Lan

Today’s journey was for an invitation to have tea and brunch with Ursula Danforth and considering that Ursula was just a few weeks away from being your sister-in-law, you couldn’t say no. Even if you really wanted to and you definitely did. Ursula had never really liked you and while she was usually cordial, it still showed and there was a twist in your gut that said this would only get worse with becoming her family. 

By the time the chauffeur, Antony, had stopped the car at the main entrance, it was only a couple of minutes before Ursula’s time on the invitation. That meant there was no time to say hello to Titus before being stuck to Urusla’s side, you’d talk to him afterwards, you know better than to keep Ursula waiting. Still, it would’ve been nice to have seen his face first, to hear a smug comment about Ursula and possibly a heads up about what she wants. You’re not close with her but you’re smart, have seen plenty with the High Council; she’s cold, clever, determined, and manipulative, a master manipulator. 

“Yay, you finally made it,” she says dryly. “It’s two minutes to 12 now, I was hoping you’d be here earlier but we can still start now. Come.” Ursula says as she looks at you and then turns to walk up some stairs, you follow her slowly. 

“I saw the florist yesterday, she looked frazzled,” Ursula chuckled and looked at you for a brief glance before she kept walking, the clicking of her heels against the spotless floors was the only consistent sound bouncing around. “Have you chosen flowers yet? I-” 

“Yes, lilies, mainly.” You spoke quietly as you walked with her, she was taking you through a hallway to a room you hadn’t been in before. 

“Lilies? That seems hardly appropriate for a wedding, this isn’t a funeral, they’re flowers of mourning.” Ursula’s smooth brow furrowed as she tilted her head to look at you, disapproval was thick in her voice and clearly painted in the way her eyebrows sat. 

Luckily for you, Ursula was not planning the wedding and wasn’t as involved as her controlling hands itched to be. Chester’s requests were to be honoured, of course, but you’d been surprised at how inoffensive and mild they were for the second wedding, the one that would look more normal for cameras and guests. A different memory your brain could try to cling onto. You hadn’t said it as bluntly but you didn’t care about the first ceremony, that was so shrouded in tradition and cultish devotion that it wouldn’t have been worth trying to advocate for any changes, you lacked the time to want to fight a losing battle so it was easy to accept that as it was. But you didn’t want to be pushed around for the second ceremony, it needed to at least have a few elements of what you wanted. 

It was very quick into your talks with Titus that he said you could have whatever you wanted added into at the ceremony or reception, that if there was anything you wanted followed, everything would be sculpted around it. The only things he felt strongly on were his attire for the day and the guest list, which exposed him for how petty he could be. Titus had already spoken to Anna, your planner, about you having final say over everything to do with the wedding. Something you were glad for. “I like them, there’s a delicate but strong beauty to them. Titus and I already agreed on it.” You keep walking near her, avoiding her hazel eyes. 

 It wasn’t something that you’d technically agreed on, it was a detail you hadn’t talked much about with him. But the first time he’d gifted you flowers, it was a bouquet of lilies, it had been thoughtful and fitting, you allowed yourself this sentimental detail that nobody else would know of. Nobody would be able to sniff it out as a weakness or something to pocket away only to draw it out later as a weapon, Ursula would just think this was you being weird. The florist had the details and if Ursula tried to poke her head into what was going on and spoke to Titus about it. Even if you’d chosen the ugliest bloom and not said a word about it to him, you knew he’d take your side over Ursula’s, maybe out of a strange fondness and also for love of the game, game being, pissing his sister off. 

“I tried giving him a list of options and he wouldn’t listen.” Ursula sighed and rolled her eyes, even the clicking of her heels sounded as irritated as her eyes looked. “You have to show me your dress too, I can’t believe you chose something else, I’d been curating-”

“Maybe save the list for your wedding, and I’ll show you a photo,” You decide to cut her off then, you don’t find Ursula very endearing on the best of days, there’s no way you’re going to be lectured on wedding dresses by her. Especially not after the last fiasco of wedding dresses, you’d been Ursula’s doll to try on silk and lace in every shade on the white spectrum. It had been emotionally and physically exhausting, it wasn’t something you had wanted to repeat. So you’d made the very wise and valid decision to have a private fitting with a couple of your close friends that weren’t tangled up in devil cults, it had been a much nicer experience. There was some awkwardness with coming up with a reason why you were all of a sudden engaged to a man they’d never heard of, let alone met. That hadn’t been as much fun as the rest of that outing. 

