one when it was broad daylight amongst a growing group of townspeople. You stood in a group, lemonades in your hands, nodding along to Duke Braden telling yet another daring tale of adventures in a dangerous cliffside he’d attempted to climb upon. A teenager at the time, and he’d tried and tried and tried again, showing off scars on his upper arms that made others around you swoon. Ella included.
But when he pulled his sleeve up, you weren’t looking at his arm.
Your eyes lifted to look across the square. At the few passing through the general store. Where you could still feel the thick air in the stockroom and the brush of Eddie’s breath against your cheek. Where you could see every drawing inked permanently into his forearms as his sleeves had been roughly pushed up. Where the curious line taunted you with a hidden image on his upper chest.
And you kind of…moved.
Accidentally.
At the same time as Duke Braden.
Right as he was pulling his other sleeve up to show off another scar. A poor choice when your eyes were definitely not on him and you were standing a tad too close beside him. Because as you moved, your cup moved. And despite the dainty cup being so dainty, you'd hardly taken many sips from it. So when your bodies accidentally collided, therein came a jolt. Then a slosh. Then, a splash of cold liquid over the front of your dress.
Sticky.
So very, very sticky.
“Oh, my apologies," Duke Braden was quick to say, a wince joining his features as he immediately reached for you, pulling out a handkerchief to first reach for you, then stopping before simply offering it to you. "I did not mean—"
"It's quite alright," you said with a small laugh, taking the handkerchief and earning raised brows as if a spilled drink was a sudden scandal. "It was my error; forgive me for interrupting. Do continue, I am simply going to freshen myself up."
You gave Ella a tight smile and stepped away, feeling the sticky drink drip down through your dress in rather uncomfortable ways. And given the location, you couldn’t simply dab at yourself in the midst of the public eye, so…. You glanced across the square and closed your fist around Duke Braden’s gaudy white and red monogrammed pocket square.
“I’m going to freshen up,” you told Lady Mitchell, and bless her for having more trust in you in the middle of the daylight. She nodded and merely inquired if you’d like company, but you shook your head. “I’ll just use one of the shop’s facilities. I’ll be back shortly.”
"Alright, dear," she said, and with a few extra eyes on you and your sticky dress, you took off toward the square to find the first facility you could use to clean yourself up.
Did your path happen to take you toward Wayne's shop? Maybe. It was the quickest and closest option to get to some water to clean yourself up. Plus, it was trustworthy. You needn't worry about too much should you have to remove any of your clothing to clean where the lemonade was definitely dripping lower and uncomfortably lower over your chest. It was…so uncomfortably sticky as it mixed with your sweat. You shivered uncomfortably as you passed by a few customers leaving the shop to venture out into the park, eyes cast down on the obvious stain across the front of your pale yellow dress.
You just had a silent hope that Eddie wouldn't be working. You hadn't yet figured out what you were supposed to do upon seeing him again since how you'd left had been so up in the air. And prior to Wayne almost catching the two of you together, your apology hadn't exactly been accepted and the tone had still been rather argumentative.
But at just the thought of seeing Eddie again after all of it….
You listened to the bell ring while your heart pounded. And you stepped into the shop.
By the graces of some angel of sorts watching over you, Wayne was at the front counter. His eyes found yours as he passed a customer their change, and with a little furrow of his brows, he greeted you with a lean over the counter while you approached. His focus went from the handkerchief to your dress, and he gave you a small frown.
“I promise, I will come by more to visit beyond simple means of consumer goods and favors,” you said softly. “But do you mind if I borrow your facilities to clean up some spilled lemonade?”
"'Course. Always." Wayne reached under the counter and pulled out a small brass key. "Use the employee one in the back. Less foot traffic there, so take your time. You remember where it is?"
You nodded.
“Thank you. Really.” You gave Wayne a very, very appreciative smile despite the rampant panic coursing through you at how close you’d come to getting caught just the other night. “I am greatly appreciative.”
Wayne just gave you another nod as the bell rang above the door again. Some part of you wanted to inquire if Eddie was there. Part of you really wanted to know, but would it matter? You had to use the bathroom anyway to clean yourself up. Either he was there or he wasn't. And odds were, your last meeting hadn't changed anything. Odds were, Eddie was going to greet you with annoyance and disregard.
So you took the key and followed the old path you knew like the back of your hand through the stockroom, around the corner, and unlocked the single bathroom door. It gave way to the recent plumbing they’d had put in—one of the few updated parts of the store—and you shut the door tight behind you, turning the loose latch and ignoring your flustered reflection in the slightly warped mirror.
There was hardly any time to dawdle.
You couldn’t afford it.
So you wet the cloth, dabbed it at your chest, at your dress, and tried your best to clean yourself up. And you managed, mostly—where your skin was bare, you got the stickiness clean. But it was lower. Down the front of your dress that you couldn’t access without at least loosening the back. And you contemplated it—another hour or so with that was doable, wasn’t it? Not in that heat.
So you bit the bullet. You double-checked the lock—it held—and did your best to pull the strings loose from their bow. It wasn’t exactly easy getting it undone enough, but through sheer determination, you managed to tug the front of your dress outwards just enough to get the cloth in there to clean. A rush of warmth went over you as you drew your eyes around the walls while you accidentally bared yourself to the room, aiming to first check the lock again when you were so naked over your chest, and then you found the illustrations etched into the walls. Black inch and waxy colors of all skill levels.
You wiped up the last of the lemonade as you ran your fingers over the smeared ink of what looked like a sword broken at the center. Shattered in half, a strap on the handle cut and worn. The ink was faded, and the lines were crude compared to the rest, but it…it was good. It was impossible not to recognize it.
You could've been a thousand miles away, and you'd know Eddie's talent amongst a sea of others. The entire bathroom was like a personal studio. Wayne…Wayne must've let him do it after his dad left. His mother had never stifled Eddie's creative talents, but there'd been strict rules about the store on his father's part. Ones Eddie hated following. Ones…Wayne seemed to depart from there.
You glanced around at the rest as you rinsed the washcloth in the sink.
Dragons. Fairies. Princesses and princes. Knights. Bats. Spiders. Insects of all kinds. Swords and shields. Spears and flowers. Skeletons and the shapes of bodies both dressed and unshaded of the crude parts but so obviously naked. They made your cheeks burn, and yet there was…pride. It was a talent so few had.
He bled it like he bled music.
You hung the handkerchief on the edge of the sink as you reached back to tighten your dress when you felt it. You missed him. You missed him greatly. And you spun as you unsuccessfully messed up grabbing the matching set of laces for the corset beneath your dress and the outer layer. Pulling one too taut when you thought you'd held the other lace, and you froze too late. A glance in the mirror confirmed what you felt against your back as the ribbon came unhooked from more than one against your back.
Oh, no.
Oh, no. No. No.
Your chest moved quickly, and you put a hand over yourself to keep anything from falling away.
No. No. No. You felt the panic rise. Alone in the bathroom without a way to call on someone who could do it—damn it. If you called out into the store for Wayne, all those in there would know of your awkward mess up, and it'd be light gossip, but still gossip. Alone in the Munson private bathroom with your dress unlaced? How quickly cruel minds would run with that.
You bit your lip and closed your eyes.
Damn it. You shouldn’t have turned Lady Mitchell down for her assistance. Why had you? You were so distracted. So uncomfortable. Curse it. Your luck was abysmal. Cruel. Unfair. You dropped your head against the wall with a soft bang and let out a quiet breath.
Please.
You fiddled with the laces as you tried again and again to get them to latch, but nothing.
Come. On.
Still, failure. Constant failure. It’s what you bled, apparently. Lord Thorburn had been a failure. You’d been unaware of your surroundings and gotten yourself into the very mess. You’d been so locked into your parents’ lessons and direction that you hadn’t even tried to fight to maintain your friendship with Eddie. And now you were close to crying in the bathroom because you were desperate to do as your parents expected. So desperate to give them what they hadn’t accomplished for themselves and what you’d never be allowed to claim as your own since you hadn’t been born as their son.
You placed one hand on the wall as the other held up your loose garments.
Damn it all.
You were a complete and total failure. You—
Creak.
You lifted your head. You knew that creak. That was the creak of the upstairs door. Then…then another. Then another. You reached for the lock without a second thought. There were footsteps, and you couldn't tell if they were going up or coming down, but either way, it was either Eddie or Wayne, and right then, you needed a helping hand, and either of them would work. Desperation overwrote the embarrassment just long enough for you to bite your lip, cover yourself, and jerk the door open.
A pair of familiar brown eyes jerked to you with boredom first, then recognition. And then utter confusion while his mouth parted and his focus fell to where the cracked door gave way to your loose gown and your arm across your chest.
Eddie stopped mid-step and sucked in a slow, quiet, deep breath.
"I spilled lemonade on myself, and I cannot get my dress redone," you said softly, unable to get the sudden breathlessness to leave.
Eddie took another deep breath and tilted his head back. His jaw set tight before he seemed to struggle to take his eyes off of your probably humiliatingly weak self to look at the thankfully closed stockroom door.
“Do you want me to get someone—”
“No. No." You shook your head frantically. Neither option was really good, but…. “If you fetch someone, they might assume…you know.” You swallowed hard. “Especially since the doors are closed and it was just us back here and….”
Eddie nodded. Stiffly. He still didn’t look at you.
“Just…I imagine you’ve undone enough to know how to lace one. Please?”
That brought his eyes back to you with a bit of surprise. Enough to make a brow rise. And there was enough hesitation that you thought he was going to say no, so you gave him a pleading look. A desperate one. Don’t do this to me, please. You weren't sure what ground you stood on with him right then, but you were in a bind. And the Eddie you knew, even if he wasn't exactly him anymore, wouldn't do that to you.
The Eddie you knew held your arm to keep you from falling off the high tree branch.
And the Eddie standing a few feet away sighed once more before stepping toward you.
He waved a hand for you to move as he approached the door, and you were already stepping in and turning your back to him, processing just exactly the horrible situation you’d put the two of you in. But it was truly unfixable back there without an extra set of hands, and you held your breath as you heard him shut the door and lock and latch it.
"You're an idiot," he muttered under his breath, and you couldn't stop yourself from shooting him a stern and offended look over your shoulder.
Both of his hands grabbed your waist, however, and the second he jerked you back toward him, closing the necessary gap, you were back looking forward. Back to holding your breath and clutching the front of your gown like your life depended on it. Your eyes stayed glued to the sink, the warped mirror giving way to Eddie standing behind you in your peripheral vision.
Burning. You burned.
Involuntary goosebumps rose when his fingers dragged back, following the curve of your waist over along your back. And his next breath was deeper. Slower. His jaw was set tight before he reached up and hooked his fingers through the lace on your gown and pulled. Pulled.
“Eddie," you snapped in a whisper. Frantic. You felt your dress fall almost entirely off of your shoulders. It nearly left you in just the slip you wore beneath your corset.
“It’s in the way,” he muttered, voice rough around the edges. He shook his head and…and you felt his fingers graze your back where your slip didn’t cover. Oh. You closed impossibly tight fists as the rough pads grazed over you again. And again. Right over the tender skin atop your spine. "How the hell did you manage to spill lemonade on yourself? Thought proper women weren't supposed to be clumsy."
“I….” You swallowed hard. You couldn’t find a strong voice when his fingers worked deftly to relace and they kept grazing your skin. "Duke Braden bumped into me as I went to take a sip, and it spilled."
Eddie jerked on the ribbons, and your held breath was forced out of you. Your entire body moved with the motion, bringing you half an inch back toward him. As if there was any space left to lose.
“Christ, don’t tell me you’re entertaining him of all people.” The back of his fingers brushed against your back as he carefully yet seemingly quickly laced the corset up. You felt yourself begin to fight more goosebumps as he tied a bow at the bottom.
“He is presumably an eligible suitor,” you muttered. Eddie scoffed before you could continue. “However…." You caught his eyes flick over your back before they peered around you. At the monogrammed pocket square resting on the edge of the sink. "Should his exploits be true regarding his dangerous travels, I will say he has joined Lord Thorburn on the polite list of disinterest."
Eddie scoffed again, but when his fingers skated over your shoulders, they were light to the touch. He didn’t jerk your dress back as he had with your corset. He was…much more gentle with the delicate material.
It sent a warm shiver down your spine.
"You could just fucking say you're not into them. So many fancy words to say something. Christ." He carefully pulled the dress until it was back to being tight around you. Until you didn't have to hold it up in the front anymore. "Speaking of, I would've thought you'd be more…fuck. I don't know, prissy about this."
You felt the bow get tied at the bottom of the crossing ribbons, and out came a shaky exhale. A hard swallow did nothing to steady you before you peered back over at him. Right over your shoulder. Right where he was. Where his hands must've followed old motions from the presumably high number of all the others he'd taken to his bed, and both rested on your waist. They followed a gradual path down to your hips as your eyes locked.
“About what?” you asked very, very softly. Your tone was breathy and weak as those big brown eyes found yours.
"Fixing your dress," he said. Those very eyes searched your face for something you couldn't decipher, and there came a burning in your cheeks. It worsened when his hands did not fall from you. "Alone. Without a chaperone. In such a…disheveled, vulnerable state."
His hands twitched on your hips. They still didn’t fall. And maybe that’s why you said what you said. Or maybe it was the fact that he had helped you and he was being relatively kind about it. Or because he’d taken only a moment to rush in and help you, doing so politely, doing so…sweetly almost.
"Because it's you," you murmured. His eyes jerked up from your chin, his brows twitching and mouth parting. Your heart suddenly burst into a fit of unyieldingly strong beats. "I mean, yes, I am, in fact, in a very bad situation, and you were my only hope. But it is you, Eddie.” You turned back toward the sink, catching how his eyes ever-so-slightly widened in the mirror. His fingers seemed to find a tighter hold on your hips. “You might not be fond of me as of late, but that doesn’t mean I don’t trust you.”
The…weird feeling was back. It made your stomach roll and flip, and your chest fluttered while your heart skipped beats. Everything felt off and disjointed and much too hot. Much, much too hot. And in a room that felt like it was the size of you two and only you two, with air that was getting thicker and a newfound stickiness that was not on your chest, you felt the panic return.
It blossomed right along with that weird field that stemmed right from where his hands held low on your hips.
You reached for the handkerchief and abruptly plucked it up. Eddie’s grip loosened as you turned within it, but you found him still right there. His legs and feet unmoving from their spot on the ground as you faced him. Chest to chest. Nearly nose to nose.
Your mouth parted to speak a simple thank you all riding on the hope to leave, but his hands came back to brush your waist as you stood in front of him. As your eyes locked and your breaths caught.
"Thank you," you found yourself speaking at a barely audible volume. "You're truly a lifesaver, Eddie." The fabric of your dress folded beneath his tightening grip, and the feel of his fingers against the meat on your hips was…something else. Something that stroked the growing heat in your belly, and your mouth parted as you glanced down between you. "The art in here, too. I wanted…. It…."
Your breath caught as his thumbs ran up a slow, taunting line where not a soul was supposed to touch outside of even most dances.
Your chest pressed hard against the neckline of your dress as your breaths came harder and uneven.
“It’s beautiful. Even in the scary and the…unexpected, Eddie, it’s impressive. I…missed it.” Your brows furrowed as your eyes stayed down at when his hands once more barely twitched on your waist. You needed to step back. You needed to leave. You needed to tell him he was overstepping. But those words never made it to your lips for reasons you couldn’t describe. “I hadn’t realized I missed it until I saw it here. I—”
“Do you even like them?”
Eddie’s voice rang out in a strained voice. Was it anger? Was he annoyed once more? You felt a sudden shift inside your chest that brought an immediate pinching across your racing heart. His drawings or…? No. His eyes were on where you held the handkerchief. And disbelief that shouldn’t have been so surprising came forth.
“What?” You found his gaze when his eyes shifted up from your choking grip on the wet pocket square.
“The…suitors.” The word was forced and awkward out of his mouth. “Christ, the pricks running around out there. Do you even like them? Do you like any of it?”
“I….” You couldn’t help but be taken aback by it. He was on that again? Could you not simply have a moment between the two of you without it coming up in such an argumentative state? Could you just…just pretend that you could be friends? Even if the two of you were breaking every social code in the book, even if your body was growing hotter and hotter with every passing second that he stood in the locked bathroom with you, too close, hands still on your hips. “I enjoy the company of some of them.”
Even you didn’t believe yourself.
You shook your head.
“It doesn’t matter.” You held up one hand with the aim to stop both him before he could say anything and yourself to bring yourself back on track. “I have to do what’s expected of me, Eddie. I understand you are not fond of the games and the courting and the romance of it all, but I must maneuver it.”
His hands closed tighter around you and his jaw set tight.
"Christ, (Y/N). That's not…." He blew out a long breath and shook his head. "You go out there in these pretty dresses playing rich dress up, throwing yourselves at each other while beating around the bush. Playing fucked up forced connections to see which families get more money."
“It is not all that. There are love matches,” you interjected, voice a little too loud.
"Yeah, and you can't even answer me on whether you like the guys participating in it out there." He shook his head once more, and a cruel smile came to his lips. "You run around out there looking pretty and pure with the rest of them to play pretend to just…what? Hope a handsome face makes a good guy cause he's got some nice coins in his wallet? Or cause it might boost your social status? I mean, fuck. Look me in the eye and tell me you’re out there doing it because some of those guys at least make you feel something for them and you’re not just manipulating them like the rest.”
Eddie’s dry laugh bounced off the walls.
“Look me in the eye, right fucking here, and tell me at least one of them makes your pretty legs weak and has you swooning and feeling something for them. That you want to marry them because you want to marry them. Or are you just that desperate to play into the role they have set out for you that you’re throwing on mask after mask to fit whatever future wife they want so one of them will choose—”
You did something rather uncharacteristic.
You’d play fought with Eddie countless times. Wrestled when you were younger. Sword fought and threw mud at each other and slashed in the water. Not once had you ever hit him genuinely. Not once had you ever hit anyone.
And yet the next sound that echoed in the bathroom was a ringing.
Your palm stung and burned while you brought it to your chest, feeling your hand shake as you processed what you’d done. As you saw the faint red mark gradually set in on Eddie’s cheek, his head turned despite the lack of force behind it.
His jaw tensed and one hand fell from your hips as his fingers came up to touch his cheek.
"You call me self-absorbed and ignorant of what you were experiencing while you go ahead and assume why I'm taking part in the marriage season." Your voice was unsteady and so weak that the force you put behind it was obvious. Eddie's eyes jerked to you. "I am doing what's expected of me because I have to. I am not asked of it, Eddie; I am directed. And I am to find a spouse, and I am to have a son, and I am to do so as quickly as I possibly can, and so that is what I have to do.”
Your exhale was shaky. Tears pricked your eyes, and Eddie…seemed to lock onto them rather quickly. He remained silent.
