Symphonies in E Minor

Chapter Nineteen: The Hotel

Aaliyah blinks. "There is only one bed."

Mrs. McTavish laughs, walking around her with some extra pillows in her arms, having grabbed them from a cart outside one of the rooms. The room otherwise is small and cozy, with a separate bathroom and a window overlooking the bare gardens. Aaliyah walks around slowly.

"Aye, well, you wouldn't want yer wee husband to be left all alone, now would ye?"

Aaliyah forces her eyes to Harry besides her, waiting for some type of an outburst, but he simply rubs his eye with his palm and stifles a yawn. When he looks at the bed, it's not with apprehension, but longing. As he crosses the room, he runs his hand over the mattress as if testing how soft it is.

"Is there any hot water?" he asks the woman, bewildering Aaliyah. Is that the priority right now?

"It'll be ready in a few moments. Please make yerselves comfortable. Breakfast begins at 7. Please doona hesitate to alert me if anything is needed." Mrs. McTavish holds her hands on her stomach, smiling brightly. "I'll take my leave then."

Aaliyah watches her head out, shutting the door behind her. Harry falls onto the bed and covers his eyes with the crook of his elbow. She watches his throat swallow from where he's loosened the tie. He's already undone his coat and laid it over the fireplace.

She approaches him carefully, twisting her fingers. The way he's fallen on the bed makes him take up almost half of the mattress with his spread legs. She says, "Should we request separate rooms?"

Harry raises his arm and glances at her. "We're married, Aaliyah."

"But there's only one bed."

"So?"

Aaliyah's eyes widen as she steps closer. "What do you mean, so?"

Harry struggles to sit upright, but with a grunt he manages, resting his body on his palms instead. "That woman thinks we're married. If I were you, I'd switch one of your rings to your third finger."

She glances down to her hands and takes his advice, settling the darkest ring onto her wedding finger. When she looks back at him, she sees the understanding on his face mingled with fatigue.

He rubs his eye again and murmurs, "Aaliyah. I'm not a stranger. You said it. We're together."

"That isna the issue," she says, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself. She finds the idea of sharing a bed more than enticing. "The issue is that... that I've never... What if somebody–"

"Do you prefer the right side? Or the left? Or are you one of those people who sleep directly in the middle of their beds?" Harry interrupts, standing. "Perhaps that will help you relax. Pick whatever side you are most comfortable with and I will take the other one. All I wish," he continues, slightly more firm, "is to sleep. My neck aches and my head's pounding. If it's respect you're worried about, dearest Scot, then that shouldn't be a concern between us. I respect you far too much and I will honor our boundaries. I will not touch you."

What a straightforward man, Aaliyah thinks, momentarily speechless, searching for a trace of insincerity on his face. She finds none, his green eyes clear of any tricks.

As long as nobody finds out about this, they should be fine. And nobody shall find out if they both keep their mouths shut. The coachman won't say anything. They're being paid well.

Harry must have seen the anxiety etched onto her face because he sighs. "I will make a bed on the floor if it bothers you so much."

"No!" she exclaims, stepping forward. "You're already in pain." She swallows. "You'll be upset to hear that I am in fact one of those people who sleep in the middle of the bed."