Ursula frowns at your words, she shoots you a glare before turning back to face forward and opens a door, walking into a large sitting room you’ve never been into before. Velvet furniture in softer pinks and reds, it’s a colour scheme that grabs your eye and feels not quite right when you look at your future sister-in-law and think of the rest of the mansion, but you don’t say a word. 

“Sit.” Ursula says as she gestures to the multiple seats and takes one for herself. Once you’ve sat down it’s only seconds before there’s a maid walking in with a tray of tea and coffee. Ursula looks at you quietly for a moment, analysing every feature and flaw. Her voice is almost softer when she talks, a tone that you’d imagine she uses with her friends. You weren’t sure if she had any friends. “Titus said you like tea.” 

“Yes, thank you, that’s kind of you to remember.” You nod, offering her a small smile before looking at the tray and setup of spoons, milk, and sugar in front of you. 

“He doesn’t like it when I ask about you. He gets extra snippy… And he’s already so short-tempered.” She sighs then and crosses her ankles while meeting your eyes. Her hazel irises have a more green sheen today, they’re pretty. 

“Is that why you extended an invitation?” You tilt your chin and watch her eyes, but she’s been raised to be just as cool and composed as you were, if not more. 

“Not at all.” She gives a slight shake of her head and her smile grows, it’s the exact one you know she flashes. “You could still technically walk out, the wedding’s four weeks away.” Ursula says before lifting the porcelain teacup up and taking a sip, she speaks so casually. 

“No, Mr Le Bail has given his approval,” is all you say, keeping your voice soft, not too defensive but firm enough. Your eyes narrow a little at her but her eyes stay that perfect manipulative calmness that is 80% of her persona. 

Walking out of this agreement would be disastrous in every way possible, something Ursula would know. But of course, if you broke the contract it’s you and your bloodline that would carry all the consequences of upsetting Mr Le Bail and the High Seat. Anyway, there’s something oddly comforting about Titus, if you’re going to have a husband, it may as well be him. It means there’s no hunt, so you don’t have to worry about any blood being spilt that would only be on your hands, regardless of who fired the shot or stabbed their knife in.

It helped that Titus had a soft spot for you compared to the rest of the world and that he was handsome, a fact that you were quietly becoming more comfortable admitting to yourself with each day closer you were to becoming his wife. But you wouldn’t dare speak that aloud to another soul. 

“Hmm.” Ursula quietly hums while stirring the teacup with a melodic movement before meeting your eyes again. “Mrs Danforth is a heavy title to carry. You’re going to need help and Titus… I love him but he can get into the most dreadful moods.” She offers you a smile that you’re sure she thinks is reassuring, but instead it borders on saccharine. An attempt to placate and manipulate, the Danforths excel at manipulation, you’re not stupid. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times.” 

“That’s a very sisterly display of concern.” You choose your words carefully, dealing with someone like Ursula you think it’s best to give as little as possible. The less they have in their arsenal the better for everyone involved. 

“Titus chose you because father wanted heirs…” Ursula says in response, she isn’t meeting your eyes, her own are gazing off to the side she seems somewhat uncomfortable before she looks back at you for your reaction. You’re taken aback but slowly nod, calmly blinking away the shocked wide eyes that came out for a few seconds. 

It’s nothing surprising but it wasn’t the direction you expected today’s conversation to go in. Heirs were one of the many but considered greater responsibility for those in the High Council and would only be considered more important for the family that was headed by the High Seat. But this is the first time children with Titus has been brought up since your father told you of the arrangement and that had been a brief mention, taking up no more space than that of a footnote. Children wasn’t a topic you really wanted to talk about with any of the Danforths, you tried to keep your face composed to hide the strangeness of her wanting to have a brunch with you to talk about this aspect of all things. 

“I don’t know if you appreciate how serious this is?” Ursula’s eyes focus on you now, her teacup makes a light clinking noise against the saucer as she places it down on the table in between the two of you. There’s something in her eyes now that you haven’t seen before, they’re a bit wider and glossy. It makes you uncomfortable to see her like this. 