"It does not matter whether I like any of the prospects; I simply have to find one that wants me." Your voice fell quieter, and you…you tried to step away. You really did. But despite the red splotch on Eddie's cheek, he seemed to grip your hip tighter. It made that warm feeling worsen in your stomach. "It was not my choice to attend schooling. I would have preferred to stay here if the option had been available."
You couldn’t look him in the eye. The words felt heavier—much, much heavier—as they left your mouth.
“I understand that you do not agree with the season outside of the advantage you take of it with the lonely and interested, but do not even for a second try to tell me why I am completing an obligation I had no say in completing.”
You matched the intensity in his gaze as you tipped your chin down and did what you were much too weak to keep yourself from doing.
The tips of your fingers brushed the tender spot on his cheek from a draw you couldn’t explain. But the second you touched the slight stubble, his hand snapped up and had you by your wrist.
"I'm sorry for…." Your teeth drew over your lip, and you aimed to pull away so you could return to where your lengthy absence was going to surely be noted. "Thank you for the help, truly. Eddie, for that, I am grateful. I'll…."
You started to step around him, unsure of what else you wanted to say, but he…didn't let go. You made it one step around him when suddenly you were tugged back. While you didn't fall against him, your shoulders did bump, and your arms pressed together. You were stuck nervously blinking at his burning gaze as he held you.
“So you don’t feel anything for any of them?”
You sighed, glancing at the door, a bit exasperated. Was he not going to let that go? The longer you remained in there with him, the more at risk you were of someone stumbling upon you.
“Eddie, please. I hardly even know most of them. I—”
"No. When you look at them, when one of them looks at you, when you're in the same room as them or…or dancing with them. Do you feel something? Anything?”
His chest moved with deep, quick breaths. You stepped an inch closer as his hand slipped down your forearm.
“I….”
You didn’t have an answer that wasn’t no. That wasn't anxiety and constant thoughts about who you had to be for the person with you.
“Is that really the kind of life you want for yourself? Christ, (Y/N).” Eddie scoffed, but his grip loosened and fell when it reached your elbow. The tips of his fingers grazed over the bared skin there, and the sudden burst of heat and tingling sent a shockwave through you that had you jerking back.
Clarity hit you like a brick.
"You either didn't listen, or you simply chose to ignore what I've already stated. I do not have a choice." You stepped a full space back and yanked the latch open. Then the lock. "And what does pointing this out do for me? I imagine you get a great deal of joy from it, but really, Mr. Munson? Thank you so wonderfully for fixing my dress, and thank you so much more for reminding me that I am nothing but society’s expectations and my parents’ desire for an heir. Truly. How kind of you to help.”
And as his mouth shut and his hand fell to his side, you jerked the door open and did a quick glance outside into the thankfully empty room.
“I do hope you’ll do me the courtesy of at least waiting a few moments before departing. If you have any true respect for me.”
Your eyes briefly locked, but it made your chest and stomach flip and flop too much to hold it.
And without another word, you stepped from the bathroom, the key tucked into your glove, and slammed the door shut behind you. As you departed into the store, as you returned the key to Wayne, thanked him for the assistance, and strutted back out into the square, anger raged. Anxiety raged. Guilt and frustration and a countless drawl of heat and aches flowing deep in your stomach.
And with a single glance back at the store, you saw the stock door still closed from the windows and….
Eddie didn’t follow.
Good.
The feelings raged on, and yet good.
Perhaps, maybe…maybe your friendship with Eddie was permanently done.
The tension in the air could be touched. With the right grip, you were almost certain you could reach out and pull it apart with your fingers. It filled your lungs like smoke and crawled through your veins like a dying spider. Waiting. To cling to hope was a fool’s errand, yet your stomach churned with it; out of reach yet brushing the tips of your fingers.
Would you allow yourself that moment? To just hope?
Your stomach twisted harder.
What were you even hoping for from that point forward? You were no longer their daughter. They were no longer your parents. What was done was done. Your mother had made that clear. Hadn’t they both? Wouldn’t caring parents have seen your distress? Wouldn’t they have helped rather than hindered? Than restrained?
Yet you stood in the doorway, tears slipping down your cheeks, eyes focused on your father. You could try with all your might to not hope. Try to simply write them off and throw everything away, but you weren’t so good at closing books rather than opening them.
So you stared at your father, heart thundering, hands shaking.
You clung to that pesky sliver of hope like it was all you had.
You were not close with your father, though. His mind was unreadable and his expression and body language distressing. There were moments where you’d run into his office, drawing in hand, waving it around to show him your latest creation as a toddler and he’d pin it up on the wall. He’d walk around in the garden with you and hold you up to smell the flowers and pick apples from high branches. Laughters was shared as you grew as a child.
But you did not know what his favorite food was or what he did all day in that office, in his meetings, in his books. He worked. He’d always worked. He negotiated important deals. He had meetings. Checked books. And he paid the tuition of your schooling and made sure you were in the carriage to go there.
He was your father, but you did not know him.
That moment right then and there, as he opened and closed his hand, as his eyes narrowed with the pinching of his brows—that was the most emotion you'd ever seen on him since you were a mere child. A shaky sigh came accompanied by a groan, then a shift in his focus. The crease between his brows and the hard set of his jaw. Exasperation crawling through irritation and anger and surely betrayal.
He looked from Wayne to Eddie to you to finally…your mother.
You worried about the state of Eddie’s hand with how sharp your grip became.
“I will not speak on the obvious anger and…and frustration I have for the scandalization of my only daughter,” he muttered with a voice so cold, so sharp, you stole a glance back at Eddie. He lacked any smug expression you thought he might wear proudly. As he had with Ace. “But what do you expect them to do, dear?”
Your father’s hand came in your direction. A tired, pointed, frustrated throw. He took a small step toward you.
"Were this anyone else accompanying her, you would be throwing a wedding gown in her hand." Your father frowned and pinched his nose again. "I am aware of the mixed bag the Munson name holds, and for that sentiment, I will apologize, Wayne. I have known your family long, I do not mean to entirely disparage it. But, truly, dear, would you throw everything away for everyone involved simply because she is not marrying a lord or…or Mr. Kester?”
Your father took another step toward you, and everything in the room felt lopsided. You leaned your head against Eddie’s arm without even meaning to, blinking as your vision got teary. What was your father doing?
What was he doing?
You dug your teeth hard into your bottom lip to keep any potential sobs or sniffles from slipping out.
He turned to you.
“She is scandalized. Of course they will marry. Of course we will go forward with the union. I will not lose my daughter over this. I will not lose a chance at a grandchild or children. They have made a mistake—a choice—and what are we to do? Disown her?” He shook his head. “No. Christ. We do not have to like it. We do not have to support it. But what other option do we have? I will not deny my daughter from marrying and I will not ship her off somewhere to repent.”
Your mother looked like your father had just cursed up a storm. The disbelief and disgust were still there as she shook her head.
“You cannot be serious. They—”
“They what?” Your father’s hands both wiped over his face. “Jesus Christ, (Y/N), do you love him?”
Suddenly, his eyes were on you, and while every part of you froze up, your words did not. All the adrenaline and fear and loss came barreling toward you with hope brimming beneath it. It was about seeing reason, you knew that, but it was the reason that still mattered.
It meant you mattered.
“I do,” you muttered.
“And, you, Edward, do you love my daughter?”
Your father's expression was one that told Eddie to pick his words very, very carefully, given the current state of affairs. Given your current physical state and the scandal permeating from you.
“Like I live and breathe,” Eddie mused.
And what did your father do? He threw both hands up. He turned to your mother and let out a dry, frustrated laugh, but he still laughed. And he shook his head and wiped his hands over his face, groaning into them rather loudly.
“So? Then they will marry. What else are they to do?”
Your heartbeat was in your ears like an incessant drum. It jolted your entire body with every rap, rap, rap. Thump. Thump. Thump. Blood pumping through your veins in a manner you had not known how to handle. There was hope amongst the obvious—his words were not out of love or even respect. But duty. Because you'd been scandalized, and all of town would know it. All of town did know it. By the afternoon, it’d be in everyone’s ear.
There came more movement from your father, a turn toward you and Eddie that brought him closer. Close enough with a fierceness in his eyes that Eddie pushed his shoulders back, Wayne stepped out, and you took a small step in front of Eddie.
"I will keep her dowry, and I will go forward with assisting your union and any children that become of it. But I will not see you. You will not be a part of this family for what you've done to my daughter. Do you understand me?" The intensity of your father's hard-set expression had you swallowing hard. Eddie didn't so much as flinch. "I understand you've experienced exceptional hardships, but the talent you possess? It is wasted by your own impotence and contrasting self-righteousness. Had you made something of yourself, Mr. Munson, perhaps you wouldn't have had to scandalize my daughter to get to this point."
Eddie’s chest moved against your back with a slow, seething breath. You didn’t need to see his face to know it was as hard-set as your father’s. The slightest lean gave you a feel of him while his hand twitched in yours. In anger? In that self-righteousness your father mentioned? In deprecation?
You and Wayne acted at the same time.
“Edward, don't."
“Father….”
Wayne’s hand falling to Eddie’s shoulder deterred whatever he had been planning. Even if all it had been was a challenging step forward, he pulled back at Wayne’s touch. Eddie said nothing, and he did nothing, and he remained behind you, hand in yours, thumb running along yours in a stiff yet gradually composing manner.
Tears that welled in your eyes started to fall. To find the closest thing to acceptance and respect from your father only to have it framed in his disgust and distaste and disregard for Eddie was a cruelty you hadn't expected. How were you supposed to feel good about any of it when it was a mockery to you? You simply wanted to shake your head and tell him you would not accept him or his blessing or even your dowry if he was not going to accept Eddie. You wanted to beg for him to just understand beyond a means of trying to spare the family name, of trying to maintain that connection to any grandchildren that might retain the honor of the family's legacy.
“Got it.”
Your eyes jerked from your father. A glimpse at Wayne showed you weren’t the only one surprised at the two words stiltedly leaving Eddie’s lips. He didn’t look at you. He didn’t look at his uncle. He merely kept his eyes forward as something sharp in his jaw twitched. His eyes were dark with a slew of emotions you could only fathom ranged from annoyance into disrespect—at himself and his father—but however he managed to keep them limited to those words, you weren’t sure. Neither was Wayne.
“Eddie, are you sure?” you asked quietly.
He nodded once.
“Yup. Cause it’s your call. My wife decides.”
The accentuation of the word came with a sharp, pinning look of Eddie’s eyes right to your father’s. Both men were stiff and unrelenting in their standoff. Wayne moved his focus away from Eddie and then to you. Eddie was giving you that choice? Eddie…. He….
Your eyes locked briefly, and he gave you the world’s smallest nod. You wiped a tear on the back of your gloves. There was little time to think. Little time to consider your opportunities with either option. But you were no fool. A blessing and a dowry was better than none. A connection to your parents in word only was a safety net. And if you got to set the guidelines….
“We will decide if any son will take up the family duties,” you said softly at first, but you gradually found your voice. “It will not be forced upon him. It will not be expected. Should he desire the interest, fine. But you nor mother will take away any of his childhood training him to be the son you so clearly desired instead of me. And should any line be crossed, I do hope you’ll understand that I am not afraid of walking away.”
You looked from your father to your mother. She looked like she’d seen the dead walking with how taken aback she was. Unable to speak. Unable to do anything but look almost pleadingly between the four of you.
“Believe me when I say I had no intention of tarnishing the family name. Nor had I any intention of being anything more than friends with Eddie. But I simply…. I desired a respect that I have not received since…ever. Eddie gave me that. I have been a person for the first time with him. And, truly, I wanted to do what was expected of me. I wanted to be a good daughter. But it was too much.”
Your brows pinched until a harsh crease formed between them. You put both hands on Eddie’s.
“I do not expect you to respect me, but if you can find it within you to respect my requests, then….” You nodded. “So long as you do not speak ill of my husband or his family again, then, yes. I would be grateful for your support, no matter how unideal and…unexpected…the situation is for all parties involved.”
There was a silence in the room as your words fell into the air. It was not a big ask, really. Was it? To simply be respectful of your desires and your husband, they merely had to act like Ace Kester and maintain a sense of self-control. It would not be a grand situation for them, but then neither was disowning their daughter and losing out on any chance of grandchildren and a potential heir.
If they were smart about it, they might even be able to spin the narrative. Would it bother you to know people were gossiping about your pre-marital interactions with Eddie? Yes. But childhood friends that found a connection after years apart? What a better love story than that.
Scandal, yes, but one that could be spun in more favor than not.
One you kept to yourself as you waited for your father’s answer. And your mother’s. You moved your focus between the both of them, jaw set, vision bleary, body raw and exhausted and clinging to a hope you hated to attribute to them.
"This is ridiculous," your mother said with a sigh. One hand covered the top half of her face.
"In this position, I do believe you should be asking for forgiveness," your father muttered, a low, rumbling sound in the quiet. The look he gave your mother was a daunting one. "You hit our daughter, and she is not lording that over your head or mine. I have very little family—you know this. I will not lose my daughter because of it."
Your mother went still. Utterly still.
There wasn't a moment of hesitation, and tears slipped down your cheek as Wayne stepped closer. Not so close that he was actively in your personal bubble or your father's, but his newfound position put a shoulder between the two of you. An easy reach of an arm to draw a physical line between you.
Eddie put his other hand atop yours still holding his.
Your father didn’t so much as flinch at Wayne’s movement. He merely nodded. Reluctantly. Stiffly. So clearly pained.
“You have my blessing then.”
Your breath involuntarily hitched and caught the air rather hard. Your mother said nothing but simply turned her back to the four of you. Wayne nodded, and Eddie merely took a deep breath.
"I shall put in the paperwork for a special license, and should it be approved, it shall be done in a week's time." Your father swallowed hard and looked between the three of you in front of him. "Return tomorrow afternoon, (Y/N), and we can…discuss the steps going forward. I imagine a dress will be needed and…and flowers. And…."
Your father waved his hand. His other came to his forehead and his fingers pushed into his temples.
“This whole ordeal…. I am weary. I am exhausted. I…." His other hand motioned toward you. "I am glad you are safe, but Christ, do I wish this had found a conclusion in quite literally any other fashion. My God.” He turned ever-so-slightly away from you, and he did not look at you again. “Take whatever you require from your room. All social conventions have already been lost. I cannot…. You are my daughter, (Y/N), but your mother and I require some time alone to handle this.”
You pressed your mouth together in a fine line.
There it was.
All the kindness you could pretend to find in his words wasn’t there. He could claim he did not want to lose his only daughter, but he did not want to lose his legacy. Maybe he merely had no other manner of discussing such feelings or interests, but you could only make excuses for so long.
The only saving grace was that you did not wish to be there either, and having your dowry and their blessing was, as frustrating as it was, important to you. The monetary aspect, of course, but…they were still your parents. It was hard to decipher which hurt more—tearing them from your life or facing the fact that you could not do so? That they did mean enough to you that it hurt to leave the room. That it’d hurt exponentially when your mother had turned you away even when you’d expected that from them.
No other words were exchanged as you left the room.
Wayne lingered, but neither you nor Eddie remained to see why. There was just the low hum of voices as you both went upstairs to your bedroom. Jillian was already departing as you stepped through the open door, an open trunk sitting at the end of your bed.
"Merely call, and it will be moved to the Munson carriage when you are ready," she said with a nod.
“Thank you,” you muttered, voice weak. Body raw. Every inch of you simply…exhausted.
And the door was shut behind her without any pretense.
The silence there was different than the one downstairs. It was heavy, yes, but it fell across you in a much less constricting manner. You could breathe a full breath even as Eddie's hand left yours and he walked around your room. Taking it in with gradual steps, fingers brushing books and pieces of jewelry and bows and old toys. As he took a look at the room your parents had created for you; curated to fit the perfect daughter image.
“You did not have to agree,” you murmured, carefully pulling your pale orange dress from the closet and folding it how you’d seen Jillian do so a handful of times. Although, right then and there, you cared very little about creasing and wrinkling. “You did not have to do any of what you did down there, Eddie. My parents disrespected you.”
It felt so wrong to feel good about what’d happened. Yet you’d gotten the best possible conclusion, had you not? You’d gotten Eddie.
“I’ve heard worse. I’ve thought worse.” Eddie picked up a small plush bear on your pillows, holding it up next to his face as he gave you a playful look. “I’m also not a fucking fool, (Y/N). I’m well aware of who I am and who I am to those who really don’t like me. So long as they are not foolish enough to speak ill of my mom, they can say whatever the hell they want about me.”
He walked around your bed until he was to you. Until you were setting your next dress into the trunk and facing him as he turned you. His hands found a tender grip on your hips as he pulled you forward. Forward, forward, and forward some more until you were plastered directly to him. Lord. He was so warm and just…comforting. Sweet. Soft.
“Besides, it’d be unfair of me to not make any sacrifices when you’re taking a dozen blades just for me.” He leaned in as he walked you back. Your breath hitched at the press of your bedpost against your back, sturdy and thick against you. Against your weight and Eddie’s. How quickly such bad feels could be drowned away when you were looking into his eyes? When you could feel him against you and it was like the rocky world settled out? “I don’t give a fuck what they think about me cause who’s the real winner here?”
A warm, sweet palm came up to your cheek. Oh. Your eyes nearly fluttered shut as his thumb wiped away at the stinging skin first. Dragging away tears from you so tenderly before…before the pad of his thumb went across your lips. You tasted the salt of your tears before the world simply melted away right then. Everything became a low buzz as Eddie leaned in the last few inches that remained between you.
“I’m gonna marry you,” he whispered. “So…. I still come out on top here.”
And his lips came gently. Tenderly. A slow, all-consuming kiss that melted the room away. It was mere darkness around the two of you as your chin tipped up, and a shaky sigh escaped the both of you in unison. And in that same unison, the kiss deepened.
There was such little time to spare, but you were clutching Eddie's shirt as the good continued to overwhelm the bad. More and more and more in tidal waves of Eddie until you had your arms wrapped around him, and he was bunching up your dress while his hands found your bottom.
“Pack,” Eddie suddenly breathed against your lips. “Fuck being here longer than necessary. I gotta have the restraint not to fuck you ‘til we’re married, so I’m starting with some self-control now, but you’re making it real hard.”
He pinched your chin, and before you could even finish whining in small protest, he was stepping back. Never had you thought such a fully-engulfing feeling such as the one low in your belly could drive away all thoughts. Could make you yearn for him in the worst moments that clung to your shoulders. Could make you hesitate even then to leave your room when a bed was so willing and wanting behind you.
Such a new feeling.
Your hands remained together until your arms were outstretched and the tips were grazing together. Then he turned, throwing his attention up at the gowns hanging in your wardrobe, and he lazily thumbed through them.
