From the first word, the story captured him. It was about an orphan girl, overlooked by everyone around her. Inside, his chest tightened for the child as the story unfolded before his eyes.
He looked at the sleeping woman on the bed. Cordelia was not only breathtaking, loving, and full of compassion, she was talented beyond measure. His breath caught in his chest.
Without intending to, he read the next story. In it, this time the main character was a boy, the son of an affluent family. But his mother perishes and his father… The air rushed from his lungs. His father was cruel. The boy hid in an ocean cave he’d found and one day ran away to the cave. He was eventually found and beaten. Then the boy determined to run away and find real love. A family that actually cared about him. A family that loved him.
Malice’s throat closed. He hadn’t run away to a cave but the branches of a tree. And he’d made that vow so many times, the words had become like breathing. Eventually, when he couldn’t actually see any way to escape the reality of a father who beat him regularly, he’d created a new saying. Never love. That was the only way to keep from being brokenhearted.
He looked up at Cordelia again as he closed the book. He didn’t need to finish the story to know how it ended. But he couldn’t help but wonder how she’d managed to write his story. Had it been recently? Had she guessed at his past?
He held his head in his hands. In that moment, he felt exposed and vulnerable. He’d promised to share all of these details with her. How had she known them and why hadn’t she just told him that she’d already guessed?
Was she playing him for the fool?
Before he was the little boy who’d run away, who’d dreamed of a family who loved him, Malice had even been a little boy who’d wished for his father to love him.
He’d had a nanny, Mrs. Chester, who had been a lovely woman. She’d held him and rocked him, and he’d told her many times of his heart’s desire.
One night, apparently, his father overheard him say such words and Mrs. Chester had responded with generic words of comfort. “How can he not love you already? Such a good boy.”
The next day, Mrs. Chester had been dismissed. He was five at the time. She’d been replaced with Mrs. Harting. A stern woman who believed in discipline. That was when he’d given up his dream of his father’s affection and instead wished for a new family all together.
“Chad?” Cordelia whispered, barely audible in the quiet of the early morning hours. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” he called back, his own voice sounding harsh and rusty. Tiredness and emotion surely the cause.
“I’m so cold,” she mumbled, shifting in the bed.
He stood from the chair and crossed to the bed. She neither felt hot or cold. “I’ll stoke the fire.”
She reached out and grabbed his arm, even though her eyes didn’t open. “Stay with me.”
He grimaced. After the story he’d just read, he felt strange inside. But then again, he’d stayed here to care for Cordelia and they were about to marry. There was no changing that now. “All right, Corde.”
He lay down and pressed to her uninjured side. She folded into him, her head snuggling into the crook of his neck. “Stay with me always.” Then she let out a long sigh and quieted.
He was certain she was talking in her sleep. Not uncommon for someone who’d taken laudanum. He didn’t answer and she didn’t ask again, relaxing back into the bed. His own exhausted eyes drifted closed.
They were going to marry. But he had to confess, after that story, he was less certain that he wanted to. Was he opening himself up too far? Was he destined to be rejected again?
* * *
Cordelia woke to reality coming in bits and pieces. The first was the terrible ache in her hand, radiating through her arm. She winced and attempted to move, only to realize she was snug up against some large, warm object.
She snapped open her gaze to find Chad lying next to her. He was pressed against her with an arm over her torso and a leg across hers.
She had to confess, despite the pain, the position was incredibly comforting. She snuggled in a little closer and Chad’s eyes flew open. “You’re awake.”
She nodded. “I am.”
“How are you feeling?” He raised his hand and placed it on her forehead.
“Fine,” she answered, the feel of his large hand pressed to her head wonderfully comfortable. “How are you. Did you sleep at all?”
He shrugged and then rolled away from her. Immediately, she grimaced from the loss of his heat, his solid protective flesh. “I did better once I was next to you.” He stood and stretched. “Your hand? Does it hurt?”
“Terribly,” she whispered. Then she caught sight of her book. “Oh no.” She tried to sit up too but her hand twinged terribly.
“What’s wrong?” He leaned back over her and part of Cordelia wanted to beg him to lay down next to her again.