“Ursula-” 

“I can’t have kids.” Ursula says to you flatly and it surprises you, this was not a conversation you were expecting to have with her but you stay silent. Her voice is flat but you can tell there’s a degree of hurt in there, her eyes are avoidant and her posture is too stiff. You’re imagining that this is her choosing not to and you don’t blame her, you only nod quietly, giving her your full attention.

“I don’t know if you remember mother well… But we’re alike in that way, motherless, a strong father and left with a brother. But you’re not a twin so that’s different.” She gives a dismissive shrug and you silently listen and watch, you can tell there’s more she wants to say. “I hadn’t thought about it for so long, I thought we were untouchable, that I’d always be. Even though it took her.” Ursula sighs, she blinks away and you look at her, thinking of Eleanor Danforth, Titus and Ursula’s mother, Chester’s wife, the only Mrs Danforth you’ve known in her life. 

“I inherited the BCRA1 mutation, we were going to remove the ovaries and fallopian tubes as preventative care but they picked it up. It was already starting,” Ursula sighs and you listen patiently, giving her your full attention. “They picked it up earlier than her and it was so early compared to her, it was too aggressive to her” “Yeah,” you whisper with a nod and then gently move some tissues closer to her. “So they did a hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy, my uterus, ovaries, they’re all gone. I didn’t freeze my eggs or anything anyway.” She looks into your eyes, there’s a sad smile on her face, one that doesn’t meet her wet eyes. 

“Ursula, I’m so sorry,” you say softly, your eyes widening. You could only imagine how terrifying a diagnosis like that would be. 

“Titus doesn’t know, father doesn’t either,” she looks at you with a perfectly calm and collected face when your forehead furrows at that revelation and her effectively sharing a secret with you. “It’s a boys club. There’s still a glasshouse in penthouses and villas, and in the High Council.” She gives an almost dismissive shrug with one shoulder and looks at you but you can tell she understandably doesn’t want this dismissed. 

“That’s a lot to have gone through by yourself Ursula, when did this happen? You don’t have to answer or say more if you don’t want to.” You look at her and adjust your sleeves as you do.  

“Three years ago. Father’s maybe had someone look into it, the practice was very discreet but I don’t know, it leaves it all to you and Titus… And I worry for you. You’re hard to figure out, the quietness, it makes you seem soft,” you know the word she’s thinking of is not soft but rather weak. “But then you fling a knife perfectly into a neck and win the heart, defy father too while you’re at it.” Ursula chuckles and moves her perfectly manicured hand. “Future Danforths, children of his, they’ll need softness. And take this talk seriously, father won’t be pleased if it doesn’t happen while he’s still alive.”

You look down at your hands and then back at her for a second. “How has your recovery been?”  “Good, I was a lucky one… Most aren’t.” Ursula says it firmly before she reaches for another slice of brownie. You know the words are unfortunately true, it’s an extremely deadly illness that is often diagnosed far too late. 

“I’m glad it was detected early and you were able to have the surgeries.” You give her a small, real smile. “Is there anything I can do?” “No, it’s fine, just don’t tell Titus.” She says and sips her tea. Maybe it’s Ursula stressing the importance and severity of the upcoming marriage, a test to see if you’ll run your mouth to Titus, or just her needing to tell someone. You really weren’t sure if she had any real friends, or if it was all acquaintances that she kissed on the cheek at fancy galas. Maybe it’s a mix of all of them but you nod. It’s big and it’s not your health, so it’s not your news to tell. 

Titus was more than aware of you being cursed to a day with Ursula’s company. He didn’t envy you in the slightest and he felt a tingling of concern for you in the back of his mind, he knew Ursula wasn’t your biggest fan and that she’d have a list of ulterior motives clutched in her hand. She always did, she was a Danforth. 

Spending the day hunting out on the estate was a way to pass time that Titus usually enjoyed, but it felt more flat today, he didn’t get the same rush when tracking or constantly trying to take the shots that screamed for attention. It was a nosiness to know what Ursula was trying to say to you, what you’d think of that and what you’d think in general. That consumed him a lot. 

The thought came quickly and it was one he couldn’t ignore, there were ways he could get you to have a break from Ursula, he could trip over a stick and need a doctor to check him for a concussion and ask for you. That was just how Titus’s mind worked rather than a million other ideas that did not include faking or playing up an injury. 