“See, I know how to take the gowns off. I don’t actually know what the purpose is of each. So you’re gonna have to help me out here.” Eddie turned, holding up a light blue dress that almost looked white in the lighting. “Otherwise, I’m just going to pick the dresses that’ll look real good on our floor.”
You snatched the dress from his hand, one you never really cared for, but with that promise attached, you still folded it and dropped it into the trunk.
“Fine,” you said with a small smile.
And with a small tilt of your head, you stepped up next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and nodded at your wardrobe.
“Guess it’s my turn to educate you.”
* ch twenty-four - warning: bittersweet angst & fluff & slight nsfw content; teasing, second base, descriptions of nsfw art *
The church was white. Unending, constant, sparkling white. White flowers, a long, plush white rug, white tulle draped from pew to pew, and the sunlight white as it shot through the tall windows. It was white and it was small. An intimate wedding, so they referred to it. Family only until you struck that down through sheer spiteful determination.
You were not going to deny your friends the invitation, nor would they have allowed it. You were as certain they would manage to forgo proper rules and find a way in one way or another. Because they could not pass up their friend's wedding. Let alone when you were so unabashedly scandalized, and Eddie Munson was the groom.
It was a wedding—a union—they had to witness.
It meant more than you could ever admit that they sat not with your parents but behind Wayne. With the Munson name.
Wayne sat not alone in the front pew. A small bouquet of white and blue flowers, wrapped in a lopsided white and blue ribbon, sat beside him. He’d brought it with him after picking out the flowers with Eddie. They were nestled perfectly in an imperfect, somewhat lopsided vase you distinctly remember watching Eddie make as a child. A gift for his mother.
A spot wasn't saved nor was any attempt made to even contact his father. It was Wayne's advice on the subject, but Eddie had made it clear from the start of the planning—he did not want him there. He had all his family that he needed there.
So, behind them sat Ella, Winny, and Loraine, all grouped together, eyes big and wide and dripping with anticipation. The Mitchells snagged an invitation, too. You couldn’t not invite Ella’s parents should Ella receive an invitation as well. They sat behind the three of your friends, smiling and whispering to each other upon greeting Wayne with handshakes and a hug.
Over on your family’s side of the church was…them. Them alone in the front row with Jillian taking a seat beside them. And even then, you had to fight for her invitation as well. But you were not going to deny the one person who had helped you so kindly and wonderfully.
That was it.
The silence of small families. Purposeful and not.
You didn’t hold your father’s arm when he nervously stepped up to walk you down the aisle. A previously agreed upon notion that you couldn’t forfeit. Once upon a time, you’d dreamt of having him walk you down the aisle. A week ago, it was the expectation. You agreed he could stand beside you when he’d so awkwardly made tha allusion toward it.
It was not the gown you'd dreamt up during all discussions of weddings. You’d never quite landed on one that was the gown within your head. But you could not care less about what quickly tailored dress donned you when you'd found Eddie up at the front, waiting for you, eyes widening at the sight. An imperfect dress that felt perfect under his gaze.
Oh. God give you strength.
His hair was about as tame as it would ever be despite you saying you rather enjoyed it when he let it fall free. It was pulled back in some perfect attempt to free his face from the flyaways, and yet a few strands still snuck out. His stubble shaved down and his silver rings along his fingers polished. A new suit—that you'd implored him he did not have to get—donned him in a way that made you eat your words.
You physically faltered in your step, mouth falling open as you simply gawked. There was no state you would prefer to have him in—he wore himself the best and it was him. But it was blatant a lie to deny that if he'd always dressed like that, the entire town would've understood his rakish behavior. More would’ve surely encouraged it themselves.
Yet, step after teary-eyed step, you could not wait to see it off of him. Wrinkled on the floor. Him bared to you. The Eddie you knew was squirming underneath. Burning and yearning; longing to shred the suit and find what fell across him in a messy, chaotic sin.
You could sense the old ruler against your knuckles at such mere thoughts within a holy church. But they hardly lingered as you lost yourself within him.
A quartet played as you started to walk the aisle, and despite those who were there turning to watch you, your focus was locked on Eddie. His brows raised, his chest expanded in a slow, burning breath, and his eyes softened. Softened with such an unbearable sweetness, you nearly stumbled again.
You had to grab your father’s arm as each step brought you closer to the man looking at you like you were his whole world. Like all the whispers since the spread of gossip, all the curious gazes, even the fluctuating amount of customers in the shop hadn’t a single effect on him. Like it was merely the two of you in the building, and you were magnetized together.
Drawn.
Fated.
Your father gave your hand an unexpected squeeze before you were handed off to Eddie, and in the brief moment you had, you stole a very, very quick glimpse at the audience. Wayne had red eyes that matched your father’s, your mother looked away, the Mitchells were sharing the same soft smiles, Jillian was unabashedly smirking, and Ella, Winny, and Loraine all beaming.
Despite her initial reaction of betrayal for discovering the news through town gossip, she gave you a rather shaky, happy, overwhelmingly lovely thumbs up.
“This jerk, stealing my friend away again,” she’d said. “I cannot be mad for you have a love match. But if he believes he can steal you from me once again, I will have his head this time around.”
The very sentiment materialized in a pointed look from her as you reached up and took Eddie’s hand.
It felt so right in yours.
Shortly after receiving your father’s blessing, Eddie bluntly confession that he’d never thought he’d ever marry. He’d seen marriage through the eyes of the town, through the eyes of his parents, and he…. It’d been a late night and a hard conversation, but he twiddled a cigarette as he peered over at a sketch he’d drawn of his mother, eyes full and glimmering.
He did not want to become his father, and he did not want to tarnish his mother's legacy. He rather fancied the lonesome life Wayne lived, focused on whatever took his attention then and there, and he lived. Lived with little care and driven by his own desires.
“But I want to marry you,” he’d said, eyes down at where your hand came to rest on his knee. “It feels…right.” His mouth curled up into a smirk. “Besides for just doing the honorable thing, of course.”
And you were no fool. You knew it wasn’t a simple change befalling him. It was an entire lifestyle shift. Yet when you stood before him, hand in hand, eye to eye, tears welling in yours—there was no regret. You’d already braced yourself just in case. A fleeting desire to back out at the sudden influx of the promise. Of everything. He was a rake. And while you trusted him, it was a shift you knew you were asking him to make.
Yet the way he looked at you….
Like he lived and breathed.
That was it. Like he could not go another second without having some part of him touching you. Like he would wither away if you were not near. And you saw the boy you’d bumped into as words were spoken, recited, and promised. Lips trembling, hands shaking, dress tight around your upper body.
All the days in the sun, all the storms in the shop, all the dinners and the lunches and the laughter. Watching him play guitar, feeling his eyes over your shoulder as you played the piano. Studying his sketches and following him through the underbrush in the park. Bumping shoulders on that first day.
Climbing up to the branch to watch the fireworks. His hand warm and steady on your arm.
His thumb wiped a warm tear from your cheek before he leaned in and kissed you. Slow, tender, and a tad too long for the ceremony, but you did not pull away. He tasted too sweet and he felt too good and he was just so right.
It was like a second half of you was slotted in place, and all the color returned to the world where it’d once been lost.
On your finger, you wore his mother’s ring.
A gift from Wayne. One Eddie hadn’t even known Wayne had saved. Just in case. And just because. A gift for a spouse or a gift for the future. A memento he’d been waiting for the right time to pass along.
Eddie had wiped away a tear as he’d barked out a laugh.
“Kinda stole it from my brother before he left,” Wayne had said with a crooked grin. He’d rubbed the back of his neck as a blush crept over him. “Figured it was in better hands here.”
You and Eddie both admired it on your finger as the carriage jostled. Just the two of you, your trunks on the back. A honeymoon you weren’t supposed to have. But when the ceremony ended and a sudden awkwardness tried to ruin the overwhelming joy, your father pulled the two of you aside.
His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet.
He was short with his words and harsh with the clearing of his throat.
“The summer home is staffed and will be vacant for the next three weeks.” He placed the old set of keys into your palm. “Congrats.”
And with a nod of his head, he was departing with your mother. She'd yet to say more than a dozen words to you since your original dismissal from their home. A quick look went to Wayne while you held the heavy keys in your hand. You'd initially planned to return to town with Wayne to celebrate together with more of their friends and yours, then Wayne would spend the evening at Erle's to give you both privacy.
But Wayne just smiled and waved toward the carriage waiting for you outside. One that hadn't brought him nor you there. And with a quick hug to your friends and a lingering one to him, a whispered thank you, and a kiss to his blushing cheek, you and Eddie were off.
A day’s ride away, if even that.
And there was much to be done in a carriage ride to pass the time until then.
Married.
Eddie's mouth came to your neck in a searing kiss; the road beneath you made the carriage bounce. Married to Eddie. His hand palmed your breast as he wrapped his arm around your waist and held you to him.
“Behave yourself, Mr. Munson,” you whispered with a small grin. “We promised we’d keep our hands to ourselves until we were within a bed.”
“Well, Mrs. Munson,” he mused right on back, mouth sucking on the spot that had you mewling. He’d had the spot memorized immediately. He knew to find it each time you stole touches in between all the planning, all the gossip fighting, all the ways you’d been pulled before the wedding. “One can sleep in a carriage, can’t they?”
“Mhm, they can. But….”
You reached forward for the small bag you’d packed yourself. Not of just your items to have on hand for the sudden departure, but his. You’d given him a curious look when you’d not-so-sneakily grabbed one of his sketchbooks, and he’d given you a pointed, heated look when you’d slipped it into the bag.
Eddie grinned as you pulled it out.
“That really isn’t going to lower the temperature in here like you think it might.” He plucked the leather-bound book from your hands and placed it on your lap, righting you carefully before flipping the cover back. “Best way to get over a haunting is to draw it. Get it outta my head. Right?”
He flipped slowly past the first few pages of swords and dragons and dogs. A few pieces of merchandise from the store he’d obviously done while working. A flower and a broken bottle. Then…then there was a sudden change.
“Had a lot to get outta my head with you, (Y/N).”
Your fingers came to drag along the thick page over strokes of ink and lead. Your cheeks burning, heart stuttering, and breath catching.
“A lot.”
You. Sketches of you—every portion of you. Your side profile. Your arm. Hand. Gloves. Dresses. Where they started modestly, the shift was gradual and stomach fluttering. Eddie placed kisses to your neck as you turned page after page. A focus on the bare skin showed between your glove and your sleeve. A bunching of your skirt to show your ankle and shoes. The neckline of your dress—modest and immodest.
Then your lips. A page dedicated to them in smiles, frowns, pouts, annoyed curls and a wide, bright grin. Teeth dragging across your bottom lip. Parted and wanting.
Your back. Bare. The laces of your dresses undone, and with the rushed strokes you could make out, you hadn't needed to ask him if he'd done it right after you'd left the employee facilities that afternoon. He confirmed it for you, regardless.
"My entire hand was covered in lead, and I knocked over a bottle of ink trying to get it all down before I forgot every small detail," he cooed, placing another kiss to your neck.
He drew it more than once.
Each one different, but…in a different way. Your dress more open. The laces entirely undone. The sleeves falling down your shoulders. Down and down until it was just a sketch of your bare back. No clothing. No slip. Just the curve of your back down to the small of your back, your arms drawn to cover yourself, like he was still giving you that modesty.
Then, a shift. A change. When you'd turned the page, you'd expected more nudity. There wasn't. But the sketches were far from pure. Who knew Eddie could draw you fully dressed and still make it lustful?
There were only a few sketches, yet you still squirmed in your spot. Clutched the edge of the book a bit tighter as you thumbed through them. You, with your shoulders hunched forward, panting, teeth on your bottom lip to quiet what you could practically hear on the page. Your legs were crossed, and your dress was bunched between them, both of your hands gripping the edge of the seat you sat on. Then your thighs, covered only by a little of your dress, the hem draped over the middle section of them where they crossed tightly above. Your fingers dug into it like you were lifting it to show.
The last filled a page, and you gave Eddie a burning look.
Your head back, mouth parted, hands gripping the edge of the table in your parents' drawing room. The top of your dress wrinkled beneath a hand—his hand—and between your legs, where your dress creased and folded into you, his other atop yours, pressing both against you. Right between your legs. Right where you felt yourself begin to ache.
“Were you not such a great artist nor my husband, I would find myself bullying you just a smidge for this,” you whispered.
It was a tad humiliating how breathless you sounded.
Eddie merely grinned.
“Might not want to turn the page then.”
And what else were you supposed to do besides that?
Oh.
You held onto your self-control with just a thread as Eddie palmed your breasts through your wedding gown and kissed along your neck and shoulders as you thumbed through the pages. Page after page of you that he could’ve only drawn recently. Within the last week.
Your chest, bare. Nipples between his fingers. Hard and aching through your dress just as they were within the sketches. The curve of your sides and your stomach and your back, bare. Your bottom. Your legs.
Between your legs.
You had to actively stop and shut the book rather suddenly when you saw that. You'd never quite seen yourself there so…detailed and up close. And yet, the second the book closed, Eddie shook his head.
“Nuh-uh. Look at how pretty every inch of you is.”
And he thumbed the book back open. And you shuddered under his tickling breath as he took his touch from you and brought it to the page. Dragging his fingers over the lines, whispering in your ear of where he touched you. How he touched you. Why it felt so good in that one spot, and you could not withstand it. You could not handle it. You were fanning yourself with one that felt much too innocent and pure white to be in that cabin with the both of you.
Eddie merely beamed as you glanced away briefly, fanning yourself into an oblivion.
“You’re right about waiting,” he mused against your jaw. “Here. I won’t even touch you until we get here. How’s that?”
Your desperate whine broke hard through the carriage as Eddie pulled back.
And as a man of his word, even as he had you look through the last of his vulgar, vulnerable sketches, he didn’t touch you once. With the only exceptions being to hold your hand and to allow you to use his shoulder as a pillow.
Other than that?
You were a wanting, writhing, impatient mess beside him.
And you were left as such for hour…after hour…after hour.
Until finally, you were spared of such a torment when the carriage pulled up to your parents' summer home. Vague in memory. Bright even under the midnight sky. And you fully understood those who sought out such a partner to satiate the ache inside you, and you could not bear the thought of being one who would never know such a pleasure.
Eddie whisked you from the carriage, hand in hand, and you immediately rushed inside.
Now, of course, you did the polite introduction and greetings upon your arrival. You thanked the staff, had your trunks brought to the room you’d be staying in, and then how cruel would it have been to ask them to do anything else but sleep? It was so late in the evening already.
You were already dismissing them in a rather polite manner when Eddie took you by your waist and told them to enjoy their evening and to do what they wished while he guided you away. To your shared room.
With a massive, comfortable bed, wispy curtains, and an attached facility with newly added pipes and electricity. Thin blankets. Plush pillows. And a door with a lock that Eddie turned the instant he had you through it.
“Finally,” he moaned against your neck. It was not even a moment later when he turned you to face him, capturing you in his arms. “I get to worship my wife.”
And you, for one, had no quarrels with that. It was finally just the two of you. The staff was in the quarters, the carriage was slotted away, and no family, no friends, no town listening in and gossiping. Not that you could witness, at the very least. And you'd been to the summer home, so, so rarely, there were no memories creeping up to ruin the moment.
You did not have any expectations. No secrets. No guilt or conflicting desires or anything holding you back. No worries about being without a chaperone. No fighting the onslaught of confusing feelings wreaking havoc inside of you. It was just you and Eddie.
The world felt like a dream when his lips crashed to yours.
He'd promised you and promised every countless time you'd had touches in between that he would treat you like the true princess you were when the time came. He talked you through it more than once, grinning each time you began to fan yourself or turn away, cheeks burning hot. Whether or not he was simply telling you about it while you sat apart or when he had his fingers playing with you, there was simply no easy way to face him slotting himself inside of you and doing what he did with his fingers with that.
What pressed against your front in a hard line through his pants.
Even still the thought of his mouth between your legs was enough to make the polite, pure woman you’d been raised as come back into humiliation. That, however, made your head spin and your legs shake. It felt more intimate, somehow, than his tongue.
Yet, you had not stopped thinking about it since he’d spoken to you of it.
And as Eddie's fingers stripped you so slowly of your dress, allowing it to fall to the floor in a white heap, he guided you back to the bed. He hadn't just promised he'd wait; he hadn't just promised he would go slow and steady as to prevent as little harm as possible; he promised those same words. Over and over again.
He would worship you so that wet feeling you felt so constantly around him? He would have you dripping down onto the sheets before he got there. He will cover you in kisses and bites so those who might think, even for a second, that you are not taken will know otherwise.
You had not known such a level of dedication and possession could make you feel so warm and fluttery until he’d said such words.
The ring glinted in the single lit lantern Eddie had going. Your fingers dragged against the blankets of the bed while he guided you back, the rose bracelet pressing itself into your wrist with a delicious bit of pressure. And you went back. Back. Back. Eddie nodding at you to keep going as he crawled atop you.
You’d asked to be the one to strip him of his clothing, and he gave you that wish fully granted. He merely did so while distracting you with a searing kiss. One of deep desire that had your legs parting for him to fit between them. Of hunger and lust and a sin accompanied by his hand coming to your chest with a warm drag.
You could hardly focus on getting the buttons undone as he nipped at your neck. Again. And again. And again. Until finally, the white shirt was open and your hands found the warmth of his chest. Flat and heaving with shallow breaths. His heart racing, chest vibrating, body coming closer as he moaned simply at your touch.
You skated your hands along every inch of him that you could touch as you stripped him of his shirt. And, oh, how you’d missed the sight of him so bare. Missed seeing all the ink he hid beneath his clothing. Missed seeing the scars, the muscles that still brought surprise whenever they made mention of themselves. Missed him.
His nose brushed yours as you both panted, a kiss breaking as your fingers curled around the tie of his pants. He gave you such a longing look as you fumbled with even that, but he didn’t mock. He smiled. Just smiled. And his eyes filled with such a warmth, a love, you were vibrating with a need you could not describe.
He brought a hand up to your chest as you continued to gradually get his pants undone. His tongue licked the corner of his mouth as he palmed your breast, first, and then he held your gaze as he rolled your nipple between your fingers. Slowly. Teasingly. And just as your eyes began to flutter shut, he tweaked it. Hard enough to make you shriek, and a soft tug followed, making your back arch toward him and your nails scraped against his stomach.
He grinned as he merely traced warm lines over your breast, his eyes glinting with a lust you couldn’t fully comprehend when he had the experience to back it. But he didn’t tease you like that again. Not until you finally got his pants untied. He kicked them off with a practiced motion before his promise had been completed, and it was time for your full attention to be given to him in a different manner.
