Storm Reawakened

Mistakes, Roses, & A Two-Faced Duke

I just never learn.

Groaning, I tumble out of a rickety wooden bed and crawl to a full length mirror. Standing, I take in my rag-doll meets the Exorcist appearance then smack long locks out of my face. The harsh faint lighting in the room cracking through thin curtains is all the convincing I need to crash back into bed and deal with Evara's problems and her post-drinking look later.

Now snug underneath sheets, I hug a pillow and begin to close my eyes when a hand extends forward and grabs me by the waist. Shifting my head, I take in Hawthorne's beautifully disarrayed features and try to worm my way out of his grip.

"He's going to blame me for all of this," I grumbled, wanting to escape. My head hurts so much from drinking wine that I can't even remember how we ended up in this room and in bed together no less.

If I slept with the man—and technically this would be the second time—and don't recall it, then I'm committing my life to celibacy (wait, is it too late to do that now?) and shaving my head in honour of sobriety.

"Stop resisting."

Stilling, I glance sideways in shock and meet tired eyes that crinkle with mirth and a blinding smile.

"You're awake?" I said, heat instantly flaring to every inch of my body.

"No thanks to you. You make it impossible for a man to sleep."

Okay, Blair. Don't get it twisted. It doesn't have to imply what you think it does, and even as I tell myself this, R18 images trapeze across my vision and I blush even deeper than before.

Evara's body is all curves and seduction but that doesn't mean I kept the man up all night with it...does it?

"Umm, look Hawthorne. I don't remember anything," I squeaked, closing my eyes in a feeble attempt to reign in yesterday's memories.

Sighing, Duke Hawthorne rolls over to prop his head on a hand against the pillow next to me. The proximity has me widening my eyes since I never thought he'd be so relaxed and unreserved around Evara. Especially not shirtless.

"I'll summarize yesterday to the best of my abilities, but just know. Everything is the absolute truth and I'm not making anything up."

Oh?

"After we finished at the market, you said you didn't want to go home and blindly walked into a guild where you became friends with a dragon slayer."

I go ghostly pale in silence. There's dragons in this world? Oouuuu and aahhhh.

"Him and his company were so amused by a woman of nobility taking such an interest in them that he offered to buy you a drink. So off you went with them, drinking until you were laughing and crying about something called nuggets and offering to sing ballads off key."

"And you didn't try and stop me!" I exclaimed with dread.

He snaps his eyes at me, frowning at the accusation before continuing. "I did. And it was clearly a mistake. You sobbed to the company that I was forcing you to marry me in a ceremony you didn't want. So the slayer asked if you loved me, and you replied that you didn't know, but that—and I quote—liked my pretty face. One thing led to the next, and while I was trying to deal with you throwing your guts all over the place and swaying like a drunk sailor, they managed to force us into a chapel, where we exchanged vows."

"And here?" I questioned, pointing to the room.

"You were so inebriated, and had released all your insides on both our clothes that I couldn't take you home. Besides, we're married now so it doesn't matter."

"I'm sure it's not legitimate," I mumbled, massaging a temple.

He smirks, a dark look crossing his face. "No, sweetheart. It's all very legitimate. You're now Evara Hawthorne and we're married four weeks too early."

Startled, my eyes widen. "It was a mistake!"

"Was it?"

"Why didn't you stop me? You could have dragged me like a sack of rice and forced me home. That would have been the decent thing to do!"

"I suppose..."

"You suppose? Hawthorne, you look like you could carry at least two men twice my size. So why didn't you?"

"Maybe because I was accused of being a heartless Neanderthal. I apparently have a heart of stone formed by a witch and suck the blood of innocents according to you."

"You took the words of a drunk seriously?"

"It made me realize that if I plan to keep you in the capital instead of running away—"

"I SAID THAT?"

No no no no noooo. He wasn't to know that I planned to run away on our actual wedding night. I was developing cold feet and couldn't trust the man next to me. He wears politeness like a mask, indifference is his game.

Languidly getting out of bed like a work of art, Hawthorne gives me a hard, menacing smile. "I can handle a lot of things, but I won't be insulted twice. Nor will I be left at the alter."

"You're being paranoid," I gritted out.

"Am I? I'm trying to do what's right within the bounds of duty and you keep managing to surprise me at your refusal to go along with it."

Rising with growing anger, I place my hands on my hips and watch him raise an inquisitive brow at my fuming. "What the hell are you talking about? No one owns me, Hawthorne. I'm just trying to avoid death! Is that so difficult to wrap your thick head around?"

"You might think that but..." he trailed, getting dressed. I'm thanking all the greasy chicken nuggets I've consumed in my life that he's wearing pants. If we're going to be sleeping together, I want to be cognizant of the fact.

The idea of being aware sends a lightbulb flickering on in my head. This isn't just about us. "Wait a minute. This isn't about your feelings. You're being pressured into forcing my hand. Who is it? My father? The royal family?"

"What makes you think the decision isn't entirely mine to make?" he questioned, avoiding to answer me. Instead, he lowers his head to twirl a strand of mocha between his fingers. Midnight eyes however, remain locked to amethyst ones.

"Because you loathe me, Eli Hawthorne."

"Interesting," he murmured, releasing my hair and straightening.

There's a stifling pause before he hands me a bouquet of roses that have been resting in a vase. "There's no running away now, Evara. Or should I call you Duchess Hawthorne?"