Finale by Skye Warren

Author:Skye Warren [Warren, Skye]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: North Security, 1001 Dark Nights, contemporary romance, Skye Warren
Publisher: Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Isabella

Last night had to be a crazy dream.

There’s no other explanation for my lady’s maid with her head between my legs and her tongue moving over parts of me that only my husband is supposed to touch—til death do us part. People have strange dreams after big events. Once I read that weddings rank in the top ten of a person’s most stressful life events. It makes a certain kind of comforting sense.

But everything else about my new room is exactly how I remember. Blue silk sheets skim my bare skin. Translucent curtains stir over the windows. The canopy drapes gracefully over the posts of my bed. Antique furniture waits for me to sit and what?

I don’t know. Tend to my wifely duties, I suppose.

Embroider something, perhaps.

The door to my room opens, and Lila comes in. Her smile is pleasant and professional. I could almost imagine last night never happened except for the knowing glint in her eyes.

My stomach twists. It was real.

Last night happened. Oh my god, last night happened.

I sit up and pin the sheets to my chest.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Lila doesn’t appear bothered by the fact that I’m still abed and covering myself with the sheets. She glides into the bathroom and returns a moment later with a silk robe that matches my room—white, champagne accents, a pale blue lining. Lila adjusts it over my shoulders like she’s done this every day of her life. “What would you like for breakfast? An omelet? Blueberry pancakes? Pain au chocolat? His grace has already shared with us that you do not eat meat, but we have many other options.”

“Oh, I couldn’t eat,” I manage to say.

She gives me a small smile. “Chef has been up since three a.m. baking. He wants to impress you. He’s a very emotional cook, so unless you want ratatouille every day for a week, I suggest you order a large breakfast and send back your compliments to the chef.”

“Yes,” I say promptly. “I’m ravenous. Please prepare a sideboard in the breakfast room.”

A small wink.

I’m stunned at how Lila moves us swiftly into my new morning routines without a hint of embarrassment. Everything she does is experienced and professional.

I try to match her energy. That’s what I was born to do. Bred to do.

To marry well, and be a good wife to my husband. To let Lila fuss with my hair and bring me clothes from the enormous walk-in closet and lick me between my legs until I’m a soaked, writhing mess if that’s what my husband tells me to do…

God.

I stand up from the chair at the vanity in my sparkling dressing room, cheeks burning. “I’ll go down for breakfast in a moment,” I announce, as if I’m calmly organizing my day instead of freaking out inside. “First I’m going to speak with my husband.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she says, hesitating for the first time since we met.

My cheeks heat. “If you could point me in the right direction.”

“Please follow me,” she says, sounding relieved.

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