WHEN GODS SLEEP - DRACO M.

FOURTEEN.

WHEN GODS SLEEP
Chapter Fourteen

Had someone told Epione Grimaldi a couple of months ago she'd be pressed against Draco Malfoy in a suspiciously dark corner of his mansion, she would've burst out crying because how dare you make fun of her like that. Merlin, had anyone told her of such only ten minutes before, that she'd have her hands fisting locks of pale blond and his lips melting into hers like honey, she would laugh.

         And it was a good thing he seemed so intent on not letting her breathe, on nearly swallowing her whole and sending her brain into a frenzy – because otherwise she would be worrying, a lot, about how her past experiences amounted to a childish peck and five seconds of snogging Blaise Zabini. Oh no, she was thinking about it either way, wasn't she?

         Draco gave her waist a light squeeze, and the whimper that escaped her embarrassed her such, her hands instinctively fell from his neck. He held her firm in place, however, perhaps afraid she'd spot an escape route and, for old times sake, leave him a spluttering mess by oneself. 

         His voice came out raspy, yet so characteristically him she felt her knees buckle. 'I...I have something for you.'

         She looked up at him, wide eyes and swollen lips teasing him relentlessly. He stole another peck right then before continuing; her whole body turned watery and soft. And she watched him, hazy, unmoving, as he slid out one of his hands to reach within his suit jacket, and out came a black velvet box. He brought it to her hand, studying her, closing off his features in a manner she was now thinking must be his defense.

         She opened it with careful trembling hands, to reveal what was unequivocally an engagement ring, and, she realized, possibly his family heirloom. It briefly crossed her mind their earlier predicament, a very red-faced Draco at the mention of one, and she felt her shoulders sink in relief - and a tinge of regret. 

         It was fairly daintier than she ever expected, and so, infinitely so, lovely. A thin golden band with a round-cut emerald in its center, and two other small diamonds adorning its sides. It was a classic solitaire ring yet so perfect, so beautiful, everything seemed to hurt even a tiny bit less – made it feel right, in spite of all.

         She had half a mind to turn to him, to her fiance, and ask him to place it on her. And he did, he took a hold of her very unstable hand and slid it, agonizingly slow, into its appropriate finger. Then his hand lingered there, grasping its tips with only moderate strength, and focused on her yet again.

         'Does that mean you...' She trailed off, unable to find any expression to make it sound less ridiculous, less impossible.

         'Yes.' He confirmed, rather smugly too, as he seemed to slowly be returning to himself.

         There were a million questions she wanted to ask and a million more of which she feared the answer. For how long had he felt the same? Where had it began for him, what crossed his mind throughout these past months? Why was he so harsh, why did he so vehemently refuse to believe her – what would become of them now? She attempted to formulate the words, compile at least a half coherent sentence, or find a sliver of sense. She could not. She could not think properly when he looked at her like that. Like...like he too could feel the electricity where they touched and the longing, the burning ache to be united again.

         But they did none of those, no more fervent kisses or shameful whines. Instead, he spun her to face ahead and traced his fingertips along her back before resting them where they'd infuriatingly lingered for the night. Yet now she felt its warmth for what it was – reassurance.