A Dove's Tale

Chapter 88

My stomach was in knots the night before that red X on the calendar - the six-week mark. If all went well, I would get the bandages off my wrists and the freedom to walk out of my room tomorrow. Chevalier had been gone a few days for an inspection tour, but he'd assured me he'd be back in time for the party, catered by Yves, who had spent the afternoon with me, discussing the menu for the party. It sounded like he'd be in the kitchen all morning. And then Theresa went through everything in my wardrobe, debating what I should wear, and the doctor started the taper for my pain medicine, and there was no way I was getting any sleep. Not right away, anyway.

I tried to stay in bed. I really did.

After an hour of lying in the dark, too excited to even close my eyes, I gave up and slipped out of bed. Lighting the candle on the nightstand was tricky without bending my wrists, but I managed, and I carried it with me into the bathroom. A few minutes out of bed, and then I'd be back under the covers, behaving myself for the rest of the night. The doctor never had to know.

Or I might stay up and read for a while. He never came to check on me this late, not that I knew, anyway.

The flickering candlelight cast long, warped shadows on the white-tiled floor as I figured out how to navigate the bathroom without bending my wrists. It was frustrating enough that I almost removed the bandages myself, but I had only to picture the doctor's stern expression to chase that idea out of my head. I suddenly felt very guilty. Every passing minute made me feel more certain that this would be the night he came to check on me, and when he found me out of bed, he'd cancel the party tomorrow. By the time I got to the sink, I was rushing so much that I was fumbling with the nozzles, trying to keep the bandages dry and finishing as quickly as possible, and then a light knock at the door made my racing heart drop into my feet.

I knew it.

I turned the water off and blew the candle out, but it was too late. He'd caught me. Just a few more hours until my freedom, and I'd blown it. I dried my hands quickly, scrambling for the right words and coming up blank. There was really nothing else for it but to face him and apologize profusely. I took a deep breath and started as soon as my hand touched the doorknob.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm not supposed to be out of bed, but I-"

The words died in my throat as I realized it wasn't the doctor, but Chevalier, standing in the doorway. I bit my lip, unable to read his expression in the dark, beyond his arms crossed over his chest. Was he smirking, or was I just hoping he was?

What was he doing here?

It felt strange to stand in front of him like this after weeks of being confined to my bed. I'd forgotten how much taller he was than me. Everybody was tall from the perspective of lying down, and almost every adult I knew was taller than me, but he really made me feel small. Especially right now, catching me in the act of disobeying the doctor.

"U-um...d-did you just get back from your trip?" I asked hesitantly, warmth creeping into my cheeks as the butterflies woke up.

He stepped toward me, wrapping me in his arms and pulling me to his chest. I gasped in surprise, automatically putting my hands up between us as he nuzzled into my hair. His heart was pounding as hard as mine. I stood still for a moment, too confused to even question his presence. His embrace was tight but gentle, accompanied by the sweet smell of roses, and I suddenly realized how much I'd missed this. There was something so right, so perfect about being in his arms. I relaxed and leaned into him, closing my eyes and just savoring the feeling. He sighed and squeezed me a little tighter.

"Ivetta," he murmured, "you're supposed to be asleep."

"I couldn't sleep," I replied, peeking up at him shyly. "You're supposed to be gone."