“I know we are already married, but I really gotta admit,” Eddie murmured against your lips, one hand coming to grab your chin. He tipped it back and deepened the kiss exponentially, pulling sigh after sigh, moan after moan from you until you were clinging to him—naked bodies tangling and melding together—with your mind racing. “Knowing I am the one who drives you mad with such a lust is up there with the best feelings in the fucking world.”
His tongue curled and flicked against your lips.
You shuddered involuntarily.
“The best is getting to call you my wife.”
With a grin that could simply just kill, Eddie brought his mouth down to your chest. And that grin seared into you with a warm, fluttering, overwhelming desire just as he closed his mouth around your nipple. Warm, slow drags felt like it was the first time he’d ever done such an act to you. His fingers went over to play with the other, rolling, pinching, and tugging so, so gently as he curled his tongue. Sucked. Hummed.
Goosebumps rose along with the arching of your back. See, it was not even the third or the fourth time Eddie had taken his mouth to your chest. Nor his fingers. He practically had an oral fixation with how every opportunity he’d snagged in the last week had a rather enjoyable—and very lengthy—section where he brought his lips to you there. Even if it was even so much as just tugging the front of your dress down as far as it’d go, pressing you into the corner of whatever space you momentarily had alone, he ravished you there. Peppered your chest with kisses and bites that left you always with some reminder of him.
You could not change at Ella’s—who’d graciously hosted you for the week since you had little interest in staying with your parents and you were trying to sway gossip by not staying with Eddie and Wayne—without risking anyone seeing. Even if you were to be married, you were trying to maintain some semblance that you had the self-control to wait.
Eddie had little self-control, and, oh, how it wore away at yours the instant it came out to play. You writhed beneath him there as you often did in his arms each time. Arching into his touch, gradually unfolding with growing sensation after growing sensation, clawing at him, covering your mouth with your hand, even so much as rocking yourself against his thigh once when he’d slotted his leg between yours.
Now, that had been humiliating. Even when he’d dropped his hand to your hips to guide you over the tensing muscle. Even when he lifted his head to whisper in your ear, telling you that it was okay to take. And take and take and take until you were trembling, clinging, whining. And you hid your face in the crook of his neck as he whispered how good of a job you did.
“I’ll show you how to do it with your fingers another time,” he’d promised.
But even that was for another time.
He wasn’t letting you do anything but enjoying his touch right then. You'd told him you'd wanted to learn how to do all of that to him if there was a way you could reciprocate. And the way he had lit up was one to be memorized. His cheeks even turned a bright pink as he chuckled, licking the corner of his mouth and shaking his head.
“We’ll start with consummating our marriage first, ‘kay?” He’d quirked a brow. “Then…then I’ll show you whatever you wanna know. Deal?”
“Deal, then.”
And you’d nodded. You were going to hold him to that during your honeymoon. Each and every second of it, you were going to make him remember his promise.
But first….
Eddie kissed along your stomach, fingers lingering up on your chest. He was far from chaste with the kisses he left along the tender skin; open-mouthed, fierce, and hungry, his fingers snug into you rather hard, almost tickling you along your ribs and over your sides. But the combined sensation had your head pressing into the wonderfully soft pillows, and one hand took ahold of one as the other found a place in his hair.
Again, as he nudged your legs apart and slotted his mouth over you, hovering where you felt wet and wanting and needy, he looked at you like it was the first time he had ever had you in such a compromising way. It was heart-stopping. Your stomach did a somersault as he gradually brought his hand between your legs, licking his lips as they so lightly touched you.
And as he whispered two words, he parted you.
“My wife.”
Down went his head, and your choked moan broke out into the silent room.
He was a dog with a bone. Relentless. Unyielding between your legs. He brought his tongue to you like he required every lick, every taste, every touch just to breathe. He licked and sucked and purely, unequivocally devoured you. Curling his tongue around that one little ball he’d pointed out to you in his drawing.
“It’s really sensitive,” he’d whispered in the carriage. “And when you play with it, if you don’t do it right, you’ll just keep teasing yourself.”
He drew his tongue slowly over that wonderful, wonderful, so wonderful spot. You yanked hard on his hair—hard enough that it had to hurt, and yet the sound that you pulled from him was one that sounded like yours. Enjoyment. Pure desire as you clung to him, hips twitching beneath his mouth. Your entire body merely burning up with ripple after ripple of pleasure.
You dug your heels into the mattress as Eddie pressed one finger into you.
Squirming on the bed large enough to hold three of Eddie, you couldn’t withstand it any longer. Couldn’t maintain a semblance of hope that you weren’t going to fall apart so soon. But it simply felt so good. You never wanted it to end, but yet….
Eddie wrapped his lips around that sweet spot and hummed as he sucked. His finger curled inside of you with an experimental search first, then a precision. And there. There. There. There.
His name bounced around the room in an unforgiving whine as you reached that delicious peak. Hard and accompanied with strong pulses through your entire body. Clenching and fluttering around his finger. Gushing.
He relented with a kiss to your inner thigh as you shuddered, sweaty and messy already. Whining into the air as the pleasure swirled within you. A gradual release from its clutches as Eddie continued to pump his finger into you. Carefully. Slowly.
And you gave him a nervous look. One of anticipation and of nerves that could not be helped. Was it time? You ached to know what it felt like. What he felt like. What it would consist of. How it worked. You needed him. Rather mercilessly, really. But Eddie didn’t rise from his spot. Not yet.
He gave you a crooked grin, eyes locked on yours, as he gingerly pressed another finger inside of you.
As your hips twitched and your mouth parted with a gasp, down went his mouth again. And he locked his lips against you with a searing promise of pleasure. Unrelenting pleasure. The kind that sent shockwaves through you as both fingers curled, as they spread apart from each other and made an almost…scissoring-like motion. As he treated that sweet, sweet sensitive spot with gentle yet quick flicks of his tongue.
Again.
And again.
And again.
A burning sensation folded in your stomach. Churned and fluttered and began to build just as it had before. The quick flicks sent a wave of strong pleasure through you that brought tears to your eyes. Lord. You sputtered out Eddie’s name while the wet, vulgar sounds that were unavoidably you echoed in the room.
The pleasure didn’t stop. He did not either.
And you nearly shouted his name as another peak was suddenly there, and the way it shot through you was unimaginable. Yet, as you thrashed in his arms, sensitive and euphoric, clinging to his soft hair and pawing at the pillows, he did not stop. He did not even so much as pause. You could feel him dripping down his chin, dripping onto the bed as he drew his tongue over you again and again. Dragging out the pleasure. Making it explode longer and longer, the seconds dragging by slowly and wonderfully all through you.
Your toes were curled when he finally gave you that break. But it was just a break. Eddie was a man of his word, and when he said he wanted you dripping down onto the bed, he was aiming to do just that. He remained there still, and he remained there with a third finger so gently pressing into you, the stretch new and invasive, and yet you gradually adjusted.
You whined.
You whimpered.
And it was not long before your hips were lifting from the bed as your throat went raw with another shrieking moan. Then, while his fingers pulled out of you with an audible wet pop and you huffed for air to fill your lungs with, Eddie moved. He gradually crawled up you, wiping his fingers off on the sheets and his mouth on the back of his hand, and then he was there. Between your legs again as you panted, unsure how your body even had the strength to give you so many peaks of pleasure.
He gave you a look that asked the question without the words, and even in a haze of rapture, you nodded. You wanted it. You wanted him.
Without missing a beat, Eddie pressed his mouth to yours in a slow, all-consuming kiss. He tasted of you, and you couldn’t hold back your moan as the kiss deepened. As his hand reached up and found yours in the pillows, and his fingers curled around yours.
Your heart skipped an unexpected beat. Oh. You broke the kiss with a gasp, finding his gaze within a moment. And those damn big brown eyes were windows into his soul. You couldn’t stop yourself from melting as he looked at you. You couldn’t stop yourself from murmuring the words either of you had hardly said since everything had unfolded.
“I love you,” you whispered.
The words felt heavy. Heavier than you knew they should've been, considering you could feel the ring pressing into your finger while he held your hand. Married. And yet the words were like opening a new part of yourself. Vulnerable all over again.
And Eddie pulled back, eyes glittering in the lantern light. Full and wide. A lingering glimpse of a warmth that filled you to the brim. His lips grazed yours, a ghosting touch that made the dark feel like the light.
With a playful hint in his sultry tone, he mused, "And I love you."
And as the stars found themselves on the ceiling of the bedroom, Eddie's lips came to yours. His hand held yours tighter, and his knees gently knocked your legs apart. More. Just a little more. And you felt him.
Hard and warm and yet skin soft against your inner thighs, he rocked himself over you just like last time. Careful. Steady. With a nip of his teeth at your bottom lip, his free hand reached down, and he murmured against your lips.
“Deep breath for me, my love.”
With a rush of air filling your lungs, of the scent of cinnamon still clinging to him like always, with the fresh air creeping in from the outside fields of flowers, Eddie pressed himself where his fingers had been. And he kissed you deeply as he continued to press.
Slow. Steady. Stretching. The sensation felt so new. So unique. Overwhelming as it made your mouth fall open with a gasp that, at the slightest pinching, turned into a breath through your teeth. And Eddie’s forehead came to find yours, his hand squeezing yours, and his nose brushing yours. A tender, sweet, sweet collection of kisses as he kept going and going. More and more—slight pinching, still stretching, and a feeling of being so newly full.
He stopped.
He came to you, body to body, his head falling to hang beside yours. The softest curse slipping from his lips. Inside of you. You wrapped your other arm around him and held him closer. He was inside of you. Eddie…he…. Another sound wanted to slip out, but you didn't want him to hear it. Didn't want him to think he was hurting you, and your teeth found a sharp edge on your bottom lip.
It was an attempt thwarted by his silver tongue, and a different sound burst from you.
“Jesus Christ, you feel fucking incredible.” His mouth brushed your neck as he very, very gingerly started to pull back. “So much fucking better than I imagined.”
That sound that burst from became a choked moan. One that pulled at your throat as your nails drew down his back. And there was still a discomfort as he pulled out to what felt like the end of him, but as he gradually pushed back in, it felt…less. Not gone, but slow, as he moved, it alleviated.
“Fuck. Fuck.” Eddie nuzzled your neck and marked you with lingering kisses. “Breathe, I promise. I promise. Fuck, (Y/N). Jesus Christ. If we weren't already married, I'd be proposing a hundred fucking times right now." His tongue flicked your earlobe as he just ever so slightly shifted his position between your legs, and something sparked. "Making me the luckiest man on the planet. Christ.”
Pleasure spiked through the discomfort in an almost painful way. It was hard to understand what exactly was happening, but Eddie’s entire body moved against you. Inside of you. Wherever he dragged within you, it felt like a growing pressure that began to build just like before. Like with his fingers. Against…against that spot.
And then…then on your exterior. That little spot. The one that already felt so tender and sensitive…. He dragged against you with every thrust of his hips. It was heavenly hell with how it overwhelmed you with such direct pleasure.
Then there was his chest to your chest. Every movement went across your sensitive nipples, sending jolts of pleasure down into your rolling stomach. The nips of his teeth and how he sucked hard on the tender spots on your neck. How he held your hand and held it tight. Every…every rough, ragged, rapturous sound that fell from his lips and muffled against you.
Moans. Groans. Grunts and…and growls.
Curses mixed in and a plea of your name that made that building sensation inch closer to that peak. Involuntarily.
It was all so much. Too much. Too good. There wasn’t pain. There couldn’t be pain. Pleasure just built and built and built until you were drowning in Eddie, wet skin to wet skin, hair everywhere, bodies sticky and warm and moving frantically.
“Please," you whined, unsure of what you aimed to really say; you just knew you needed it. "Eddie. Please. Oh, God. Please.”
His head lifted instantly. You couldn’t open your eyes to meet his—not like that. Not when his hips were thrusting forward and he was filling you. Filling you! You could be getting more and more used to such vulnerable, obscene desires and touches and cravings, but you couldn't look at him right then. Not when heat brushed your cheeks as you felt yourself clench tighter.
“I’m so—”
That was it. Eddie pressed his hips forward, and whatever change in angle he did, it pushed you past your breaking point. So overwhelming, so unyielding, so vulnerable—you screamed. Loud. Much too loud. Arched your back, pulled on his hand still in yours, and dug your nails into his shoulder. From the tips of your toes and to the top of your head, fireworks shot off. Bright bursts of every color in the rainbow illuminating the starry sky, body to body grounding you.
Just sending you flying high first.
You couldn’t catch your breath at the euphoric feeling. It coursed through your veins with an unfair force. And you felt yourself clench around him. Flutter. Grow tighter where he rutted into you with harsher thrusts. Faster. An apology sputtered from his lips as whatever he did brought him deeper, and you gasped at the sudden feeling.
“Eddie,” you whined, the gnawing pleasure spreading. Elongated at the peak just another second. Then another.
“Fuck. Fuck, (Y/N). Holy fuck.”
His forehead pressed to your temple. Hard and frantically, and you felt and heard him snarl before, suddenly, his hips snapped against you, but they did not pull back. He stayed within you, shuddering and grunting, holding you as near as he could get you. Sweaty and cursing, body vibrating with groan after quieter groan.
Everything felt fuzzy and warm. Beneath Eddie, feeling him pant, trying to decipher whether that was his heart or yours racing a mile a minute, you lay there. Just…stayed. Bodies together. Intertwined. Together. Together.
Married.
Free.
You managed to get him to turn his head, and he met your lips with a kiss of his own. Yet he gave way to the tip of your chin, letting you part his lips. Letting you flick your tongue in like you were claiming him as yours. Because he was yours. And you were his.
Eddie gave your hand the slightest squeeze before he pushed up. His arms shook as those big, full, loving brown eyes found yours. So sweetly. So tenderly. So…so perfectly.
“Was gonna ask if I hurt you until you did that,” he mused with a crooked grin so beautiful, you found yourself melting. “It’ll feel a hell of a lot better the next time, I promise. There won’t be that pain at the start. Promise.”
You merely nodded, but it wasn't simply because of the topic. There was just no hope of saying words when your voice was so breathy, throat so raw, and head empty of any and all thoughts that weren't simply I love him.
“Hey.” Eddie’s fingers came to graze across your cheek in the slightest, softest drag. You were within those stars with him right at the center. You touched his cheek to make sure he was truly real. "Didn't go breaking you, did I?" He knocked a knuckle against your temple, and you swatted it away playfully.
“No, you did not.” You managed to find the words with an audibly rough voice. You swore Eddie’s cheeks got a little pinker in that orange glow. “I am just…at a loss for words.”
“Well, shit. I fucked you senseless,” Eddie mused with that damn crooked grin.
It really was a special talent of his. He could light up even the darkest shadows. You brushed the tips of your fingers over his cheek again.
“You really are real,” you murmured, brows raising and mouth curling into a smile you could not fight.
Eddie staggered. He'd gradually started to move back, giving you a new sensation within you as he seemed to pull himself out. It was far from a bad feeling, and you felt newly full yet empty at the same time. But he stopped. Both hands beside your head, eyes originally down to see where your bodies connected then shooting up to meet yours, and his shoulder sagged. He lowered himself a bit more down toward you, eyes glittering wide and so unbearably soft.
“‘Course I am, (Y/N).”
And he reached up and pressed one last searing kiss to your lips before you felt just how empty you could feel without him inside you.
“C’mon.” He curled his fingers around yours and lifted your hand to his lips. “Let your husband spoil you.”
With one last kiss to the ring on your finger, Eddie was helping you to your feet.
Husband.
You leaned your weight against him and hugged him hard and tight.
“I’ve missed my best friend,” you murmured against his chest.
With a chuckle and a drag of his hand over your back, Eddie pressed a kiss to your temple.
“You have no fucking idea how much I’ve missed mine.”
Another laugh made his body vibrate. He somehow managed to hug you closer, almost erasing the new feeling of something dripping obscenely down your legs. But the beating of his heart, the drag of his hand over your back, the press of his lips, his deep and shaky breaths…. They grounded you before making you fly high.
"Or, shit, maybe you do."
He pursed his lips and took a step back. With that crooked grin he’d had mastered since he was a child, the one that fit his face and brightened his gaze, he hooked his fingers around yours and walked you toward the bathroom. Step after slow step, walking in unison, hands never letting go.
And with a swelling of your heart and a somersault in your chest, Eddie cooed with a warm, wonderful voice.
The blanket was scratchy beneath you, but you hardly had a care in the world as you lounged back on the faded red fabric. The sun had set hours ago, flowers filled the park to the absolute brim, and vendors were set up all across the winding path. Music played and people conversed while water reflected the moonlight and the branches above you shook in a soft, tender breeze.
You were still supposed to be on your honeymoon, but what kind of friend would you be if you did not return for Loraine's wedding?
It was a large, beautiful, perfect event. From the music played, the gown and suit, the makeup, and even Loraine’s hair—set with enough product so that not even a storm’s hars wind could tempt moving it. Whites and blues and purples came together, and it reminded you of the grand weddings you’d attended when you were a teenager; when you began to wonder what kind you might want as your parents so openly discussed your future.
Yet, as your friend’s ceremony unfolded in the wonder that it was, you held no envy. How could you when Eddie sat beside you, hand in hand, eyeing you like you were the bride. You were fairly certain he was so open to pausing your honeymoon to attend such an event not simply because it was for one of your friends. Not because he had so occasionally found Lord Karl at the same gambling den he visited. But because it meant he did not have to be away from you..
For, well, he did not watch the wedding.
There was hardly a moment during the ceremony that his eyes were not on you.
It was a rather distracting endeavor as you were there to support your friend as she had supported you, and despite your constant reaches to subtly turn Eddie’s chin to face forward, it was merely a matter of time before he was focused upon you again. It was a mere guess whether he simply wanted to tease you, he wished for the physical contact he earned each time you corrected his focus, or he was simply enjoying you.
But before you could playfully criticize such silly behavior, he was quickly making up for it during the carriage ride to Wayne’s apartments. Oh, he was so sweet with his apology. Why, he fell to his knees near instantly, tugging the curtain shut on the door’s window, and finding the bottom of your dress with his fingers. He batted his lashes as he murmured apology after sarcastic apology, an innocence so wrong in his voice echoing in the carriage. And he trailed kisses along your thighs with every inch he moved upward.
He clung to your hips with that possessive grip you’d come to memorize and year for. As the carriage began its departure from the church, you were not even through the front gates when Eddie’s mouth found you. He drew his tongue over you slowly, tasting as he teased, coming down to push your legs further apart and as back as the carriage seating would allow. Your dress wrinkled and creased and folded beneath the sloppy, wet, vulgar drag of his tongue.
He apologized against you.
With his tongue inside of you.
With his fingers rubbed where you were swollen and throbbing before pushing inside of you. With his tongue upon that sweet spot as your back arched and you threw your head back.