A butler named Hugo quickly guided you through the halls that were part of a maze you knew you’d be spending the rest of your life navigating. Hugo had obviously been there long enough to expertly weave through them, it was strange to think that maybe in just a year or two you’d have that same ease and familiarity with the estate. It unsettled you a little, as you walked with an anxious energy fluttering around your body, you didn’t know what to expect but were worried. Ursula hadn’t been that fazed and had really only rolled her eyes at the interruption. 

Hugo eventually led you into a large wing of the house, one you hadn’t been in before and with a knock on the bedroom door, he then waited for a moment, hearing the voice of the doctor, you presumed. The door was opened for you, you said a quiet thanks to Hugo and then stepped in. Titus laid on the bed, you could see on his face that he was irritated and already over whatever the doctor was saying. When you saw his face he looked conscious, much more conscious than you were expecting. 

“Titus?” Your voice had a slight shake on the second syllable as your eyes roamed over him for wounds and bruises, searching for the obvious signs of something being wrong. His hazel eyes land on you and immediately soften, every trace of irritation that lived in his eyes for the doctor quickly evaporated. 

“Dr O’Connor, this is my lovely wife.” Titus said as he looked at you for a moment and then smiled at the doctor. “I’m sure you can see her loveliness but of course, don’t look at her, she’s too wonderful for your eyes.” He then sighed dramatically.  “Fiancée,” you correct in a shy whisper, now standing so much closer to him as your eyes roaming over him, still searching for something wrong and seeing nothing. You don’t want to sound ungrateful and know it’s an odd thought but he looks far too comfortable for someone going through a hunting emergency. Far too conscious, it makes the anxious wave of flips your stomach had been going through subside into something else, something you can’t name but is its own brand of discomfort. 

“Semantics.” He rolls his eyes and then sighs, he moves a hand out and waits for you to put your hand in his which you do with your own sigh. “We could just get married right now, I’ll summon the Lawyer and then if I die from this you’d be a widow. Not just a fiance of some remarkably handsome but dead guy.” 

“Titus!” You look at him with wide eyes and your brow furrowing, he can see you’re not pleased with this and he sighs, looking at your face and then the doctor’s for a moment, his thumb runs over your knuckles in soothing circles. But it does little to soothe how your body is still swimming in anxiety from all of this and now flipping into everything being okay… It’s too much for your brain and body on a good day, let alone a day in this house.  

“You’ll be a classy widow one day.” He says, slowly blinking and rubbing his fingers over your knuckles still, it’s clearly soothing him more than you. 

“Does he have a concussion?” You frown more and look away from Titus’s face to the doctor, your voice firm but a waver of uncertainty.  Dr O’Connor looks at you for a moment, doing his best to avoid your eyes and make his look as brief as possible because Titus is someone with moods worth fearing in his experience. But he shakes his head and you sigh. 

“No, he passed the neuro exam with flying colours.” 

“Oh…” You frown as your gaze stays on the older man who looks just as exhausted as any health professional would be after dealing with Titus Danforth. With a sigh, your gaze goes back to Titus, you don’t know what else to say and this feels closer, more intimate than you’re used to with him. He’s lying there, like he’s on death’s door and it’s so melodramatic and you realise, that’s just so Titus. What is there to say to him or the doctor? Nothing. So you look at him a little shyly, thinking over words and avoiding his eyes. You start to push back his short curls and smooth them down, his hair’s soft, it shouldn’t surprise you but it does a little. 

“I’ll visit later and  leave you to rest now Mr Danforth.” Dr O’Connor says and quickly leaves the room, probably with a mix of glee and relief all over his face, you’re sure. 

“Asking about concussions but you haven’t even offered to kiss my booboo better,” Titus says with a melodramatic sigh while laying on the bed. 

“... Do you want a kiss to feel better?” You ask, your cheeks heating up a little as you look at him, this grown man being pathetically moody. 

“ I’d be appreciative of one if you wanted to oblige. But don’t because you think you have to or just because I want one.” He says, avoiding your eyes, his words coming out an awkward flow. 

