The Unwanted Wedding

Chapter 7--One Foot Wrong

Reyna 

I spent my hours wisely, making sure I took my time doing everything to I had less time to wait until midnight. To Vincent's inpatient despair I took longer than I should bathing, by the time he got to use the tub the water had turned cold, but I took that as karma for his whining and irate remarks. Now sitting on a low chair by the fireplace, letting the glowing fire's warmth burn though the cold air, and drying my body and hair as I sat brush it, running the comb gently through the thick mane of waves, my nightgown was long and pooled at my feet, the white floral patterns sewn in to the thistle lavender fabric with silk thread, I wide lavender ribbon bowed high under my breasts, it held no sleeves so my bare arms gladly welcomed the fire's warming blaze. 

As I threaded the comb through my hair I studied Vincent's bedroom absent-mindedly. Almost all of the walls where a ivory white, only the one behind the bed was black with silver patterns. The ceiling held fabric that draped slightly, I noticed it the first night I slept in here, and it took me a short while to realize the white drapery wasn't the solid ceiling. Hanging from it was a dramatic black chandelier, the flames of its candles glittering in the darkness of the room. Wooden stands soaring high off the bedposts held a thick peppered canopy, through the gently open black curtained window, that sat near a ebony cathedra, slivered a swirling breeze the cloth shivered and danced, exposing the towering, lofty feather mattressed bed, with it's toasty white bed covers and thick, silky furred doona cover, the thick fusion of black, white and blends of gray and sliver lay in the heavy coat, it was from a large animal like a bear or a wolf, perhaps. The decorative pillows were made of the same mellifluous pelt.

The dense, soft pillows cradled the slumbering personage, as the individual slept with a gentle snore his body seemed feverish from here, glowing slightly red tinged and lightly trickling with sweat. His light brows slightly frowned and lips parted on soft breaths. He lay on his back but curved to the right one arm stretched out as if supporting an invisible companion, the other bent as he leaned on his hand to support his head. His bare cheat moved with each breath; tight muscle stretched and bulged on the thin frame giving a more bony, lean formation than ones I imagined a man should have after seeing many sculptures. I placed my comb down on a mirrored desk that was now my dressing table; it's top litter with my womanly items. 

Closing the widow softly, then drawing the curtains, I picked up Vincent's neck cloth carelessly thrown on the leather cathedra and placing it on his study desk were he seemed to like to disregard his clothing. I turned towards the direction of the bed when a stressed murmur muffled by the restless mind of a slumberous dreamer haunted by thieving nightmares out for his resting tiredness. I softly waddled to the profuse canvas, my gown trailing around my feet like smoke on water.

"Vincent?" I whispered, knowing his stirring meant he was likely to wake.  I gently ran my finger through his cropped hair, messy with sleep. His eyes rolled in their sockets; sleep clawing him back to sleep.  

"Reyna?" He croaked, he let out a long sigh and swallowed deeply. "What are you doing?" then a less mumbled "Why haven't you gone to bed? It's so late" Sleep dripped on his every word.

I ignored his questioning, and changed the subject. "You have them every night, don't you? The nightmares?" He turned to me, and nodded drowsily. His pale eyes; glimpses of shivered glittering light through gating lids and forests of lashes. "What happens? What do you see?"

"See? Memories, past moments that the world uses to pester and tease within memory. I can be surrounded by a sea of people and still feel alone. Alone and isolated. Then I think of you. Your hand in particular, shaking my awake." He gave a soft chuckle. "I don't think I'm ready to lose you."