A Dove's Tale

Chapter 166

The hallway between the bedroom and the kitchen was remarkably free of powdered sugar, save for a few white footprints becoming more distinct as I neared the disaster zone. I took a deep breath, bracing myself, and stopped in the doorway to survey the damage.

It could have been worse. I wasn't sure how, but I knew it was true.

Stale, squished beignets scattered across the counter and fallen onto the floor; the sack of powdered sugar shoved to the back of the counter and tipped on its side, swirls within the sweet spill marking me squirming under Chevalier's tickling barrage; dirty dishes in the sink; more white footprints on the floor—Chevalier didn't like me cleaning, but I wasn't about to leave this for the servants. This was only our fourth day here. I still had to cook in this kitchen.

Fourth day? Already? Half our time here was already gone?

I shook that thought away, along with the unexpected sadness that came with it. Floors first. I'd have to sweep again after cleaning everything else, but I didn't want to trip on a beignet or slip in powdered sugar and fall flat on my face. Although that would be amusing, the prospect of spending the rest of our time here recovering from a silly injury didn't appeal to me. At least I didn't have to start breakfast right away, since Chevalier had gone back to bed.

After an hour of sweeping, scrubbing, washing, and sweeping again, I had the kitchen in an acceptable state for me to stop cleaning and start cooking. That had certainly been a mess.

Mess. Chevalier had said he wanted to mess me up. I'd heard that phrase before, but where...?

"Oh, it was Nokto," I realized.

"What about Nokto?"

I jumped and spun around, and there was Chevalier, leaning against the open doorway with his arms crossed loosely over his chest and a telling smirk on his face. My cheeks were already warm from recalling that particular memory about Nokto, and the playfulness in Chevalier's crystal blue eyes made me flush hotter as I recalled the much fresher memory of two hours ago. I'd expected him to stay in bed longer, but he looked wide awake and ready to resume teasing me.

"Nothing," I squeaked, my voice reaching an unnaturally high octave as I spun quickly away from him. I cleared my throat and tried to bring it down to the normal range. "What would you like for breakfast this morning?"

"I warned you about thinking of other men while we're here," he said, his feet padding across the floor behind me.

"I'm not," I squeaked again, changing directions rapidly to evade him and running right into his arm, hooked to wrap around my waist and yank me against his chest before I had time to throw my own arms up as a barrier between us. "Chevalier—"

"Maybe I didn't make a strong enough impression," he said, bringing his hot breath and his shapely lips dangerously close to my face. Lips that held the power to melt me into a deliriously happy puddle with a few murmured words pitched just right, breath that set my skin aflame when he—

"No! No, that's definitely not it!" I screeched, every inch of me on fire.

He chuckled. "You're as red as a tomato."

"W-well, whose fault is that?" I asked, pursing my lips in the best scowl I could muster under the circumstances. I knew from the amusement in his eyes that I failed miserably.

"Answer the question," he prompted, lowering his voice enticingly. "What about Nokto?"

I swallowed hard. "I-it's nothing, really. I-I just remembered something he said, that's all."

"If it's nothing, you can tell me."

"Um...well..." I bit my lip nervously and averted my eyes to Chevalier's bare chest, which was a mistake. He was wearing a shirt, but he'd left it unbuttoned, giving my fingers free rein to draw imaginary circles over his firm muscles and—