You had to cover your mouth with your own hand rather obscenely as he remained— rather cruelly and unyielding—between your legs for the entire ride. Thought the neighborhoods, pass the park, through the square. You moans, whined, and screamed into your gloved hand. Tears slipped down from the corner of your eyes, ruining what makeup you’d so delicately applied.
You reached that sweet, euphoric peak twice.
You were nearly at a third when the carriage rolled to a stop and in an effort to not get caught, you hauled Eddie to his seat. He was licking his fingers clean while throwing the door open.
He was so kind enough to give you his other hand while he helped you from the carriage. He held it the entire way up, smiling as you walked on wobbly legs, ignoring while he basked in those eyeing the two of you. Old scandal returning for wandering eyes.
When you eventually made it through the store and a brief hello to Wayne, Eddie was bringing you to that sweet, wonderful, teased third peak.
Again, you had to silence yourself. Eddie had a fondness, it seemed, of not caring who might know what the two of you were doing because he'd made it very, very clear he enjoyed the sounds you made. Both back at the summer home and there. He took you on settees, tables, dressers, every bed, the benches out back, the tubs. Splashed water, stained dresses, broke furniture as he whispered in your ear about how good you felt.
At least in their apartment, Eddie put his hand over your mouth in preparation. You also both remained dressed to be safe. Your dress hiked up, front pulled down, and your fingers working deftly to merely get Eddie’s pants down just enough to slide himself so effortlessly inside of you.
Which he’d been so, so wonderfully correct about. It not only no longer hurt, it felt phenomenal. What a beauty a honeymoon was—you were given the freedom to not only sit back and do what you wanted, but you got to do that for hours. As long as you wanted. As much as you wanted. And despite what you’d expected from Eddie’s rakish ways, a honeymoon apparently made the man eager to stay inside you each and every time.
And he did so there inside the apartment, too, grunting in your ear as you shuddered, clinging to him as you both came to smile at each other.
It wasn’t the original plan to spend the evening in town. You had no intention of spending more time there than necessary, especially so soon after. But upon the invitation, you’d found another festival being hosted within the park. The opportunity was too good to pass up, so you both relented.
You even got Wayne to close the shop early, joining the two of you as Eddie hauled his guitar out, a bag of snacks in his hand, and a blanket tucked under your arm. The tree was a decade and a half older, yet it looked the exact same. You lounged back against the bark, blanket spread out, Wayne out talking to Erle across the way, smiling as he waved back at you and Eddie while Eddie strummed a familiar song on his guitar.
The branch was still there.
Still thick.
And if you tried hard enough, you could remember the feel of the bark against your hands and knees as you climbed up. How your shoes were dainty things that hardly gave you the grip to get up, so Eddie would reach down to help. His rough hand in yours, an old memory that came back with ease as he reached over and pressed his lips to your knuckles.
His smile glinted in the moonlight as he went back to strumming. A knowing, burning flicker made your cheeks burn hotter.
For the first time in years, you simply go to sit in the park and enjoy it. No obligations. No masks for suitors. No worrying about impressing Lord Thorburn, putting up with Bal, or attempting moderation with Ace Kester. No making nice with your parents; no requirement to even go past their estate.
You got to visit your friends, saw one wed, and learned of another that'd gained a proposal. Winny to Alice, a grand ceremony already in the works, with little ill will between Alice and you, despite the scandal. Apparently, she understood the draw of love and knew how strong it could be. How foolish and frantic it can make a person at the very same time.
Ace, however, was still unwed. But at the mere mention of him, Eddie was already reminding you of a jealousy that had partially led to why you’d reached that peak twice in the carriage. You could wear a ring, you could be married, you could recount to the heavens that you loved him, loved him so dearly, and how rapturous he made you feel. And yet, he still got a rather fierce enjoyment out of reminding you physically.
And even still, as you sat there beside him, he maintained that fierce enjoyment.
That fierce love.
And as Wayne came back over with a soft, heartwarming smile, and as Eddie leaned over to kiss your cheek while strumming his guitar, fireworks shot off in the sky. Bright colors bringing back old memories to mix with the new. The good joining the good. The relief, the joy, the camaraderie, and the desire. The safety.
The home.
Eddie stopped strumming long enough to allow for a stolen kiss beneath the falling embers.
And for a time that was not going to ever be the last, never fleeting, never falling—you simply enjoyed yourself.
For one, you had not slept more than a measly few hours the night before. For another, your mother was sitting in the very drawing room with you as you stared at the table you’d been perched upon a few hours prior. Then a third, besides the book of wedding gowns your mother was forcing you to go through again, the night was all you could think about.
Sure, Ace, too. You’d yet to get a letter of his return, thankfully. So all the marriage talk was delayed talk and just that. It would come eventually, yet in that stilled moment of just your mind, in that afternoon in the drawing room, you just thought. You replayed the evening. Replayed Eddie’s touches. Eddie’s kisses. Eddie’s whispered words and the new sounds that slipped from his lips.
Replayed the earth-shattered sensation you’d experienced beneath your hand and his.
In a spot you were most certainly not supposed to have another touch.
Scandalized.
The word bounced around in your head along with accompanying adrenaline, guilt, nerves, and the fear of another finding out. Of the impending consequences. Of…of what kind of feelings those were. They were back once more just at the mere thought of the evening. And they wracked you from head to toe, and you sat much too stiff, much too wound up just staring at the table.
You wanted it again.
You desperately wanted to experience it again.
You wanted it again with Eddie.
“In a perfect world? Me.”
In your chest, your heart had skipped yet another of many already skipped beats. Your stomach fluttered unbearably and you couldn’t get a grasp on anything other than those words. The feeling of his hand atop you—your hip, your thigh, your breasts, your hand. And…and how he’d pushed your fingers against you. In a spot where….
You'd tried to repeat it earlier that morning over atop your dress, much too shy to go beneath, but you hadn't been able to replicate it the same way as Eddie. It stroked a new sensation with burning cheeks upon every touch, but it didn't get you to the pinnacle point.
Eddie would marry you in a perfect world.
A thought that was as exciting as it was cruel.
You did not live in a perfect world. So, to have his hand…was a far-fetched hopeful dream that'd never live anywhere but your mind. Either Eddie did not wish to propose for other reasons that'd gone unsaid, or he simply never thought it would work. Or….
You peered over at your mother.
Eddie was no fool. Even as children, he’d been well aware of the different standards you were held to by your parents. Did he…did he not think himself worthy enough to ask for your hand? Or if he did, your parents would deny him?
You wished to know. You wished to speak with him. You wished to know every detail inside his head like you once used to years ago. When minds were simply spoken and thoughts bounced back and forth between each other.
Yet you weren't sure you'd ever be able to look him in the eye again after that. That required a bravery upon knowing even just a smidge of what'd really happened between the two of you, and you could not withstand that. You lacked that bravery. Just the thought of even being in the general store while he worked was sending a shiver along your spine that made your toes curl.
Wayne would have his head if he knew.
You would be sent far, far away if your parents did.
You had to marry Ace Kester.
But if Eddie was true to his word, if he…if he did not respect Ace in the manner of which he'd spoken…. A rather unfortunate thought came bursting into you. You respected the sanctity of marriage. And you'd seen how the town reacted to those seeking affection outside of the bond; to those who broke the sanctity of something so special. So serious. The gossip was abhorrent, and the perpetrators were villainized. Well, some of the perpetrators. The women within it—whores. Sluts. Disgraces. Sure, if the husbands sought out extra affection, it was due to icy behavior at home. But if you were to even give Eddie a longing glance while wed to Ace, that good name you were honing with lie upon lie at that point would be ruined.
And Ace?
You could never treat him so poorly.
You could never betray the bonds of marriage as so.
You’d never. You’d never.
Except as you glanced at the table again, as your thighs pressed together and rubbed beneath your dress, you knew for a fact that you could not marry Ace Kester. Not when your body longed with an ache that was an unstoppable fire.
Which only presented an impossible problem.
Because you had to marry Ace Kester.
And so, no matter how you craved Eddie, you simply couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Could never. There was no perfect world to run off to. There was nothing to cling to when Eddie could not and would not even risk proposing—whatever the reason. He could kiss you and touch you and whisper for you not to marry Ace, but there was no other solution present. Nothing to spare you. Nothing that would rid the feelings inside of you and satisfy your expectations.
And one had to win out over the other.
You had to marry Ace.
You had to marry Ace.
You picked out the prettiest dress you could find within the book, and the day—after another sleepless night—you joined your mother at the tailors to look at more fabrics and get your measurements taken again. Just in case. Just to be prepared. Having a prototype mocked up was never a bad idea, right? It was marriage season, after all.
“Might we walk the market?” you asked both your mother and Jillian as you stepped into the square. Booths upon booths had been set up with fruits and jewelry and quills and inks. Every good known to man from visiting and local shops. “It’s such a nice day. We ought to make the most of it.”
Your mother hummed in response, contemplating the idea. It was a nice day, but you simply could not stand to return home. You spotted Ella in the market with a blushing Winny, and there was Duke Braden and Lord Thorburn, too. Mingling between suitors mixed together amongst the shopping, a tug something through your chest as every problem inside you braided itself together.
Going home meant being closer to Ace’s return.
Going home meant being trapped listening to more and more marriage talk.
Your eyes snagged on the general store in the corner, your heart pounding as your mother relented for once and began to walk toward the vendors. Was Eddie working? Your hands twitched as your eyes stayed glued to the shop with every step. Was he inside or out unloading arrivals? Was he elsewhere, far from where you might see each other there?
Jillian met your gaze with a knowing look rather briefly, and you cleared your throat, immediately glancing elsewhere. She'd yet to say anything other than, of course, after you profusely thanked her. She even tried to deny the bribe that you offered her the next morning, but only upon insisting did she take it. Then there was silence. Not even a hint at what'd happened.
“You do have a choice, you know,” Jillian whispered as you came to the first vendor. She watched as you picked up a silver ring with a single diamond inside it. “The question of it all comes down to your own ability to make it.”
Your eyes locked as she peered up at the sky and pursed her lips.
“And what you’re willing to risk to make it.”
With a shrug, she took a step back and found focus elsewhere, eyes on another booth, leaving you to slowly put the ring down. To feel a sudden burst of anxiety rip through you. She was right.
You walked to the next booth, breathing quick and already gripping your fan to ready the fight against the heat. She was very right, and you knew that. You’d known that for years, really. There was the choice to simply…disobey. But then what? You would be slandering their name—your name. The town would turn on you with disgraced looks for acting out of turn and disobeying your parents, who'd given you everything.
And say you suddenly decided to step out on your own for the first time ever. Where would you go? What would you do? You were practically created simply to give your parents a grandchild and an heir. You existed to be a wife, to hone the skills necessary for it. You’d never worked. You’d never done anything without the safety net of your parents. And if you did leave, there wasn’t a place you could go that would take you in without risking the tarnishing of their good name.
You had no carriage to carry you to the next town. Had little money to support yourself except what you’d saved over the years. That’d spare you for perhaps a year or a few months if you could manage it correctly, but that was moot if you could not find anything sustainable. And your father would never give up your dowry.
Not to you.
You stood in line at a small pastry cart that was new to the town, Jillian a step over as she watched you from a distance while admiring some journals and paints. Blessed be was Jillian. Despite being surrounded by people, you were grateful for the space to breathe. To simply stare ahead and lose yourself in every steadying breath you attempted to take to quell your unending thoughts.
Thoughts you couldn’t make true, no matter how you rearranged them.
“Now that is a hell of a dress.”
Something warm and hard and soft through a cotton shirt brushed the back of your arm. And you sucked in a hard breath at the sudden scent of cinnamon appearing not in front of but behind you. The burning of his gaze slipped along your neck and made you shiver.
“You really are everywhere, aren’t you?” you breathed, giving Eddie a quick glance before putting the required few inches between you. It should’ve been more, but you quite literally couldn’t bear it. You could hardly bear being near him without touching him. Without wanting to hide your face for how you craved that very touch. “I would have thought you’d be working.”
“New paints.” He pointed over at where Jillian stood, and you followed the motion. She gave you the cheekiest smile and a small wave. Eddie returned it. “Then I got a sudden interest in trying whatever they sell here because it really does smell delicious.”
He leaned forward, and you felt his fingers, in the broad daylight and in the middle of the entire square, brush your waist.
“Might just be you, though.”
It was a battle, to say the least, to step from his touch. You hardly managed it when your stomach fluttered and you felt close to melting. Try as you might, you ended up opening up your fan, chest heaving with shallow breaths as you fanned the warm air in an attempt to cool yourself.
It wasn’t working.
“You are incorrigible,” you whispered, daring a glare back at him.
You ended up just staring at his mouth. At his smile. God. How you yearned to kiss him again.
“I’ve been told,” he said with a growing smirk. When your eyes briefly locked, they gave away that he’d noticed your glimpse at his mouth. “Something on your mind, Miss (Y/N)?”
His smirk curled wider as your eyes widened in surprise. You jerked to face forward once more, trying your best to simply ignore him. It was much too much to handle right then and there, and with everything else on your mind, facing Eddie after nearly getting caught in a scandal in your drawing room, of all places, was impossible.
“I have many a thing on my mind, Mr. Munson. I imagine you know that. It’s presumed I’m to have a proposal soon, and I have many…decisions…to make before then.”
Was your voice strained? It sounded strained. You couldn’t muster up the smile you needed as the person in front of you reached the vendor. And a brief brush of Eddie’s hand against your arm made you shiver. He was merely scratching his jaw, but the pass was an obvious excuse to touch.
You yearned for it again.
“You’re gonna go through with it?” Eddie asked softly. His voice was soft in volume only. His voice sounded rather rough and strained to your ear. “Just like that?”
“What other choice do I have?”
You peered back at him with a look you tried to keep masked, but the second your eyes locked, you knew the look was a longing one. Vulnerable and true. You searched his face and found those damn splotches of paint and grease and polish. It was easier to fight the urge to wipe them clean when you were in public.
You found yourself looking at his lips again.
“We do not live in a perfect world,” you whispered.
And Eddie just tilted his head and gave you a look that could kill. It was one that shattered something inside your chest and made your stomach roll. A longing on his part that nearly made you reach for him. Nearly. Your hand started to move, but the man in front of you moved first, and Eddie was, at least, paying much more attention than you.
To everything.
He put one hand on your back as he stepped around you, flashing a smile to the vendor that could make anyone's knees weak, and just as his hand fell away, he asked for four tarts. Before you could even catch up with the movement, the touch, his immediate stepping forward, his hand was falling from your back as he paid. He batted his lashes at the pretty vendor while a blush crawled onto their cheeks and handed him the four tarts. You felt your own creeping up with a similar heat as you side-stepped with him to let the next person order.
“You did not have to purchase ours,” you said breathily, taking one of the tarts as he passed one to you. Then a reach away, he gave one to Jillian.
“I feared you were a bit too distracted. I was merely being careful.”
He shrugged with a small grin, but that longing in his eyes was still there. It hurt. He tucked the paper bag with the fourth tart in between his fingers, dangling it down by his side as he stood with you and Jillian. Casually. Like you were just friends meeting in the mart.
And you nearly choked on your tart when you watched him eat his. He made no attempt to pretend he wasn’t doing the same. And he made an even smaller effort at hiding his enjoyment of watching your mouth close around your finger to lick the sugar off the end.
“Not that I mind, but I feel as if I should say there are others around you,” Jillian said as she took slow step after slow step past the both of you. “In case you forgot where you were.”
A pang of humiliation crashed down atop you. Right. Goodness. You fanned yourself as you glanced away from a laughing Eddie. No shame on his part. He was a rake. Nobody would think twice about him flirting with any and anyone in his path. But your reaction to it mattered. And you forced a frown as you glanced away, desperately trying to collect yourself as Eddie licked his fingers clean.
“See?” Eddie said with a flick of his eyes toward all of the people around you. “That’s why the world ain’t perfect, (Y/N).”
There was an amused grin on his face, but his voice was almost…solemn. His gaze was back on yours a moment later, just before you took your look. And…your heart sank. They all gave you curious and speculative looks. Judgmental ones. At the proper young lady giving the poor Munson kid who drowned himself in his art and others he bedded. Who had his sleeves rolled up, ink covering his hands, and tattoos poking out from beneath. Pierced ears and long, unkempt hair. Clothing older than any worn in the square and surely older than any had in their closets.
“Do you think your parents would ever accept it?” he whispered, taking one step past you. “Do you think they’d ever accept me?”
He nodded for you to follow, not giving you a chance to really respond. And you heard Jillian follow behind you as you followed Eddie.
“I don’t want you to marry Ace,” he murmured under his breath, eyes flicking up and around the square. It was the most you’d ever seen him subdued. The quietest you’d seen outside of shortly after his mother’s passing. Only then had you really seen him keep to himself. When you did see him, at least. “But your names’ way too respectable to ever find Munson on the end of it. Your parents wouldn’t allow it.”
They…wouldn't. It was a hurtful fact but a true one. One Eddie knew, one you woefully knew, and one that made your chest ache unbearably as your steps faltered. Eddie kept walking. You'd never get permission, and so then what? You'd watch Eddie ask for your hand, watch him get dismissed, and then you'd truly never be allowed to interact with him. Ace would surely forbid it, and if not him, your parents would. Everyone in town would look upon any interaction the two of you had with skepticism and judgment.
But it poised the obvious question. One that had you glancing around before you couldn’t stand it. And quickly, when you prayed nobody was looking, you reached for Eddie. He staggered on his next step with your fingers grazed his wrist before grabbing only his sleeve. He stopped and looked back at you with a curious expression.
“Then why wait? I should simply marry Ace and be over with it.” Be…content with it.
But content was far from what you felt when you said the words. You were even farther from it, then, when Eddie looked at you like that. With a hurt that went into your soul and a burning flicker behind it that made your hands close hard around your fan.
“Because I’m selfish.” Eddie spun one of the few rings on his fingers and kept his eyes down on them. “It would kill me to see you in such a loveless marriage, really.” He took the slightest step forward and did a little circular path around you. He only spoke again when he was behind you. “And the longer you are unwed, the longer I can have you.”
His breath was warm against where you already felt sweat forming on your neck. As he stepped around you, you felt your next few breaths come choppily. His eyes flicked over your face from mouth to eyes, then back down, and both hands slid into his pockets rather abruptly as he continued on, attention falling down to the vendors' offerings.
You had no response. No words could articulate the sentiment well enough. Because Eddie knew the facts just as well as you. You had to wed. You had to. And if you could not wed him, no matter how much ache and pain it brought to you, you had to wed another. And his offer was tempting; it really, truly was. You even allowed yourself to consider it for a few moments, simply walking behind him with Jillian a step away, all silent as you looked upon the jewelry and the brushes and the books.