It’s almost endearing to see him see like this, you decide that’s the feeling in your chest as you look at him. You just look at him for a moment, still holding his hand, you move to perch yourself on the edge of the bed for a seat. “Are you even hurt anywhere?” 

“My head hurts,” he says quickly. 

“Oh? Where?” You ask and tilt your head down, pressing a gentle and quick peck to his forehead, right next to his impressive hairline. “There?” “Yes, but it was only a headache there. My cheek is probably bruising… I think it was banged into something.” He looks at you and while his eyes look amused, his tone and the line of his mouth is so serious. It brings out a small chuckle from you and he just raises an eyebrow still so serious. There’s not a single sign of bruising or any kind of discolouration, he’s being a little shit but you tilt your head and will indulge him. 

“Left or right?” 

“Left,” he says with a small smile, his lips quirking up more with a delighted smirk as you press a gentle kiss to the middle of his left cheek. Once you lean back and watch him, you see his cheeks being dusted in a rosy pink. “Oh, I meant the other cheek.” “The other one?” You raised your eyebrows at him. 

“Yes, my right one. I get them mixed up,” he smirks with a rosy blush on his cheeks and a matching tint on his ears as he speaks in such a serious tone. 

With a playful sigh to show you then lean your head down to peck his right cheek, letting your lips sit there for a second before watching him. You can appreciate the pinkness that Titus is now sporting but your own cheeks have heated up a little and you hate that something as simple as this can spark a warm, silly reaction in you. “Liar. Now don’t even think about saying your lips or mouth hurt.” 

He chuckles. “I’m not a liar and it does but I’ll live. I’m feeling pretty revived already, maybe you can replace Dr O’Connor.” He smirks and rolls his eyes, watching your reaction. 

“What happened?” You asked as you looked at him, this was all so curious, you knew he wasn’t clumsy, you knew he was athletic. 

Titus shrugs and then changes the topic, he says “Did you get the hydrangeas?” 

They’d been pretty, another large bouquet delivered to sit in a vase for you to look at and think of him. There was a new bouquet every week, and while you wouldn’t say anything to avoid making your cheeks heat up, you were still drying to dry at least a bloom from most of them. “Yes, thank you. They’re beautiful, they dry so beautifully.” You added on without thinking too much about it, and when you look at his face he doesn’t seem to take in that last bit. He nods, no curiosity or smugness so you smile a little. 

He takes your hand back and presses it to his head. “You should stay tonight, you don’t have to stay here.” He whispers and closes his eyes as your fingers start to play with his hair, it's a touch that soothes him. You find it more satisfying and relaxing than you expected you would as you sit and look down at him. 

“What did Ursula want?” He asks after a while. You blink for a moment before speaking. 

“Just to lecture me about the wedding, she criticised the floral arrangement, how they’re lilies and that’s a death flower.” It wasn’t a lie but you thought it was best to leave out her comment on his “moods” and to not share what she disclosed about her health. It wasn’t your place to disclose something about her health, that was Ursula’s decision and her decision only. Her eyes had shone genuinely and you could only imagine how terrifying it was to hear the words so similar to the ones her mother would’ve received as a death sentence. If Ursula chose to never share it, it was something you’d take to your grave. You looked at Titus, you hated to admit that there was an inkling of you that knew this wasn’t just her forming a connection but also likely a bit of a test. 

Titus hummed, he knew she’d say that about lilies, he’d heard it before but he didn’t care he liked them and most importantly, you liked them and it was your wedding. If there were a million lilies you wanted delivered, he’d make it happen. You watched him as he napped and rested from whatever it was that happened. There were much worse things to do than be sitting in his room, on his bed and playing with his hair.

It’s just after seven in the morning when you wake up, there’s a chill nestling into your bones but you always feel a coldness when you’re at the Danforth estate. Walls are frozen, a coldness that sinks itself into every piece of furniture, clinging to any object and surface area. It’s too cold and quiet so you slip into the ensuite to take a hot shower to wake yourself up and to try and get some warmth back into your bones. Once you’ve showered, you dress quickly, grateful that you actually did end up packing a sweater in with your clothes. It’s another layer of warmth but even as it sits on you and presses against your frozen bones, it’s not enough to fight the cold. 

With quiet footsteps, you abandon the guest room and trace your footsteps back to the room that you know now will be where your Titus is. You give a single, light knock and then decide to open the door, there’s a chance he might be awake or not want his room drawing attention from the staff or others. 

