The Beauty Of Rose

M A N O R

XXV

I TRIED EVERYTHING I COULD—even counting blasted sheep—but it was no use.

I couldn't sleep. My mind refused to drift off. Instead, it was branded with the memory of my lips against Matthew's skin. I laid sleepless till the wee hours of morning before I decided to remedy it another way. I donned night slippers, lit a candle, and walked through the halls aimlessly. By some miracle, I managed to find the library.  There was already a small glow in the corner of the room. I slowly walked to the light. "Is anyone there?" I asked. There wasn't a response. I drew closer to the light. There my husband sat, with a book in his hands.  "What are you reading?"

"Go away, Rose."

"Don't worry," I drawled. "I won't touch you."

Silence.

I walked to the bookshelf and absently tapped my fingers against the spines. "Why are you here in the dead of night?" I stole a glance at Matthew. His thick red brows were furrowed in concentration. He looked very handsome ignoring me. "Is it because you didn't sleep? I couldn't." He flipped a page. "I tried everything...even counting sheep." I extracted a book from the shelf and sat myself adjacent to him. I opened the book and released a small laugh. "How fitting. My book is about sleeping remedies." His stubborn silence persisted. I surrendered and began to read the first pages.

Matthew clapped his book shut. "What do you want, Rose?"

"To sleep."

"Then wake a nurse for some warm milk and go to bed," he snapped.

"I'm not a child, Matthew. I'm not going to ring a nurse for some milk."

Matthew glowered at me. "Don't you want me to keep my promise?" I resisted the urge to shift under his gaze. "Dont you?" he growled..

"I'm not trying to have you break anything," I whispered.

"Horseshit." He was beginning to get flush with anger. Matthew's hand involuntarily curled into a fist at his side. A vein strained in his forehead.  The picture of an angry man shouldn't make me feel at a loss for words. I involuntarily licked my lips. "You're a liar."

"I'm not lying." The bite in his voice was starting to sink into my skin. "I don't want you to hurt me. How could I want to be hurt?"

"Then why don't you just leave me alone?" He exclaimed. I winced at the volume of his voice.

"Because I don't want to leave you, either," I whispered.

"Rose."

"The paradox of my feelings are not lost on me. We don't have to do...anything. All I'd like to do is discuss one of the characters in your novel until I feel like going to sleep. Can we do that?"

"My book is about a pauper and a princess. A sort of fairytale."

"Another romance?" I asked, recalling our last conversation about a book.

"Another romance." He stared at me, as if he could see something I couldn't.

I felt my cheeks heat self-consciously. "What?"