Page 57 of Boneyard Tides


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I put my pen down, rereading over the same words that stared back at me. I wasn’t sure if they held any truth. I loved my husband. Probably more than I should—more than any woman should love a man. I’d had friendships before. Oh, I’d had many friendships. None of which included men. I wasn’t sure whether it was just I who did not like them, or if it was because I knew he was always watching. When he wasn’t watching, it was because he knew that he simply did not need to. He knew my next step before I had even laced up my shoes.

There was a knock on the door, and I quickly shoved my pens and papers under the table, clearing my throat and wiping my hair away from my face. “Come in.”

“Ma’am…” He bowed, slowly lifting his face to meet mine. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen, and I oftentimes wondered what they would feel like on my naked body. I should not. I knew that this was frowned upon, especially in our village, but I liked it. I often thought about it when I was alone.

“Yes?” I asked softly, grasping the sides of my chair.

The wooden patterns indented the palms of my hands as my eyes came to his through the Victorian mirror.

“They are waiting for you downstairs.” I let out a light breath. They always waited. I hated that I felt like I was constantly relied on to be places. Be with people. Exist. Smile. Oh God, but did I hate smiling.

I lifted myself from my chair, patting down the large black gown. Unconventional was what he called it. It only made me find matching shoes.

“Thank you. I will be down in a second.”

He didn’t move as I swept the bottom of my dress up and held it in my hands. My bedroom was rather large. The main area of a twenty-bedroom estate, it needed to be. But with him standing in my room, it suddenly felt too small. As if the walls were closing in around me, and my skin itched from the humidity.

It was winter. And although we didn’t have cold winters, they weren’t sweltering either.

“Forgive me if I’m out of line, but—”

“—you are.” I blinked at him, straightening my shoulders. “I’ll be out soon.”

He bowed again, backing out of the room slowly before the door closed. I let out a loud breath once I was alone again, leaning forward and slouching on my knees. I could do this. I could absolutely do this. So, it was a wedding that I offered to host. I could do this.

Collecting my purse and hooking it over my arm, I made my way to the door, pulling it open, and stepping out to the long corridor. My least favorite part of the house. I should probably get it renovated. White walls held oil paintings of the both of us. Over and over again in many different positions. Mostly all naked. I stopped at the one which hung near the stairway. Encased in a black wooden frame was he and I. I often wondered if he would come back. I knew most people wanted to ask me why he allowed pictures of me with other men on our walls, but they valued their life more than they were curious, it would seem. I made my way downstairs anyway. I wasn’t sure what to expect as I rounded the corner that led to the grand ballroom. Did he even want me here? I wasn’t so sure anymore, but the worst part about it was that I wasn’t sure I cared. The truth was, I was still thinking about the deep blue eyes that haunted my dreams every night. I was almost certain he thought of mine too.

I found him instantly, and of course, he was where the women were. He could never help himself in any social situation. His eyes came to mine as his drink touched the side of his mouth. I sometimes wondered what it would feel like to have his attention. And I didn’t mean just some of his attention. I meant all of it. Even as his wife, it sounded strange to say out loud.

“You should be up on your chair, ma’am,” a voice said from behind me, and I turned to face him carefully, noting the whispers and eyes all shifting toward me.

It was almost like everyone was waiting for me to make a mistake. They all forgot why they were here. They forgot how they got here.

“I’ll be there in a second.”

The inconvenient part about being the queen had been the queen. People only ever watched what you did when you did something wrong. Tonight, the ballroom was decorated with elegant lighting and furnishings. Tables were scattered around the place with little plates filled with cakes and fruit slices and savory snacks. The waiters danced around the sea of people holding champagne glasses filled to the brim. I often wondered what it would feel like to be one of them. To be able to hide within the masses of no one knowing your name.

“Hello, wife.” His voice crept down the crack of my spine, sending shivers all over my skin.

I wanted to like him desperately. I wanted to love him desperately. But how could I love someone who would never love me?

“Hello, darling.” My hands came to his strong shoulders as I kissed both his cheeks in the air.

He hooked his arm around my lower back as he pulled me in closer until his lips touched my ear.“Choose any one lover tonight, and they will be ours.”

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as if someone had reached inside of me and pulled it out. He never knew that this was how I felt. He never would know this was how I felt because the truth was, my husband was a savage, and I knew that the moment I jumped into bed with him.

“How about we do something different tonight?” I held on to his dark eyes like my life depended on it. Because, at times, it did. “How about we take home two people? A couple?”

He brought his hand up to my cheek and circled it delicately. “So you want to play a game?” A grin pierced the corner of his mouth.

I shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone knew how to play a game, it would be my husband.

“What kind of game are you thinking?”

I should have heeded the warning signs. Sparrow Dixon was a complete and utter menace. And how did the queen marry such a delinquent?

Well, I guess we were about to find out.

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