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Nope, first he took off his pants.
I remained utterly still, barely breathing, listening to the unmistakeable rustle and slide of clothing over skin.
And then came the pressure of a body on the bed.
Silar sat, then stretched out stiffly on his back. On top of the blanket and as far from me as possible.
Which was… fine. Totally fine. He could sleep however he liked. He didn’t need to come under the blankie with me and keep me company. I was a grown-ass woman, not a little kid who needed coddling.
“Aren’t you cold?” I whispered hopefully.
Don’t need coddling, my ass.
“Aren’t you sleeping?” Silar countered in a low voice. He shifted slightly, and though I wasn’t looking at him, I was pretty sure he had his hands behind his head now, the rest of his golden-skinned body splayed and…
Naked.
It wasn’t even that dark in the room with the glow of the kitchen’s oven filtering through the bedroom doorway. I could so easily roll over, get a better look at him.
I showed him my boobs today. It only seemed fair.
“I asked you a question first,” I tutted.
“No. I am not cold.”
Why had I even bothered asking? The man was like a furnace. There was more heat pulsing off of him than there was coming from the kitchen’s fire.
“Are you too hot, then?” I asked. Maybe that was why he wasn’t coming under the blanket with me. He didn’t even sleep with the fire burning unless it was winter.
“Don’t concern yourself,” he growled at me.
I chuckled, drawing the blanket around myself and burrowing down. Despite the awkwardness between us, it really was so nice to have someone to chat to before bed. It felt… cozy. Comforting. Safe. Tension began to ease out of my frame, my eyelids growing heavier with every blink.
“I can’t just not concern myself. I’m your wife, remember? Wives are great at getting all up in your business. Just all concern, all the time.” I yawned. “Isn’t it like that on Zabria?”
He didn’t answer. That was probably a stupid question. He’d clearly been here since childhood and said he never went back to visit, so maybe he hadn’t been exposed to many Zabrian couples. His own parents seemed to be a no-go zone in terms of conversation, so they’d probably died too young for him to remember what they’d been like together. It was possible he didn’t know if his mom tsked over him or his father getting too hot, or letting their ears get burned.
“I’m glad your ears are better,” I murmured drowsily.
The bed creaked as he shifted again. I felt Silar’s next words, a hot skim against my cheek, like he was leaning over me with his face very close to mine.
“Go to sleep, Cherry.”
It was hard to tell with my eyes closed, but it seemed like everything got momentarily brighter, as if a blindingly white spotlight had been fixed upon my face. Or maybe two spotlights.
“Goodnight, Silar,” I whispered.
“Goodnight...” I barely heard him through the haze of descending sleep. And I really must have dropped off quick, because it seemed like I started dreaming immediately.
What other explanation could there have been for the quietly tender, almost aching way Silar ended off his sentence? He didn’t say “Goodnight, Cherry.” He didn’t say, “Goodnight, human.”
He said, “Goodnight,” – a hushed pause – “wife.”
Nope. Definitely not real.
Oh, well.
A girl could dream. Even if that was all it would ever be.