Yet, as Eddie plucked up a small woven bracelet with a single bronze charm on it, you knew your fate was set for you. Because you could decide to not marry Ace, you'd never be allowed. And you'd never be able to get away without finding a husband for the rest of the season, let alone another one. You watched Eddie pay for the bracelet, a ring, and a black tie for his hair as you imagined and shot down every possible secret the two of you could keep together.
Hidden in rooms. In the middle of the night. Poorly timed deliveries and balls you’d do your best to slip away from. Repeats of the fountain. Of the drawing room. Of…of more? There was surely more, wasn’t there? There had to be. And the promise of it was burning. Yet the truth of it washed away with a dread potent and unbearable. Because you would get caught. And the guilt would weigh on you.
Scandalized by a man you’d never be able to be with.
Lying to another who wished to have you as their own.
You could not do that to another you might find yourself wed to. It was already disrespectful enough that you were doing it to Ace. You couldn't…. You couldn’t. Even hypothetically…. No.
Which made it hurt all the worse when Eddie turned and grabbed your hand. You aimed to pull back, but his touch was captivating. You couldn't fight how you leaned into his touch as he brought the red and white woven string together around your wrist. That bronze charm was a rose.
Eddie pulled it tight around your wrist, his thumbs grazing over the back before his hands fell.
And Eddie sighed.
“You’re gonna marry him, aren’t you?” he asked with that solemn whisper.
He slid his hands back into his pocket, his bag of goodies and the tart dangling from one wrist. His jaw was set tight as you admired the bracelet, but couldn’t bring yourself to take it off.
You couldn’t look up from it either.
“I have no other choice,” you muttered.
And Eddie sighed, taking a dramatic step back from you.
“Guess you don’t.”
And you never thought three words could hurt so much. Never thought three words could tear you apart as you stared at the bracelet wrapped sloppily around your wrist. Never thought three simple words could make you feel like the world around you had lost color.
Until he spoke again, back to you, shoulders just barely slumped.
Tears pricked your eyes as Jillian came up beside you.
“Congrats, then, Mrs. Kester.”
Your world turned to the vast ocean, and your future became a rock tied to your ankles.
“Be seein’ you.”
Eddie disappeared into the crowd.
With a wipe of a handkerchief against your cheek, Jillian turned you away from him. And you disappeared in the sea of whispering folks, their judgment a stain and a smile forced as you passed them.
You were going to marry Ace Kester.
And that was the end of that.
* ch fifteen - warnings: angst, longing & yearning, descriptions of a panic attack *
All notions considered, you had a rather busy schedule come your departure from the square. Yet, between the hours spent with your mother, at shop after shop, with Ella, Winny, and a newly engaged Loraine, you hardly felt like you were much of anywhere.
Sleep was hardly had when you aimed to attempt it the following two nights. But when you closed your eyes, when you put your head down on your pillow—the bracelet Eddie had given you tucked beneath it—you couldn’t sleep. For if you slept, you dreamt, and if you dreamt, you dreamt of Eddie.
Of his laugh.
Of his lips.
Of his touch.
You even tried to recreate that sensation he'd left you with the night in the drawing room. Desperately. Countless times. You tried and tried again, but it felt much too wrong, much too embarrassing, and you found yourself missing him much too much. The attempts only made it worse. For you felt the ache beneath the anguish, beneath the loss, beneath the nerves. Then, the failed after failed attempt to satiate them only made them worse.
Then came the frustration.
Then came the tears.
You were not simply losing a friend you’d momentarily gotten back. You were not losing even half of one. You were losing something greater. Something that felt like it filled a hole in your chest and made you you. That was the only explanation. For when you looked at yourself in the mirror, when you tried to recall repeating the same cold behavior he’d greeted you with upon your initial return, you felt empty.
You’d lost a part of yourself and him, and there was nothing you could do to get it back.
A mere taste of him—play on words not entirely intended—and you weren’t allowed any more.
Instead, you’d had your pick from a literal silver platter, and with a fence holding you inside the reflective bottom, you’d taken your pick. You’d been gifted the content miracle that was Ace Kester. And since none knew you’d been scandalized, you could go forward with it. As guilty as you felt about it.
You just had to wait for his letter. Had to wait for him. Had to wait for that final confirmation and then that would be the final nail in the coffin. Done and done. Proposed, married, with child, and then marriage season done, motherhood upon you, and a hope for an heir.
You apparently looked as rough as you felt because your mother gave you creams and remedies to help with your under-eye bags. You did them with Jillian's help, attempting to relax in the days that passed. Tried teas and even a few other remedies that helped you with naps they'd essentially forced you to take. But you still felt exhausted. Tired. Run down.
You hardly even noticed when your cellar doors broke. Sure, there’d been mention of the issue when you were beneath Jillian’s hands as she applied more lotion to your eye bags, but you’d been lost in thought then. Sure, there might’ve been the discussion of fixing them while dinner was served, but you were thinking about how dinner with Ace might be upon marriage.
You might’ve heard the carriage pull up if you’d been anywhere outside of your head while you walked the garden, taking in a little bit of the morning sun while you could. Taking a necessary breath of fresh air that helped you feel a little better. Paying attention would’ve saved you the extra anguish that came as you rounded out from a bush, eyes up on the sun, basking in the rays as they warmed your face.
And you bumped shoulders.
Your fingers played with the bracelet through your glove before you put a hand out to steady yourself, and one caught you on your waist.
Who else would be there to fix the cellar doors than the Munsons?
Who else would catch you before you fell than Eddie?
“My apologies,” you said, voice strained and throat thick with a knot.
It took Eddie a second for his hands to leave you. It took you just as long.
The tension was awkward and obvious as you took a step back from him. Not large enough, but if you corrected it, it’d be more obvious. So you simply stood your ground and gave Eddie a small nod. Hardly even acknowledge him before you turned to Wayne.
“Do not let me interrupt your work,” you mused with a forced smile. Polite. Just like the perfect daughter was supposed to have. “Excuse me.” And it wasn’t intentional, it really, really wasn’t, but you couldn’t not be kind to Wayne. Just, in doing so, you accidentally were unkind to Eddie. And you gave Wayne’s shoulder a small touch with the tips of your fingers, trying to pretend like nothing had even happened between you and his nephew. “Nice to see you, Wayne.”
And you went back toward the back of the garden, refusing to go inside just yet. Just putting distance between yourself and Eddie. For as long as you could before you were brought lunch, sitting back at a table near a small fountain while nibbling on the food with Jillian.
Simply trying to ignore the sounds of Eddie and Wayne making quick and easy work of the cellar doors. You tried not to think about Eddie as you followed Jillian up to the front. Tried not to think about him as you stopped to pet the horses on their carriage as they talked with your mother at the front door. Brief and concise, and you smiled as one horse nuzzled your hand.
You could feel Eddie’s eyes on you the entire time, uncaring that he was directly within your mother's line of sight. Uncaring how it made you shift your weight around beneath it. Uncaring about how you had to avert your gaze; holding it was much too difficult.
Too cruel.
"Have a good evening, Wayne," you said when they inevitably were dismissed with payment. You smiled at Wayne as he passed, and you really tried your best to maintain it for Eddie. But his shoulder bumped yours in a mocking nudge like earlier, and you felt the tingling of contact go deep into you. "Mr. Munson."
“Whoops,” he said nonchalantly. Mockingly. “My apologies.”
At least it was easier to detest him. And he had a cigarette lit and coming up between his lips before he even stepped into the carriage after Wayne. Your mother was frowning hard as you went up the steps to pass by her.
“Relax,” you murmured playfully. Your voice hardly sounded anything close to typical, though. “A mere bump with him will not scandalize me, mother.”
She hummed, frown still intact.
“Yes, but the slightest bit of wrong attention from him, and you risk ruin. That cannot happen before Mr. Kester returns. Understand me?”
As if you and Eddie really sought each other out. As if he hadn’t already scandalized you already. Ha. You simply nodded, trying to wipe off the disgust in her voice at the mere thought of you and Eddie being anything remotely close. You ended up bathing in it for the rest of the day as you stared at the spot you’d once been perched upon within your drawing room.
You felt disgusted with yourself at simply hearing your mother’s words and not correcting them. You felt disgusted when your friends came over talking excitement and upcoming balls and suitors. Of Alice. Of Ace.
It made you physically sick asking what dress you’ll wear for your wedding with Ace. Made your stomach churn and churn when Ella leaned in and asked you and Loraine if you were excited to consummate your marriages. You stole glimpses at the table again and again and tried to imagine all of that with Ace, but none of it felt right. You couldn’t even rid Eddie from the image without feeling like you were losing a part of yourself.
"You're being exceptionally quiet today," Ella murmured. "You look a little ill again if I'm being rather honest. Are you alright?"
You contemplated telling Ella the truth. Contemplated trying to find a half-truth to share. A hypothetical, even. And while you trusted Ella with your life, you simply could not risk it. No matter how badly you wanted to ask her if it was foolish to have the feelings you were toward Eddie. No matter how badly you wanted to ask her if you were being a fool.
“I’m just….” You tilted your head and drew your eyes over the lantern-lit garden. You could give her some truth. “Trying to decide if content is what I am fine with.”
Ella perked up, yet she said nothing.
“I do not have the luxury of really choosing such. Since, if Mr. Kester does decide to propose, I will be forced to accept it. And he isn’t an unkind person nor is he even disagreeable. But…. Ella, I do not feel anything for him." You peered over at where Winny had fallen asleep next to Loraine. "I do not feel for him what his sister feels for Winny. Nor do I believe it's reciprocated on his end."
A sigh slipped from your lips, and Ella gripped your arm a little tighter.
“You do not want to marry him,” she spoke. Plainly.
Not a question. Not a theory. A stated fact. Perhaps you were underestimating her ability to read you like an open book. Or you wore it on your sleeve much more than intended.
“I do not have a choice.”
“He’s yet to propose,” she said firmly. “It’s entirely possible that something on his rather extended trip changed his mind.”
“As hopeful as I am about that, I am simply back to the same question,” you muttered.
Ella scooted closer on the garden bench.
"Content is better than what most of us can hope for if I'm continuing to be honest." She leaned in much, much closer. She poked at your cheek. "What else is there? Cold feet? Because, again, if I am to be honest, this is the best you can hope for, is it not?" She frowned and held up a hand. "I do not mean in regards to yourself—should it have come to it, I would marry you in an instant. You know this. But, I simply mean, your…parents. They're much more…adamant about the speed at which you take a spouse and consummate and produce a grandchild. Perhaps there's a little…good found in them not just finding someone for you?"
Ella gave you a bittersweet look that was like a gut punch.
“At least you were still able to pick from the interested suitors. I would say that’s a plus, is it not?”
Maybe it was. But it hardly changed the fact that you desperately did not want to marry him. And you tried to act like Ella's words—as kind as they really were meant to be—had a positive effect on you. But the second the trio returned home, you were falling back against your drawing room couch, pillow on your lap, and hugged it to your chest. Just…trying.
So desperately just trying to keep yourself together.
Trying to argue with yourself.
Trying to pretend that this was what you’d wanted from the beginning. Because, once upon a time, you would’ve been fine with it. You would’ve gone forward without much of a second thought to do what was expected of you. But now….
As you sat there trying to will yourself to fall back into the woman who’d been able to slip in and out of masks so simply, it just remained out of reach. The tips of your fingers never even so much as brushed it. After every moment you’d had with Eddie, from the good and the bad, you were irrevocably changed.
Had you not been shown what those desirable emotions were, perhaps you might’ve stood a chance. But you could not even think about Eddie without experiencing them. And despite the notion that you already weren’t supposed to be acting upon those desires then, you certainly couldn’t the moment you and Ace were wed.
No matter how relentlessly cruel Eddie was. No matter how little respect he held. It would be torture.
Pure, unrelenting torture.
Even if he didn’t, just knowing. If you and Ace never found that connection, never had that desire….
Tears pricked your eyes as footsteps came barreling toward the room, and you lifted your chin out of habit. Were the staff not so wonderful at their jobs, dust would've risen off of the nearby piano with how quickly your mother rushed into the room. She had little grace as she sank down on the couch beside you, and you hardly looked at her when you saw the parchment in her hands.
Stationary from the Kester estate.
Perfect handwriting.
Your heart dropped as your mother turned the note toward you before simply getting to the point. It'd just arrived, and she and your father had finished reading it. The staff was already readying the house, for the letter had declared that, by the time you received it, Ace and Alice would already be on their way back to town. The multi-day time it took to travel would be nearing its end, and come the next day, Ace would be by as soon as possible to call upon you.
And your parents.
Oh, no.
He was looking forward to speaking with the three of you—specifically you. As he'd missed you. An accidental meeting had kept him much longer than intended, and he wished to get back on track as soon as he possibly could, and doing so with you was stop number one to rectify lost time.
No. No.
Your hands shook, and you hugged the pillow tighter. And your mother absolutely beamed high and bright as she read and reread the letter. As she stood and paced the room that was starting to get…lopsided.
Off-kilter.
Outside, thunder rolled, and lightning cracked in the sky.
No. No. No.
Your breathing wheezed as your father came in, a bottle of champagne and three glasses in his hand, declaring that while Mr. Kester had yet to propose, it was a safe assumption. And you'd done it—you'd secured a proposal. You'd been their perfect daughter marrying the perfect rich, connected, well-respected businessman. You'd done it just as they'd hoped.
Lightning cracked again as rain pelted the windows. Bile rose in your throat as you struggled to get air in your lungs.
"To the soon-to-be (Y/N) Kester."
Your father handed you a half-filled glass of champagne, and it felt like everything inside you was ripped apart from your soul and outward. You pictured cold meal after cold meal. Running around after children that Ace would hardly help with. An absent father much too busy with work to make ample time in his schedule for his own children. Having to lovelessly try and make those children. Watching Eddie grow old, maybe by himself, maybe with another, maybe with countless others.
No. No. No. NO.
You couldn’t take the champagne glass.
You fiddled with the bracelet you wore beneath your gloves as tears filled your eyes.
No.
You peered up at your father as you hugged the pillow and let out a shaky breath.
“I cannot marry him,” you whispered. Voice weak. Broken.
Shattered.
And by the last syllable, the entire room had not simply gone silent—it'd gone still.
“I cannot marry Ace,” you said once more, forcing word after word out.
Then you watched as your father lowered his glass, and his face twisted in disappointment. Disbelief. Discontent.
In the span of a few words, you'd set yourself on a guillotine.
You could not breathe. The air in the room had gotten much too thin and much too still as both of your parents stared at you like you’d told them you’d been scandalized. No. Their looks of disbelief and disappointment were from a simple disinterest.
They were spearheads right into your chest.
The room felt tilted on its axis as your father took a step forward, and rain pelted the side of the house. Growing stronger and stronger, a cruel and overwhelming sound contrasting the wheeze in your chest and the silence in the room.
What were you doing?
"What do you mean you cannot marry Mr. Kester? Of course you can." Champagne sloshed in your father's glass as he flung it out toward the drawing-room door. You inadvertently glanced at the table again. "He shall arrive tomorrow, propose, and then you will be married."
“N-No, I—”
“No?” your mother bellowed. “What do you mean no?”
Oh, you could not speak. You could hardly keep yourself composed enough to sit there as they both looked at you like the disrespectful daughter you were being by ruining their ceremony. But you felt like you were sitting in a muted room that you had never belonged in. That you’d never belong in.
You shook your head and kept your eyes on where your father had spilled some of his champagne.
Say it.
Your hands trembled.
Say it for your sake.
You would hate yourself until the day you died if you did not even try to fight for yourself. Forget Eddie for just a moment—forget about everything. If you were pushed into it, if you allowed them to turn your hand on something so life-altering, so permanent, so deadly, you’d never forgive yourself. You’d already never forgive them, but it wasn’t just about them anymore.
You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t do it anymore. The years of guided hands and decisions made for you. Four years of your lives lost. Because of that stupid school. Of late nights spent stressing over stitching and utensils and polite manners. The only positive was the fact that there was extra schooling baked into the lessons. It was hardly advertised, but you learned some of history. Some of literature. Some of writing and typing and even how to mend yourself with certain ailments. But they’d forced you to go.
And you’d lost so much time with your friends. Lost so much time with Ella and Eddie.
You’d lost Eddie.
He’d despised you when you returned. You hadn’t even been able to fully enjoy your birthday. Not simply because the party thrown was not for you—no. That was all in an effort to make your parents look good. It had nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with celebrating you.
You stopped fiddling with the bracelet and hugged the pillow tighter, forcing your eyes up from the ground.
"I cannot marry Ace Kester. I cannot." You shook your head, tears streaming. Your father sighed, and your mother took a step toward you. "I am sorry, truly, I am. But I cannot. He is kind, he is good, but he is not…. I do not think I can grow to love him. I cannot marry him. Please. I cannot.”
“Goodness.” Your mother put a hand on her chest and closed her eyes, turning her back to you as disappointment radiated from her. "You have a willing and interested man who desires to marry you. He comes from a respectable family. He will keep you comfortable until you are old and wrinkled and…and you, what? Do not think you could ever love him?"
“If it is cold feet, dear,” your father said, holding one hand out toward your mother. She paced with her back turned to you. “It is very common. Nerves come for us all.”
But you just shook your head. More tears streamed down your cheeks. Harder and harder. You sobbed again. What were you doing? Hoping they’d listen to reason. Hoping they’d listen to you. But as your father’s hopeful expression fell, you knew they weren’t going to.
Thunder crashed harder.
“It’s not simply that. It’s not that.” Your voice was a quiet thing. Rough around the edges with a lack of confidence and bravery you desperately needed when you were ripping your whole world apart. With every second that passed without you simply changing your mind, without you taking your words back, the guillotine came closer and closer to your neck. “I cannot…. I cannot fathom…. I want joy.” You drew your teeth over your lip and looked between them. “I want love.”
“Love. Okay." Your mother threw up a hand, and your father sighed again. "Admirable, really, but let's say we hold out for you to find a love match. What if you never do? Each season will make it harder and harder for you to find a suitor, and if you cannot tell us right now that you do have some love match already, then the risk is too great.”
Your father rubbed his temples, hand covering his eyes, head shaking. Your mother laughed dryly, throwing Ace's letter on the nearby table and causing your heart to physically ache. The walls shook with a sharp roll of thunder.
You said nothing as your throat threatened to close around the massive knot stuck within it.
"Right. So then it's decided. You will wed Mr. Kester. You will get up tomorrow, and you will look extra pretty for him, and you will meet any prospective proposal with excitement and just…just glee.” Your mother walked toward you. Your father was still quiet. “Do you understand me?”
You did. But you very, very much did not. And you couldn’t get your legs to move even if you so desired to follow her directions. You just parted your lips to speak and only found a sigh to leave you. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t.
You wouldn’t.
