Close.
Her breathing changed.
His did too.
Neither mentioned it.
At the sixth button, Gideon said:
“Pearl Mason was wrong.”
Mabel froze.
“What?”
“At the church.”
Her throat tightened.
“You heard.”
“Everyone heard.”
Mabel looked toward the fireplace.
“What part?”
“The wedding-night remark.”
She wished the floor would open.
Gideon continued carefully:
“She was wrong.”
“About what?”
His fingers paused.
“That I would need imagination.”
Mabel’s entire face burned.
“Gideon.”
“You asked.”
“I did not.”
“You were about to.”
“I absolutely was not.”
He smiled behind her.
Mabel could hear it.
“That is extremely inappropriate.”
“We’re married.”
“That doesn’t make you less inappropriate.”
“Fair.”
He resumed the buttons.
Mabel should have been offended.
Instead warmth spread through her chest.
A man had just implied he found her desirable.
Not as charity.
Not as mockery.
Not because he was trying to persuade her of something.
He sounded almost irritated that anyone believed otherwise.
When the final button loosened, Gideon stepped backward immediately.
“Done.”
Mabel held the dress closed at her chest and turned.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Neither moved.
Mabel looked up.
Gideon looked down.
Their wedding kiss returned between them.
Then Mabel whispered:
“Were you serious?”
“About?”
“You know.”
He did.
“Yes.”
Her heart pounded.
“Even though…”
Gideon’s expression hardened.
“Do not finish that sentence.”
She blinked.
“Why?”
“Because I know exactly what you were going to say.”
Mabel looked away.
He continued:
“You were going to ask if I meant it even though you’re large.”
Her silence confirmed it.
Gideon stepped closer.
“I have eyes.”
Mabel looked back.
“I know what you look like.”
His voice dropped.
“And I married you with them open.”
Heat moved through her.
“Marriage was the debt bargain.”
“Yes.”
“That isn’t the same as wanting me.”
“No.”
Gideon’s gaze lowered briefly.
Then returned.
“That part is separate.”
Mabel stopped breathing.
Neither kissed.
Not yet.
Gideon backed away.
“I’ll put water on.”
Then he left the room.
Mabel stood alone holding the front of her wedding gown.
Her legs felt weak for reasons that had nothing to do with poison.
The first week of marriage was stranger than either expected.
Gideon woke before dawn.
Mabel did not.
She had been raised in a household where servants rose first.
The mountain ignored those rules.
On the second morning she woke to coffee.
On the third she cooked breakfast and nearly burned the biscuits.
Gideon ate them anyway.
“You don’t have to.”
“They’re food.”
“They’re weapons.”
“I’ve eaten worse.”
“That is not praise.”
“Wasn’t intended as any.”
By the fifth morning, she improved.
By the seventh, Gideon quietly took a third biscuit.
Mabel noticed.
Said nothing.
She cleaned the cabin.
Not because he required it.
Because sitting still left her with too much fear.
She reorganized shelves.