#writtenonreceipts

Their rapport had improved dramatically over the months, and his visits were more frequent. He aimed to be a friend to Elain, and they had succeeded in building that. Lately though, there was an electricity, a current that flowed between them that felt like a great deal more.

Lucien hesitated to address it for fear of bruising the connection they already had. But something in him went taut at the thought of resuming any distance from her, worsening with each passing day.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he turned to see Elain’s profile. Her eyes were fixed on the various plants she explained while they walked, but Lucien would be lying if he said he’d learned a thing. He was busy memorizing the cadence of her voice, the shape of her mouth as she spoke. There was very little he didn’t want to learn about Elain, but he should have been doing better at learning her passions in the meantime.

“Lucien?”

Another shake of his head. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you would be interested in staying for dinner.”

“Of course, although, I would hate to impose on the court. Do you think they would be alright with me staying on short notice?”

“Oh,” she whispered, turning her head to hide the rose dust across her cheeks. “I— I was hoping you would dine with me alone. Maybe on the terrace?”

That made him stop short; as if he could ever deny her. That certain something that had begun crackling between them would never allow it.

“That would be perfect. Thank you for extending the invitation.”

He cursed the formality of his words and voice. It was as if he was accepting an invitation to a political banquet. Elain continued their walk only a couple of steps ahead and was blessedly naive to his internal torture.

“Great. I’ll have it all arranged,” she replied.

This was his opportunity to gloss things over, to remind Elain that he was capable of speaking to a beautiful female without being the equivalent of dry toast. In other contexts, they held discussions about their respective interests, even going as far as to engage in a friendly debate or two. Anytime they entertained plans with a heavy implication of something more intimate; however, Lucien's tongue turned leaden. It wasn't that he didn't want it. It was the exact opposite, and it took years worth of practice in self-restraint to avoid vomiting his desires at her feet.

"That sounds good," he offered, searching his brain for a more personable response. "I won't complain about such wonderful company."

Elain turned over her shoulder, mischief playing at her lips while she eyed him curiously.

"I wouldn't set your expectations too high, you know. It will only set me up to disappoint you."

"You could never."

"You should have higher standards for yourself, Emissary."

Elain threw a wink over her shoulder, and it struck him stupid. The delicate sleeves of her dress slipped to expose the soft, unblemished skin near her neck, and it sent a wave of goose flesh over his skin.

"I think you're making fun of me."

Elain smiled, and his heart threatened to crack one of his ribs. "I think you're quite perceptive."

Lucien wrapped his hand loosely around her bicep, trailing his fingers down until her hand was cradled in his. He turned her gently toward him. With his free hand, he tucked a lock of her golden brown hair behind a pointed ear and dared to run the pad of his thumb along its edge. Elain's throat bobbed at the contact and brought a fresh blush to her cheeks. That familiar sensation expanded in his chest again, and his next words tumbled out without permission.

"And I think—" He paused to swallow against the emotion clogging his throat, laced their fingers together. "—I think I love you."

I know I love you.

Elain didn't balk; only stood there with wide eyes and parted lips while she processed his words. His breath hitched at the feel of her hand against the fabric of his tunic, her fingers tracing the thread work near the stays. The warmth of her skin was a brand over his heart, and he swore he would feel the echo of her touch for days.

"Do you mean it?" she whispered, her voice apprehensive.

Lucien pressed his hand over hers, securing it in place. "I do."

She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, dropped her eyes to their hands, and met his again. The sun turned her eyes the color of honey and cast an ethereal glow around her head. She was stunning, her words truly did him in.

"I love you, too."