Titus is a light sleeper, it’s the only way someone with his upbringing could’ve been raised - trained - to survive everything the followers of Mr Le Bail must. Sleep is precious and necessary, but you can never be fully vulnerable, you need at least a small part of yourself to always be alert and aware. If it was someone else opening his door, he’d probably get up immediately and punish them for such an act, but not with you. He doesn’t even need you to take two steps into the bedroom before he recognises the sound of your footsteps, quiet, cautious, thoughtful, evading attention, whispering to not be perceived. You’re doing your best to navigate around the room and to hopefully not disturb him, even though you know he probably is a light sleeper. But he only blinks once, his right eye opening for the shortest second to ever exist in time before closing it again with a small smile he smothers into his pillow. 

You catch it and your cheeks heat up at being caught, but you knew you would, you are surprised though at how he just closes his eyes again without a word. As if this is natural, completely normal for the two of you. It makes your head spin and you inch closer. 

“Aren’t you cold?” You whisper as you look at him, walking over to sit on the edge of his bed. There’s not much space between the two of you, Titus shifts onto his side more and shakes his head tiredly, his eyes staying glued shut.

 His injuries yesterday might need checking, or he might be sick and dealing with a body temperature being out of sorts. His injuries were superficial at best, just a couple of small scratches from when he fell.  You have to remind yourself of that and the fact that he is that unhinged and dramatic he played them up to get some physical affection from you. He’s fine but you still have a voice of anxiety in your brain saying he could be sick if he’s not as affected by the ice in the air. A second later you place your palm to his forehead to check his temperature, it feels normal, comfortably warm without burning up. 

“Fuck!” The contact of your hand and the coolness of it, makes him flinch his head back slightly and his eyes open wide, he tries to blink away sleep quickly as his hazel eyes focus on you. “You’re freezing!” 

“Sorry, I was just checking your temperature... It's so cold here.” You say quietly, having already pulled your hand back from his forehead and now holding your hands together in your lap, looking down. 

Titus can see that you already have a jumper on, but either your room was poorly heated up or it’s just a coolness he’s used to. “Go into the walk-in, there’s gloves in the top left drawer of the dresser. You’ll see scarves, sweaters too, help yourself to whatever pleases you, then come back.” Titus says, tilting his chin to his large walk in wardrobe and keeping his eyes peacefully closed. 

You give him a small smile at that and only afterwards realise how silly that is considering he isn’t looking at you. “Thanks, Titus.” You speak softly, your voice feeling a little funny as you go to his walk-in wardrobe, it’s another window to look into the world of the man you’ll marry, and it’s quite an intimate one. There’s still a sense of something being off or wrong to be in his personal space like this but you don’t say anything, Titus wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t want you to see this or borrow his things. Some people would offer and not mean it, hoping that you’d decline it, Titus was not one of those, he’d rarely offer anything to most people, he wouldn’t care. So if he offers something, he means it, it’s a strange but maybe reassuring truth to have about the man that put the heavy ring on your finger. 

Every item of clothing is hung or folded so tidily, sitting in a system that you can quickly recognise parts of but it’s something that isn’t yours. Not yet at least. There’s a dark wooden dresser that you step towards and open, there’s a dozen different pairs of gloves. And you can see scarves and some sweaters and coats hanging. 

You tilt your head to look around, it’s an organised sea of dark colours, consisting mainly of shades of black and grey, with some blues and greens sprinkled in. The room smelt clean, it was extremely tidy and more than spacious. You ran your hand over a thick dark green sweater that was hanging near the dresser, you touched the sleeve and couldn’t help but catch a whiff of it. Clean but there was a woody scent that clung to it, it made you wonder what his usual cologne was. Or if he was someone that cycled through a few different ones, it was weird to come to the realisation that you’d have the answer and that it was something you’d become acquainted with in the near future. 

