Chapter 25
Deborah was tossed into the carriage with a thud. Her head smacked hard against the wooden wall, and the pain was sharp enough to bring tears to her eyes.
“Ow…” she groaned, clutching her throbbing forehead, shooting a glare at the man lounging across from her. His gaze was hazy, laced with the blur of alcohol, his dark eyes misted like a stormy night.
She stared at Damian, her expression a mix of grievance and frustration. “Jerk…”
“What was that?” Damian suddenly leaned forward and yanked her closer.
He narrowed his eyes. “Did you just call me a jerk?”
He thought, ‘She has guts–cursing me?‘
Deborah ignored him, still massaging the sore spot on her head with a pout.
Damian’s gaze lingered on her misty cycs. ‘Is that a tear threatening to fall? Is she really in that much pain?‘ For some reason, his heart gave a slight, unfamiliar twitch.
Without thinking, he reached out and placed his palm on her forehead.
A gentle warmth spread from his hand, easing the pain that had been throbbing behind her eyes. It felt… oddly comforting.
But as the ache faded, the alcohol she’d consumed began to bubble back to the surface. Her vision blurred again, and she quickly sank into a dazed, sleepy haze.
Once he was sure the pain had eased, Damian pulled his hand
away.
Without the support of his hand, her head wobbled slightly–then suddenly, it slumped over and landed squarely on something soft and warm. Surprisingly… comfortable.
Damian looked down. Her head was now resting on his leg, her breath slow and even, her cheeks flushed a soft pink.
He wondered, ‘If she were awake and knew she’d fallen asleep using my leg as a pillow, would she still sleep so soundly?‘
He studied her for a moment. His gaze drifted to her lips–plump, dewy from wine, with a softness that practically invited a kiss. He reached out, almost absentmindedly, and brushed his finger across them.
As if sensing someone close, Deborah murmured in her sleep and turned over, wrapping her arms around his wrist. “Simon…”
Damian’s eyes darkened, but not with anger. He was about to pull his hand back when she suddenly tightened her grip around his arm.
“Simon…” she whispered again, a flicker of panic flashing across her sleepy face.
“Simon, let’s move away… I don’t ever want to see… Damian again…”
水冰冰冰冰
“Ow…” When Deborah woke up the next morning, the first thing she noticed was a distinct soreness–coming from her backside.
She sat up gingerly, wincing as a dull ache throbbed from her lower back.
“My lady, you’re awake?” Her maid Zyla Morrison hurried over to help her up.
“I… what happened to my butt?” she asked, confused. It felt sore, like someone had… hit her.
It wasn’t exactly painful, more of an ache–but unmistakably weird.
Zyla blinked in surprise. “My lady… did you hurt yourself?”
But as far as she remembered, when they returned last night, Deborah was just drunk–no injuries in sight.
Deborah rubbed her temple, her mind still foggy. Snippets of memory drifted in–someone scolding her, then flipping her over, pinning her down and. Whack!
Her face turned red just thinking about it. The images were blurry, but the embarrassment was real.
1/2
Chapter 25
“How did I get home last night?” Her last clear memory was from the banquet–she was drinking and eating, and then…
“Last night…” Zyla hesitated, unsure if she should say it. But in the end, she chose honesty. “My lady, last night… Prince Damian carried you back.”
‘That bastard?‘ Deborah shuddered. Just the thought made her skin crawl.
“What about Simon?” She grabbed Zyla’s wrist. “Zyla, have you seen him at all these past two days?”
Zyla shook her head solemnly. “No, My lady.”
“I need to go out.”
After quickly washing and dressing with Zyla’s help, Deborah left the room. It had been days since her wedding and she still hadn’t seen Simon. She thought, ‘What kind of twisted situation is this?‘
Today, she was going to get answers–no matter what.
She made her way toward Damian’s Moonview Manor, and just as she approached, à familiar figure in white stepped out.
“Simon?” she called, heart leaping.
