The Princess and I

Chapter XXIII: Illness

When I wake up the storm has passed and a watery beam of sunlight shines on the dusty wooden floor of the cottage. Since our fire in the fireplace has gone out, it's still quite chilly in the room. But I imagine I would have been a lot colder if my own guardian angel had not kept her promise. Christina is still asleep with one arm curled underneath her golden head and one arm loosely over my waist. I smile at her careless expression with the hint of a smile on her lips.

She looks more at peace than I have ever seen her, when we are awake. It seems the burden of loving someone she can't have only disappears, when she's dreaming. This peaceful apparition of her touches me. I have never thought her more beautiful than at this moment. I can't resist stroking her soft cheeks carefully trying not to wake her up prematurely. She wiggles her straight nose, but keeps on dreaming still. Her head turns a bit in the direction of my hand though and I slowly retract my hand.

And I know I was being selfish by keeping her here, while it was obvious to me that it would hurt her. I could not imagine what she must have been feeling, but still she obeyed me altruistically and kept a watch over me. At least I was right about that: she had kept my nightmares at bay. To be perfectly honest, I have never slept this good in my life. If sleeping with Liam felt the same – secure, safe and loved – then I could not wait even more to be with him.

I want to do something for Christina. To thank her for her selfless behaviour. And while I turn around to study her, it comes to me. I gently replace her arm from my waist to the ground and then roll noiselessly away. I search the small place for a piece of paper, canvas or papyrus, so I can draw. God is with me on this luckily, because after a little while of searching I find myself a small scrap of paper of ten by ten inch. I walk to the couch and settle down, so I can get a good look at my friend's sleeping features. I pick a bit of charcoal out of the fireplace and start to draw.

Christina wakes before I can finish though. She turns around, yawns and stretches her arms. Then she sees me and says lazily: 'Good morning.' Her gaze lingers on the charcoal I'm holding and then she laughs merrily. 'Are you really drawing me now, love? Hair still dripping. Clothes still soaking wet. Skin as white as an icicle. I look a freight.'

'Stop your nonsense. You look as pretty as always.'

She chuckles and rolls back in her starting position. 'Let's have it over with then, George Romney. It's your drawing that will look bad. It allows me to stay here a bit longer.'

'I am almost finished.'

'Take your time, love. I have all the time in the world.'

'You like this, don't you?'

She opens one eye. 'What do you mean?'

'A drawing by my hand?'

'Absolutely, though your drawing object leaves something to be desired.'

'No, my object is perfect for the job.'

'Stop flattering me. I am not worth your praise.'

'You think so little of yourself.'

'And you so much. Why is that?'

'Do you really need to ask? Lay still,' I command as she is about to rise to look at me.

She falls back on her arm again and says softly: 'I really do want to know.'

'I appreciate what you have done last night. It couldn't have been easy, but still you came to my aid.'