Twice Upon A Time (Unfinished Fairy Tales #2)(73)
And for the first time since I was transported to Athelia, joy—unadulterated, encompassing, addictive—washes over me, filling my mind, running in my veins, making my whole being vibrant and alive. I wrap my arms around Edward’s back and pull him even closer to me, not caring that my gown is riding up to my knees, my petticoats exposed and my shoes kicked to the floor. Oh, how lovely it is to be able to reciprocate. I won’t have to feel guilty whenever he flirts or tries to be intimate.
“Ahh!”
Someone shrieks, followed by a crash. Poor Mabel stands in the doorway, her hands on her mouth, her eyes as round as the moon. On the floor lie scattered pieces from a broken teapot and cups. “Oh,” she squeaks. “I’m so . . . so sorry . . .”
I roll off the sofa, tugging my neckline back into place. Geez. This is what comes from months of pent-up energy. But I love it. I love how Edward, so stiff and formal in front of most people, can be so ardent in his desire for me.
“Don’t worry about it, Mabel.” I squat on the floor and help her gather up the pieces. “It’s not your fault. I’ll pay for a new tea set.”
It takes little time for us to clear away the mess. When Mabel has gathered all the broken pieces in her apron, Edward speaks. “You need not bring a new pot.”
Mabel looks both anxious and scared. “As…as you wish, Your Highness. Forgive me—I didn’t mean to walk in on you.”
“Never mind. However, I need you to inform my parents that the princess and I will not be joining them for supper tonight.”
The maid bobs a curtsy. “Of course, Your Highness. I’m so sorry that I—”
“Next time, remember to knock. Even if the door is left open.”
When she leaves, I press my hand on his arm. “Edward, you could have used a gentler tone. The poor girl looked terrified, like you were going to fire her.”
He frowns. “I wouldn’t fire her for simply smashing the teapot.”
“I meant that you could smile a little, act friendlier, put her more at ease. You look intimidating when you don’t smile.” I try to imitate his poker face expression. “Now do you see what I mean?”
Edward doesn’t seem affected. “I see no reason to act in a familiar manner unless it is a person I am intimate with.” I am about to argue that intimacy isn’t the same as friendliness when he leans toward me and brushes his lips over my forehead. “Such as you, dearest wife o’ mine. No words are adequate enough to convey how glad I am that you have decided to stay. This merits a celebration.”
“Are you planning to ask the kitchens to prepare a private meal?” I ask, since he told Mabel that we won’t be dining with his parents tonight.
“I have an even better idea. In your world, a couple would often celebrate a special occasion by going to a restaurant.”
“You’re taking me out to dinner at a restaurant?” It’s such a novelty that I can’t keep the amazement from my tone. I haven’t even been to a restaurant in Athelia, though I’ve seen a few near The Bookworm. Our gastronomic delights are limited to the palace or a noble’s house.
“You make it sound like I’m taking you to a battlefield.”
“No, seriously, it’s just . . . I’ve been here for six months, and I’ve yet to see you go to a restaurant. Won’t we be recognized?”
He opens a drawer and takes out a pair of spectacles. “You’d be surprised at the level of anonymity I can maintain when I used to visit families with Henry. There are hundreds of thousands of people in the capital. I rarely show myself in public, and even in an event like our wedding, most people were too far away to see our faces clearly.”
I place the spectacles on his face and giggle. It does add a touch of intellect to his features. He looks more serious than usual, which is saying something.
He raises his eyebrows. “Have I become more alluring? Or are my features less pleasing to your eye?”
I kiss his nose, eliciting a smile from him. “You’re perfect either way. But I still find you easily recognizable.”
“Were we attending a party for aristocrats, I would most certainly be recognized, but going to a small restaurant downtown? I highly doubt it. Even if an aristocrat craves for food from an ordinary restaurant, he would send a servant to bring the food in a brown paper bag, instead of waiting in queue himself.”
I imagine Bianca or Claire queuing outside the restaurant, and I put the image out of my head. He’s right. I can’t imagine an aristocrat mingling with commoners downtown. For example, I’d never catch Bianca hovering near The Bookworm. She always keeps her shopping to High Street.
After Amelie dresses me in a simple but elegant gown that makes me appear more middle-class than aristocratic, I find Edward in the sitting room, similarly attired. Heck, it’s the same suit he wore when I met him for the first time, when he accompanied Henry to Dr. Jensen’s house.
“Where are we going?”
“A place renowned for its spicy food.”
Since I arrived in Athelia, I never lacked for material comfort, but sometimes I wish that the kitchens would serve something cooked in spices rather than the usual butter and cream. Growing up with Mom, I’m used to having my meat seasoned with chili peppers and my salad liberally sprinkled with cilantro. Here, in the Athelian kitchens, the most common dish is chicken sautéed in white wine and butter sauce. Sometimes, I wonder if the word ‘spice’ exists in their vocabulary, as I’ve yet to come across a really spicy dish. Edward once suggested that I ask the kitchens to prepare a different dish for me, but I’d rather not demand special treatment.