If you did that, if you went upstairs, if you did as she said, you’d hate yourself until you could no longer recognize the feeling. And that was not a regret you ever wanted to experience.
"I will not marry him," you whispered. "I want more than what you and father have. I'm sorry." Your hands clenched the pillow hard, and you felt both of their eyes lock onto you. It was no secret that their marriage was one of connections, and they often tried to pretend they were in love, but it was just admiration that they held for each other. Contentment. “Do not put your mistakes unto me simply because fate decided for you to have a daughter. That is not my fault. Do not make it mine. Do not take from me the possibility to enjoy life, to enjoy all you’ve been forcing onto me since I was a child.”
Your voice gained the slightest bit of strength.
“I will not marry Ace Kester. And I ask that you respect that or—”
More champagne was spilled. Your glass toppled to the floor as your head turned with the force of the sound still ringing out in the room. A sharp—a much too sharp—stinging slammed into your cheek and trickled down like another tear. And you stared where your glass had fallen onto the carpet with wide eyes and a shuddering breath.
“You will do as you are told. And you will—”
Your father’s voice cut through the air, a stern rendition of your mother’s name. Surprise. Disbelief. Tears welled as everything around you just…crumbled.
“I love another,” you muttered, eyes glued to the floor.
Both looked at you, but you did not look at them.
“What?” your mother sneered.
“Who?” your father asked.
But you just…you stood, wiping your fingers over your cheek as the room wobbled left and right. Your father reached for you as you saw the blood staining the end of the yellow glove, and you jerked from his grasp while staggering back. Everything felt…wrong.
Too wrong.
Never right.
Never ever right.
You looked at both of them with disgust as you shook your head.
"I will not marry Ace Kester, and you cannot make me," you said plainly.
And as your mother shouted for you, as you saw your father holding her by her wrist, you just turned. You kicked your dropped glass as you stepped past the door, both calling after you once more. And you left.
Not to your room.
Not to the garden in the pouring rain.
Not to the small library they had tucked away in the corner of their home. Not to the kitchen. Not to anywhere within that cage.
In a daze, you passed Jillian and simply opened the front doors.
You did not wish to be anywhere right then.
Just one place.
One place.
And you shoved the front iron gate open with a rough, broken movement as rain pelted your skin. Stepping out into the twilight-turned-night beneath the black clouds, you felt the brunt of the storm as you walked down the flooding cobblestone. Dress soaked. Shoes rubbing your feet in the wrong way. All alone on the street.
You passed Ella’s home.
You passed your neighbors.
And you walked until your legs were sore and homes gave way to shops. To the lanterns in the park. To the few people out walking with umbrellas who threw curious glances your way. The (Y/L/N) daughter out alone? In such a storm without any protective gear? Without a carriage?
Was that a cut on her cheek?
Was she crying?
Gossip and gossip and endless gossip as you pushed past the last of the customers slipping out of the front glass door. You didn’t move from their way, bumping shoulders as you took the last step and jerked the door wide open.
The bell rang into silence as rain dripped from your dress and became a puddle on the ground. Empty. Half-empty shelves that’d need midnight stocking. The last of the customers just outside. A figure mid-step with keys in his hands to lock up and turn the sign to closed. The sign on the door that you blocked, shaking, teary-eyed, tired, soaked.
You blinked as Eddie lifted his gaze from the keys just as he started to say the store was closed. The keys clattered to the ground when he saw you. And they stayed there, knocked aside by his boot as he took one, two, three wide steps toward you until two warm hands were on your shoulders.
On your cheeks.
Touching so, so gently where you had admired the mark your mother had left upon your cheek. Yet it was left so tender, you winced under such light contact.
"What the fuck happened?" Eddie asked. He wore a thin black overcoat that was already being pulled from his shoulders. He threw it over your shoulders as best as he could get it. It hardly did anything to stop the shivering or to dry you off, but it smelled like him. And that was enough. "What…what the fuck?"
His thumb ran over your uninsured cheek as he tilted your chin to look at him. But you were so tired. So broken. You smiled and tilted your head into his touch. The concern in his eyes made the raw guilt, the possible regret…it blossomed unbearably. And your hand trembled as you wrapped it around his on your cheek.
“It’s a long story,” you said, teeth chattering as you spoke.
Your voice was round and pitiful, and you tried not to wince upon hearing it. But just being there, just feeling his palm slide down over your jaw and resting gently against your neck, then back to cup the back of your head as he pulled you closer…. The world felt a little warmer. You felt a little safer.
“C’mon,” Eddie whispered against the side of your head. “Let’s get you dry. Fuck. It’s summer, how’re you this cold?”
His chest heaved with shallow breaths as he started to move you back toward the stockroom. One second was all he was away from you to lock the store door, then he was back on you. A hand on your back, the other tucking some of his hair behind his ear and then getting the door for you.
“Wayne’s out with Erle. You don’t gotta—”
“It’s okay,” you muttered, taking the first step up toward the loft you’d been inside of in years.
And only after a moment of hesitation, Eddie came up the steps behind you.
Your legs were weak as he unlocked and threw the door open. His hand was back on you again. Like if it left you, you’d go slipping away to the floor. Withering away like some fragile thing. And maybe you would. Maybe you were fragile. Broken. You certainly felt like it as Eddie shut the door behind him and you had to face the blatant fact that you'd disobeyed your parents not only by declaring you wouldn't marry Ace, but you'd left.
Alone.
In the middle of a storm without telling anyone where you were going.
Left without a single word about it.
Went to the last place they’d ever want you to go.
Alone with the last person they’d ever want you to be alone with.
And yet?
Eddie slid his hand along your back as he came up behind you, his brows pinched hard as he gave you another once over. As he stepped closer and carefully wiped his thumb over the small cut on your cheek. Held you so, so close and looked at you like you were someone. Not your parents’ daughter. Not your family’s name. Not some eligible woman desperately waving her hands to be picked as someone’s wife.
And it felt fucking good.
“C’mon,” Eddie murmured, concern dripping from him like the rain dripped from you, and he nodded toward the end of the apartment that was not leading toward Wayne’s room. “Gotta have something here you can put on that isn’t soaking wet.”
You nodded, and without needing to think twice about it, you followed beside him.
And in the next second, you were at Eddie's door.
Alone.
Soaking wet.
And you swallowed hard as you looked at him.
You loved another.
And you watched that very person kick his door open to a messy interior, quickly picking up empty paint jars, dirty brushes, half-finished canvases, bottles of liquor, and ashtrays as he invited you in. As you got a glimpse into more than the memory of him, more than the memory he altered with his new self.
You stopped three steps into the room as he cursed under his breath, but you were hardly paying attention to any of the half-naked people in open sketchbooks or the empty bottles of ink that'd stained his desk. It was the clutter atop his dresser that caught your eye. Past the guitar his mother had given him and on top of a stack of books you knew him to have for the nearly two and a half decades he'd been alive.
And you knew you were in the right place when you saw the broken sword sitting atop it like a trophy.
A memento.
Dusty.
And you peered back at him with a smile as he plucked up a folded towel, passing it to you with a concerned, almost frantic look that was still nothing but…soft.
“We gotta robe around here you can wear while these try to get a little dry,” he said, pinching the skin-tight fabric of your dress and giving it a little tug.
“Okay.” You nodded.
Eddie nodded.
His jaw clenched as he swallowed hard, eyes not leaving you.
“Can you undo the back?” you asked softly, still shaking as you clutched the towel, pulling his coat off to show the laces on your day dress. “Please?”
Eddie’s breath was a shuddering sound before one of his hands was a flat, warm press on your shoulder blade.
“‘Course.”
He tugged the bow undone and stepped closer. For the first time in days, it felt like your heart felt warm.
The world finally felt like it was settling back into place.
The version of Eddie's room that you were currently in was not one you knew. No memories of it, no glimpses. You'd known his old room, back in the house that'd gone up for auction after his father skipped town. Most of the possessions had been sold, and those that they could keep were scattered throughout Wanye's apartment. Eddie's bedroom was now a relatively modestly sized room above the shop.
But…. It was surprisingly similar.
Minus the liquor and cigarettes, Eddie’s room was still Eddie’s room.
The sketches everywhere, the unmade bed, the scattered trinkets and letters and sheet music. His own, ones from years past, and those brought in from the store. Books were stacked everywhere else, journals beside them, ink and quills and paints everywhere. Art he'd had as a child posted up on the walls intermixed with stuff that he so clearly drew. Sketches, full paintings—you were holding your breath as you looked over what you could see, holding the towel and his coat to your chest.
His fingers didn’t merely loosen the laces on your dress. He took ample time gradually pulling each ribbon free. The soaked fabric clung to you, making it more difficult to simply undo a few and then pull the ribbons free. So Eddie did what he had to, presumably.
He stood close—close enough for you to feel his body heat. To feel his breath tickle every inch of newly bared skin. The drags of his fingers going across your back where your slip still covered with burning strokes. Again. Again. Again. And again. Each crossing ribbon pulled around the hook that was his finger.
Until the dress finally gave way.
Until one little peer back, eyes leaving that broken sword on his dresser, and you saw the ribbons dangling around two fingers. Your breath caught as the flat of his hand slid underneath the outer of your dress and your slip, leaving a warm, tingling path along your shoulder blade with the wedge it created between the clinging fabrics.
"We received a letter from Ace," you murmured, turning to look at that sword once more. Your breath was shuddering even before Eddie's hand stopped on the top of your shoulder. It twitched beneath the wrinkling fabric. "He's to return tomorrow, and he's to see us right away. Early morning, hopefully, should his return be on time and match that specified in his letter."
His hand moved briefly. So rough. So warm. You sighed as he came to rest it against the crook of your neck. A firm yet kind grip holding you still while his other hand draped the ribbons over your shoulder, his thumb hooking through the other side of your dress. You closed your eyes and tilted your head toward the one holding you. And with all the years of experience, it was merely a subconscious act to push your shoulder back when Eddie started to push your dress from it.
"Can't blame him for not wanting to wait," he whispered. His hand slid down from your neck and dragged something fierce and cruel along your spine. A burst of tingling sensation shot out across you. All of you. But as soon as it was there, he was stepping back. "I would've snatched you up even quicker, though."
The floorboards creaked as he moved behind you.
One small peer back showed him twisting the ribbons of your dress around his fingers.
“If you came runnin’ here cause of that, (Y/N),” he said so, so carefully. He let out a strained breath and even pinched the bridge of his nose. He might’ve had the opposite appearance as Wayne, but that was him right there. You could only imagine how many times Eddie had been on the receiving end of that same expression. “Don’t know how your future husband’s gonna feel about you running out to me in the middle of the night, unchaperoned, all alone in my bedroom.”
Was he stating the obvious for his sake or yours? Or because he was trying to beat around the bush of the other obvious elephant in the room. Because you were there. And Eddie gave you a little glance over his shoulder that brought his eyes to yours. You hugged the towel a little tighter and bit your lip.
His focus dropped, though. To your cheek.
Eddie was no fool.
“Let me start a fire to dry your stuff and see if I can find the robe or…or just something for you. Can’t have you scandalized in here, can I?” He gave you a quick quirk of his brow, but the cheeky humor wasn’t reaching even the words as he took a lingering step out of his room. He nodded at you once in the process. “Go ahead and get outta that. I won’t peek, promise.”
Then he was gone. Not far—hardly far. As massive as the store below was, the apartment—after walling in all the rooms—was practically a cave to echo all sounds. You could still hear every step he made, every piece of wood he grabbed, even the match he struck to get the kindling going. The creaking of a drying rack came next, and his soft cursing as he rummaged through a nearby closet, the door creaking open.
“I told my parents I did not wish to marry him.”
The sudden noise became sudden silence. It was easier to say it to the empty room; the towel and the coat were folded and put on the seat of Eddie's desk chair as you carefully pulled your gloves off. Then your shoes. Then your dress, draping it over the taped and glued splintered back of the desk chair. Feeling as naked as one could get, you tugged on the bottom of your white slip and bent over, rolling your socks down over your knees until the damp fabric had to be peeled from you.
You took Eddie’s silence as sounds came softer and slower as him being able to hear you.
So you continued.
“They…did not take it well.” You rolled the other sock down carefully. “Uh, they were rather adamant that I do, in fact, marry him. Demanded it, really. But…. But I told them I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Eddie’s voice was raised what sounded like only enough for you to hear it. Otherwise, it sounded like he was out of breath. Tired. Strained.
Your heart thundered in your chest as that sock came off your foot, and you straightened. The thin, soft material wrinkled first before you flattened it out between your fingers. It joined the other beside your gloves atop your dress.
Say the words.
You opened and closed your hand as you heard more rummaging. Tried to collect yourself as your chest heaved in that soaked slip. The fabric feeling cold and skin-tight and restrictive. But there was a bow in the center of your back that you could not reach, and Eddie had missed. You didn’t even try to fiddle with it when you knew it was much too awkward to get to, and instead pulled off the pearl necklace sitting much too heavily around your neck.
Just say the words.
Just say them.
There were footsteps after a soft click. And you turned to face the door as they got closer, and Eddie appeared, hand rubbing his jaw with a pool of fabric draped over his arm.
“What did you tell them—”
He stopped one step into the room, his eyes flicking up from the ground and gluing themselves to you. There was no mirror, so you could not have known, really, until then. But the heat flushed your cheeks unforgivably when Eddie's eyes dropped to you. To where you suddenly felt how wet and unforgivingly skin-tight the slip had become upon you.
How sheer.
The pool of fabric fell from Eddie’s arm as he just…looked at you. Tilted head, rising brows, a soft curse under his breath.
The words left you with ease.
“I told them I loved another.”
And the weight of them hit the room with thick air and a sudden struggle to breathe it. The implication brought Eddie’s eyes back up to yours, and that was your limit, you knew. Right then and there. You turned your back to him, heart pounding, hands coming together to fiddle in front of you.
“I did not intend for that to mean anything. No. That is not…. I simply…that is what I told them specifically. I…I did not mean to put that upon you like that. I didn’t….” You closed your eyes and put your fingers to your forehead, pushing gently as tears threatened to return. “Damn it.”
Vulnerable. You felt a stomach-churning vulnerability that had your shoulders slumping and head shaking. Damn it. The intention was to tell him what you’d told your parents. Not to…to put that upon him. Perhaps he’d been as genuine as Eddie could be with his sentiment regarding a perfect world. But that did not mean he loved you.
The floor shifted beneath his feet, and you merely shook your head more.
"I should not have come here," you said softly. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to put you in this position, Eddie." Your hands trembled. Your head continued to shake back and forth. The floor moved beneath another step, and you reached for the towel. "This is unfair to you and…and it's putting you in an unfair position, and I am sorry. I will leave. I don't know what I was thinking; I just came to the first place I knew I wanted to be. Forgive me. You needn't—"
A warm, rough hand closed around your wrist. The thick threads of the gray towel merely brushed the tips of your fingers, but you never got a grasp of it. If you’d tried to reach for it again, you surely could’ve gotten hold of it, but the second Eddie touched you, you were losing your train of thought.
Everything became a tingling, a buzzing, and a sudden focus on where his skin touched yours—warm to cold, dry to wet. And he pulled your hand back from the towel and toward him. It moved you toward him, your back coming to his chest in an involuntary lean.
His other arm wrapped around you, and his fingers brushed your jaw. A moment later, with your breath hitching, Eddie had your hand back, chest to your back, and your head turned and tilted to look at him. His eyes burned as they found yours. He…he burned.
“Who?”
The word rang out in the room. Your heart thundered more intensely than the very thunder crashing outside.
“I’m sorry?” you practically squeaked.
It was rather difficult to find a voice when Eddie was looking at you like that. With a heat that should’ve had anger at the end of it, but there was not an ounce of it within him. When he held you so close, when he touched you like that, when you had merely a sheet of sheer fabric clinging to you and every part that was supposed to stay hidden away was very much not.
“Who is it?” His fingers brushed your jaw in a line that went all the way down along your neck.
“I did not tell them who.”
Eddie’s mouth twitched. The corners showed a brief smile before he seemed to manage to close distance you hadn’t realized was there. He brought your hand up to cup the back of his head while he tilted it, lips grazing the inside of your wrist and…and he stopped. His eyes snagged on the bracelet, and you tried to have the will to move away, to hide that you’d been wearing it, but you could not find reason enough to take away his touch. His lips made goosebumps rise as they ghosted over your skin.
His fingers twitched on your wrist.
“Why not?” he asked so very, very carefully.
You answered rather plainly when his breath tickled your wrist and his lips grazed another kiss right against the bracelet.
"Because I did not wish to put any responsibility upon you that you did not want," you breathed. "I just…I needed them to know that I could not marry Ace Kester, and that reasoning merely slipped out before I could stop it."
Your stomach felt as fluttery and uneasy as your chest. The words were too much. Too true. Too revealing. You had nothing to fall upon should Eddie throw you out then and there. Nothing to catch yourself with. You had not stopped to even process what consequences awaited you should Eddie not take pity on your feelings. Should he merely have been lying or…or being kind in his sentiments simply because he had scandalized you.
But….
But the Eddie you knew was not that.
He was not so cruel.
Not…not like that.
Not to you.
There was a searing kiss to your wrist. A drag of teeth against the tender skin that made your toes curl and your chest feel much too hot. All of you felt suddenly very hot.
“I’m trying so fucking hard to find that same kindness you have glowing like a fucking angel inside of you,” Eddie whispered against your wrist, bringing your arm higher and higher as he kissed along it. Over your forearm, the crook of your elbow, the tender part along the inside of your arm. All until you were on the tips of your toes while pressing back against him. Entirely.
His other arm wrapped around your waist, and you felt your slip tug up just a few inches along your thighs. His hand splayed over your hip before he gripped it with a force that made your knees weak and a sigh slip from your lips.
"Do you love me, (Y/N)?" he whispered against your cheek. Your arm, tender from nibbles and kisses, hooked around his neck.
“Eddie.”
His arm held you tighter. His mouth pressed to a sensitive spot on your neck that had your knees buckling. He was the only reason you remained upright. The tingling sensation that burned through you had you going into a haze of desire to feel more. To have more. To have all he could give you, even when you only had the last experience to go on. Yet you craved the feeling. Suddenly bright and there—the sun within the room, within you, aching to have his hand between your legs where you’d never managed to replicate that damn feeling again.
“(Y/N), tell me you love me so I can ask you to marry me,” he breathed against your cheek.
And the whole room went white.
Sparks licked at your skin like teasing kisses and touches that nourished you anew. Your heart skipped not merely one beat, but an indiscernible amount as you fell against him. Leaning all of yourself against the wall, the hold, the support that was him. A tightening in your stomach had you sighing. A shiver in your spine had you clutching wherever your hands could get on him. And you pressed your head back with your eyes closing, trying to make sure you’d really heard him correctly.