There’s an awkwardness that takes hold and keeps you still in the walk in, the intimacy you’re starting to broach isn’t lost on you. In a few weeks there will be a wedding with flowers, flowers that your sister-in-law will hate and then your life will be based in this house with beautiful architecture but the gloomiest walls you’ve ever been enclosed in. A life on the Danforth estate stirred a lot of different feelings for you, but none were very pleasant. There was a feeling always coiling in your stomach, part of this life felt familiar in a way you couldn’t grasp or tell anyone else. Just always waiting with the sense that something was going to happen, but completely unsure of what that something was exactly. Not even if it was a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ something. The only soothing thought was that you didn’t feel as on edge when around Titus, there was something about him that felt safe and stable, you didn’t know what to expect of this arrangement and what it would be like to be a wife - his wife - but that calm seemed as good of a first step as any. 

It’s colder in the walk-in wardrobe, a shiver runs down your spine and your skin is covered in goosebumps all over, the chill grounds and reminds you of why you’re in here. A small sigh comes out at the thought that Titus might be timing you or thinking it’s weird how long you’ve been in here. Another jumper on top of this one seems like overkill, so you just pull out the pair of gloves on top in the drawer and then a scarf, even if that seems a bit unnecessary. The gloves don’t fit perfectly, but you can wear them as another layer of warmth to appreciate and aid you against the cold haunting rooms of the Danforth estate. 

Titus can hear your delicate footsteps walking out and back to the bed, he shifts and wordlessly pulls the covers of the bed back, waiting for you to sit back down. No words are exchanged as you sit down on his bed, it’s large, plenty of room to sprawl out yet he seems set on staying close to you. You sit on the bed and look at his little curls as you lean back against the headboard. 

Blinking his sleepy eyes he looks at you, there’s a tired but very pleased smile on his face. He looks at the gloves on your hand, they don’t quite fit right but they’re his and they’re keeping you warm, so it’s completely perfect in his eyes, he starts to rub a thumb gently over one of your gloved hands. You look adorable with his scarf wrapped around your neck and it makes him smile more, he’s more determined now for your honeymoon to be somewhere cold. You’d look adorable bundled up in layers and maybe you’d even want to cuddle him, being enticed by the bonus of the body heat. He’d create a fort of warmth for you if it meant you gave him that shy little smile that graces your lips and being able to see you wrapped up in pieces of him. 

Your cheeks heat up more as Titus shifts to pull the blankets and covers on the bed back up, pulling them up high on you and practically tucking you in. You hold your breath at how gently he touches you and the bed as he does this, it ignites a few sharp sparks in you, part of you wishes you could disappear and not be perceived but another part can’t help but smile and be endeared with how tender and respectful he is to you. 

“A butler is coming up to light the fireplace too, I requested it while you were in there.” He says as he looks at you, sleep is still in the corner of his eyes and they look softer than usual, the puppy eyes and sleep tousled hair makes you smile and you nod whispering your thanks as he shifts and adjusts the scarf around you as a middle-aged man lights the fireplace for you both and leaves. Titus doesn’t remember his name, he has the rude habit of not bothering much with that, something you’ll be horrified to learn in a few weeks time. 

Once he’s satisfied with your scarf, he moves his hands to your chin for a moment, rubbing it and then shifting to lay on his side, pressing into you. Even through the fabric between you from exposing your skin, you can feel the movement of his breath against you and it makes you smile. He seems so peaceful compared to usual and so you don’t want to disturb it, there’s a bubble around you and you want to do anything that will keep it intact, for it not to be popped even though you know it eventually will. 

“I need some more beauty sleep, I take the responsibility of maintaining this face seriously. You’re already prettier than possible, but you can nap too, if you want.” He says and your cheeks heat up more, his fingers leave your jaw and he turns his head to lean against you. You let out a small chuckle at his words and nods. 

He’s pressing into your arm now as he lays on his side, he finds comfort in being closer to you, it’s easier for his mind to rest, his jaw to unclench as he’s close with you. Tentatively, you lift your other arm so your gloved hand can keep playing with his curls, he relaxes, you can feel it in his breathing, even if he doesn’t say anything. 

“Titus?” He hums in an acknowledgement and your smile only grows at just how sleepy he is. “How’s your head?” You whisper soft tones and words as you twirl a short lock near his forehead. 

“Fine… There’s nothing wrong with it.” He murmurs, pressing his face into your side, already half asleep. 

“Of course.” You whisper with a small smile, you knew he had made up yesterday’s “head pain” but you find it amusing that he’s forgotten his game while half asleep and itching to sleep next you.

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