“Eddie, I cannot ask you to do that—”
“You are not asking me to do anything. Christ, (Y/N), do you love me?” He pressed his lips against your jaw, your cheek, then your neck with warm, heart-stopping kisses. “Because I really don't want to propose to someone who doesn't love me. Kinda my line in the sand. I mean, I can make the exception for you cause I can't imagine finding anyone who'll make me happier than my best friend, but—"
The dam within you broke.
“Yes, Eddie.” Your hand found a fistful of his hair as his arm twitched into an instantly tighter hold. “I love you.”
And before the words could even take effect on you, before you could fully process that you'd said them aloud, that you'd said them to him, his hand came to your jaw and turned you. Turned you as much as you could be in that position, and therein came a silencing effect that stilled any other words that might've wanted to escape then.
The only sound that left you was a choking gasp and a whine that followed as his lips pressed to yours. Wet. Hard. Sloppy and…and hungry. Too many emotions to follow. Too many to differentiate. Too many to even try to focus on when your body was burning, and your mind was emptying with a desire for him you could not fully fathom. And your mouths parted nearly in time, the taste of sweet, sweet sugar and berries on his tongue while he moaned into the kiss.
“Marry me,” he mused against you.
You kissed him harder. He returned it with fervor.
“Marry me, (Y/N).” He held you tighter. Skated his hand up to grip your waist as his other hand skated along your jaw. You felt his stubble scrape against your skin in a delicious manner. You could not think. Could not breathe. Could not do anything but melt into his arms. “Fucking marry me. Forget everything else. Forget fucking everything. Marry me.”
And as you panted into his kiss, as you ached and burned and trembled. As your stomach fluttered and tightened and your thighs rubbed together beneath your dress. As you whimpered into his searing, claiming kiss, you needn't have any extra thought about it. You breathed him. Craved him. Yearned for him. Missed him between moments you were not near him. Thought about him even when he was the most infuriating man on the planet. Found a family within him before you even knew what a family was supposed to be.
What yours was very much not.
“Yes,” you mused, nodding your head rather frantically. “Yes, Eddie, I’ll marry you.”
And your eyes locked as the kiss broke so very briefly. Eddie’s big brown eyes were wide and crinkling with a grin. They were full and emotional and raw. Bright and burning and beaming utter delight and a lust you had no hope of understanding beyond your own.
Your hand made a tighter fist in his hair. On where you realized you were wrinkling his pants beyond repair. And you pressed yourself against him harder. You needed him. In that moment, you needed every part of him. He’d just promised himself to you and you to him—you needed him. Craved him like you craved comfort and hope and nourishment and nurturing.
“Eddie, if you do not touch me, I do think I will die,” you sputtered, your chest heaving and hands finding impossibly tighter grips.
And Eddie gave you a smirk that managed to be as both soft and loving as it was mischievous and lustful.
“I was mere moments away from mentioning that we really ought to get you out of such a wet slip.” His hand skated up higher over your ribs. The thin material did absolutely nothing but infuriate with the slightest barrier as his hand cupped your breast. Warm and rough and almost touching directly. Your nipple was hard, and such a new sensation came about as he palmed you, the tips of his fingers curling around the collar of your slip. "I would be such a bad husband to leave my future wife so unsatisfied, wouldn't I?"
His nose nudged you to face forward while his lips crashed to your jaw.
“It does not count as scandalizing if we are to be married, does it not?”
“I do not care about logistics and technicalities right now, Eddie. Please.”
And Eddie grinned against your jaw before planting another kiss against it. Sloppy and burning and with a chase of his teeth, leaving the skin stinging beautifully.
“Worry not, wife,” he mused against you. His voice held a sinful edge that battled with a sweet softness to it. “I will take care of you. Always.”
And with another slide of his other hand, your eyes rolled back as his palm pressed right between your legs, the fabric of your dress cold against where you felt burning.
Wife.
Tears pricked your eyes as he held you closer. Tighter. Tenderly.
The world felt so, so right as Eddie nipped at your neck.
Edward Munson—artist, musician, friend, nephew, shop worker, handyman, social outcast.
Rake.
Eddie Munson was many, many things. He’d been those many, many things to you since you'd met in the park. You'd experienced just about all parts of him—from the imaginative to the cruel to the kind to the hurt and mourning and angry and happy. What you'd thought you'd experienced in your drawing room was not him being his rakish self. It was not the limit. It wasn’t even nearly a portion of it.
Husband. Or, soon to be, at least.
Eddie held a softness that’d not yet been tarnished no matter how much his exterior aimed to tell the world otherwise. Or perhaps it was limited to that moment, to you, to what you knew him to be between the years. From the bright-eyed child beaming up at his mother while they danced to music together in the park. As he sword-fought with you in the park and pretended you were knights in a tournament. As he rushed to you without a second thought downstairs, a kindness enveloping him as it had you when you just looked at him.
This was something else.
Entirely.
He remained the only reason you were still on your feet. His mouth was warm and soft against the wonderful contrasting sensation of his unshaven jaw. The kisses that went along your neck were not peppered or quick. They were not simply wet and searing with a chase of his teeth to make that twisting in your gut tighten.
He sucked the skin. Licked it. Hummed out groans as he left kisses that felt…personal. Intimate beyond the intimate you’d already been with him until then, those scandals feeling like mere moments compared to this.
But perhaps that was simply because it was getting harder and harder to think when both of his hands came to your chest. Feeling the one drag slowly from between your legs had felt like a cruelty when all you knew was that was where he made you feel phenomenal. That was where he had to touch.
Until he palmed both of your breasts, pulling you back against him, sucking on tender spots on your neck. The rough fabric of the soaked slip with the push and pull of his warm hands awoke something in you. There was a newfound sensitivity in your nipples that made them harder. Ache.
Eddie brought his fingers to them, and much like one would take skin to tease a friend, he pinched them. The feeling was immaculate. The sound that left you as your legs buckled was humiliating, a sound that never ought to leave a young woman's mouth lest she was hurt or ill. Much like the ones he'd already gained from you back in the drawing room.
He grinned against your neck as he did it again.
“Eddie, I do not understand—”
“You don’t have to.” He pressed a kiss to the back of your jaw while he did it again. Giving them a small tweak and a tug that had your back arching. You made many more versions of that previous vulgar sound. Your thighs felt wet from more than the rain. “Told you, I’ll take care of you.” His mouth grazed against your ear as he brought his hands back up. His fingers curled around the front of your gown. “If you thought I had scandalized you before, wife, those were tastes.”
“I am not yet your wife,” you breathed, aiming to try your best to present some sort of composure. To pretend that you were not turning into a mere puddle of a person in his arms, entirely devoted to every single touch he gave you. Every word he spoke. Every hint of attention he gave you.
He grinned against your ear even still. The tips of his fingers brushed where collar met skin. Giving you the feel of his fingers atop it and just barely against the tender skin.
“No, you are not.” His tongue flicked at the shell of your ear and it was like a jolting spark. “But I would be cruel to keep you in such a soaked slip. You’re already shivering.” His heart thundered against your back as your own stuttered much too quickly. “Future wife, would you mind if I spared you from it?”
You didn’t think he’d wait for your answer with the sly tone of voice he was using. But there was a silence following his words and a lack of movement that said otherwise. Yet words were far from you under the weight of his hands on your chest. You stared down at where they met you, stared at where he was very certainly not supposed to touch, and the thought of what lay ahead made you whimper.
“Please,” was all you could manage.
"I'll take that answer now, but after?" He dipped his fingers around your collar and did a rather well-practiced movement that you were grateful for at that very moment. "You're gonna have to tell me." His hands moved up rather briefly to pull the top of your slip down your shoulders. It was with enough force that you heard a thread or two snap, but your mind was not there as your eyes stayed glued to him. "I wanna hear you ask for me. Just like last time.”
As the sleeves pressed against the sides of your arm, as your breath caught, as you burned in his arms, his fingers were back on your collar. They did not still, then. They did not stop. And there was a rush of the sparking air within the room against where Eddie pulled the front of your slip down. As far as it'd go. As far as it would allow.
There in your chest was bare. Breasts free. Bared to him as he peered over your shoulder. As a flood of heat and embarrassment and old rules sneaking up to make you cover yourself, Eddie groaned. His mouth pressed to the side of your head with a kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around you in a possessive hug, and something hard pressed against your ass. And he groaned.
“Holy fuck, you should see yourself,” he whispered against you.
You couldn't. There was no reflection to check, but you'd yet to take your eyes off of your chest. Off of where your nipples were hard as if it were freezing cold in the room. Where his arms loosened and his hands came back up to where your dress was tucked beneath your breasts. And there…there was a brand new clenching feeling inside of you when his fingers danced light-as-a-feather paths beginning as the bottom curve. Around the sides. The tops.
Just over your nipples.
"These have been taunting me since you first stepped into my shop in these damn high society dresses." His mouth found another searing kiss to leave on a spot beneath your ear, and your eyes nearly fluttered closed. They didn't. You wouldn't let them. You needed to watch as Eddie brought his fingers to your nipples once more. No wet dress to filter the feeling, to block. "I did not do them justice in any of my sketches."
His words were a brief snag in your brain that made your heart swell and something deep in your belly flip. He drew you? Not just that, but he’d…he’d thought about you like that since your return? Even with his cold demeanor…. You would’ve called him a true rake were his fingers not laying vanquish to your words as his fingers rolled your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
Then your eyes fluttered shut.
Again came a wanton sound and a harsh, desperate press of your body back against his.
He repeated the motion. Rolled and pinched. Tweaked and tugged in an alternating fashion that made your toes curl, your cheeks burn, and a slight sheen of sweat begin to cover your body. Your thighs tried to rub together, but you could hardly stand.
“If I asked,” Eddie murmured, his breath tickling your neck and jaw. “Would you be truthful with me?”
“A-About what?”
Your teeth began to grind. The sensation on your breasts was causing more and more aches and throbs to find their way between your legs. In the spot where he’d known how perfectly to touch last time. How he made you feel like the world was coming together in pure pleasure and then breaking apart into so many wonderful, addictive, obsessive pieces. You needed it again. You needed him to show you how to replicate it. You needed him.
“In the drawing room, why did you let me go as far as I did?” He rolled your nipples again, sending yet another jolt along your spine that made it arch. “Why did you even follow me there? You had to know no good would come from it. From me.”
He cupped your chest when your breath stuttered, massaging them in his hands as his hips rutted. A roll of them that pressed that rather hard thing against you one more. His body shuddered in a manner similar to yours, and you found both of your hands clinging to where you could get on the sides of his shirt.
Why had you followed him? It was a scandal waiting to happen. It was an error you were walking into with a bright light upon it. But it…it was Eddie. You’d wanted to talk with him. Wanted to be near him. Wanted to simply have that moment alone with him where you did not have to worry about much else besides whatever was going through your head. Whatever was going through his.
And you’d wanted to know what exactly that was with his damn simple congrats.
“It…it aggravated me,” you muttered. The tiniest sliver of guilt coiled in your stomach as Eddie massaged your breasts. Ace was making his way home to presumably propose to you, and you were promising yourself to another while he undressed you. Touched you. Kissed you. “Your reaction to…to the news.”
You could not bring yourself to say it.
"Mmm. Would you have preferred me to say it in front of all there that I found it pure bullshit for you to marry fucking Ace Kester?" One of Eddie's hands slid back and wedged itself between the two of you. His fingers tugged on the small bow of your slip, and the damp fabric gave was just enough. "That you should not stand around untouched. Unsatisfied. Lacking the worship you so deserve because he can't be arsed to show it to you?"
Once the bow came loose, his hands were back on the sleeves. They were brought around his fingers as he gradually began to tug the fabric lower and lower, peeling it away from where you felt much too hot. Much too bare with every drag.
“I mean, I am far from the good you deserve," Eddie murmured between burning kisses to your shoulder, both his gaze and your own down on where your dress gave way to your waist. Your stomach. Your hips—a reveal that made your breathing hitch and stutter. "But, Christ, I will worship you."
Your dress fell to the floor in a wet heap, and you were bare. Entirely.
Vulnerable and insecure. Shaking as you shut your eyes immediately. Unable to look at what had only been bare to a handful of chosen staff over the years, and even then, you were often putting your slip on alone. No eyes to see what lay beneath.
And there was Eddie, his gaze leaving its path like a brand against your skin. Burning. Tingling. Heart-stopping and breath-stealing as you closed tight fists now around his pants. You dropped your head back to his shoulder as both of his hands came to your waist.
His mouth ghosted a soft, promising kiss to your jaw.
“Christ, you are as striking as you are haunting.” His hands skated gingerly over your ribs and then down to your hips. “You have no idea how many nights I went without sleep just thinking about you.” His fingers pressed into the tender flesh of your hips, pulling you back against him while you once again shuddered. Eyes still closed. Heart skipping another beat. “You’re a fucking muse and a curse. An addiction.”
He walked forward, moving you with him. Slow step after slow step, your eyes cracking open in frantic desperation to not only know where you were going but so you did not trip on the way. And your body, barely processing his words to the fullest, was the flame of the fire in the center of the apartment. You matched the heat as something slicked your thighs. As you started at the edge of his bed, nervous and full of pumping adrenaline, unsure yet certain.
Eddie turned you with one hand, the other skating along your lower back before resting on your hip as you faced him. An overwhelming task when you were so, so, so bare. You found a grip on his shirt that was so tight, your nails scraped at his skin through it. He hardly reacted to it while his eyes found yours, and he…pulled you closer.
Flush against him.
Chest to chest, eyes locked, arms wrapping around you in a hug that both soothed and sparked. Both hands grabbed at your ass, making you gasp and lean further against him. His jaw clenched and his chest heaved, his cheeks the slightest pink and his hands groping harder. Until you were on the tips of your toes from the movement.
“Was that it?” He tilted his head, eyes searching yours. “I just pissed you off so much you had to go speak to me. No chaperone. Late at night. Just the two of us. That was it?”
Your mouth was already parted as you gasped for breath after breath. How could he be so casual about what he was doing? No. No. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes held a longing that made you turn to mush. This wasn't casual; this was just a composure you'd yet to gain. A restraint, even, from a lack of experience.
You swallowed hard as your eyes started to fall down to his mouth, but he dipped his head, forcing you to hold your gaze with his.
"I…I knew that was not your real reaction," you said nervously. He gave another step that pushed the back of your legs against the edge of his bed. "Old you and new you, I know you, and I knew there was more beyond the sarcasm. And I…I wanted to know it." When your eyes fell to his lips again, he didn't chase your gaze. "I also really wanted to kiss you again, even though I knew I shouldn't have."
Eddie nodded. “Oh, good.”
You jerked your eyes up at the casual cadence of his voice. But he had a smirk ready. Amusement at your reaction. He even laughed. And what a wonderful sound that was. You leaned against him to feel his body vibrate with it, to feel how his muscles tensed and his hands twitched on your bottom.
“It’s a mutual feeling.” Eddie shifted, wrapping an arm around your waist before leaning closer. Leaning you back. “Because that’s what I’d been wanting to do every fucking time I saw you.”
Your back hit the bed with a smidge of force as Eddie followed you down. His mouth pressed to yours as the overlapping blankets pressed to your back, and there were brand new sensations all at once. The rough blankets and sheets against bare skin. All of Eddie’s clothing dragging along your front. The warmth and weight of him coming to rest atop you as one knee knocked against yours. Not in an accident, no.
As his mouth parted yours and your head pressed back in a deepening of the kiss, Eddie used his knee to nudge your legs open. Wide open. You tried to close them, wondering if it was a mistake at first, but Eddie quite literally put a hand against your knee and shoved it aside.
“I can’t worship my future wife if these are closed, (Y/N),” he said beside your ear. “I need you to trust me. I probably haven’t earned it, but—”
“Eddie,” you said softly, heart racing and hands gripping his shoulders like the anchor in the rough sea that he was. His expression went soft as he met your gaze. “It’s you. I trust you with my life. I've known you nearly my entire life. Of all the people I trust, you are one of the ones I do so unconditionally."
Eddie’s hand viscerally tightened before going utterly limp against your thigh. It felt…like it was shaking, but you were fairly certain that it was just you shaking. As you held his gaze, naked, vulnerable, feeling more connected to him than even the binding of marriage could bring you. You could not explain it, and maybe it was how his entire demeanor fell away into a softness, into a new vulnerability that you felt in your current state, but you reached up and touched his cheek.
There was the faintest bit of something dark smudged against it, and you wiped it away with ease. Your hand still trembled, though. Eddie’s mouth remained parted as he leaned into the touch, his eyes looking like they were going to close, but they didn’t. They remained on you, brows pinching in what couldn’t be disbelief, but you couldn’t fathom another emotion that presented like that.
“You might’ve convinced me to climb high in trees and sit on their branches, but you always held onto me and made sure I did not fall.” You swapped your thumb for your entire palm, combing your fingers back into his hair. He mewled as your nails accidentally gently grazed his scalp. “I’ve always trusted you, Eddie.”
Eddie did not say anything. He stared at you, leaving the silence in the room to grow rather large. And he…shuddered. His entire body vibrated with a soft, hardly there sigh. It did not feel wrong, but you felt heat blossom over your cheeks as the words hung not between you but around you. Together. A vulnerability you felt a tad mortified at admitting in that current state, yet particularly silly because of course you trusted him.
And then he moved. Your hand moved back in his hair as his head dipped down, and therein came the warm press of his roughly cut bangs and his forehead beneath. It was a gentle press at first before more of his weight came into it. Into you.
His breath trembled as he exhaled, a warm fanning against your lips.
"Had I not already proposed, I would do so again." He pressed a slow, tender kiss to your lips before you could respond. A desperate new feeling swelled in your chest, and it was one you were not going to let go of. "You're really gonna marry me.”
You nodded your head as the kiss deepened. It felt right. It felt good. There hadn’t been a second to second-guess. There hadn’t been a worry. A doubt. Anything. There was just Eddie. Just him. Just him.
His tongue curled and pressed to yours as a sigh snuck from you.
It was his turn to nod.
“Well, fuck.”
His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, and his hand was back to a strong, possessive grasp on your thigh, still keeping your legs spread.
“You might be better with words, but I’m still pretty damn talented with my tongue.” Eddie flicked his tongue against your lips with a coy smile. “Mind if I show you, future wife?”
Waited until you nodded. Waited until you tipped your chin up and gave him another kiss. Waited until you had both hands leaving his hair and rested nervously on his shoulders. And then, with that coy smile still intact, he moved lower.
His hands kept your legs spread as he kneeled between them just long enough to pull his shirt off.
“Let a man worship you on his knees like you deserve.”
Before you could answer, he was back atop you, pressing his lips to your chest. With the quickest glance up and a sly, teasing grin, he hooked one arm around you.
And, without warning, he wrapped his lips around a nipple and sucked.
