“They look better, I think,” I said, peering at the edges of his ears. The blackness had receded, and the skin overall looked smoother.

“They are,” he said stiffly. His ears twitched, as if he expected me to touch them despite my promise. They really were way too fucking cute. A big, bulky, masculine marvel of a male like Silar really had no business having adorable, round, cartoonish ears like those.

I wanted to touch them so badly.

But I wanted to keep my promise to him more. So I balled my hands into fists and went to the oven. Wrapping my hand in a spare towel, I pulled out my cast iron. I’d been experimenting with heating up some of the food in the cellar, and had meat and eggs heaped in the pan. I spooned the food onto plates and brought them over, placing one plate down in front of Silar and the other on the other side of the table before sitting down across from him.

The table was small. Intimate. Perfect for two. If I reached over, I’d be able to grab Silar’s hand as he reached for a piece of meat.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, seeming gruffly surprised that I’d prepared dinner for him again.

“You just said that about carrying the chair, too,” I reminded him with a small shake of my head. “I know you said you don’t have any expectations of me here, but I want to be useful. I want to help you with things.”

His eyes, which had dimmed back to blue, burned briefly white.

I turned my attention primly down to my plate while internally screaming about the fact that I had no clue what sort of emotion he was feeling right now. “Besides,” I went on, “I’m used to working twelve-hour-shifts at the factory. I’m not used to just sitting around doing nothing. I’m happy to cook. Or garden. Help with the animals. Anything.”

Silar watched me intently, appearing to consider what I’d said as I began to eat.

“There is a lot of work to be done,” he said at length.

I nodded eagerly. “Put me to work, then! I want to. Really.”

He scrubbed his knuckles against the underside of his jaw then finally growled in agreement.

“I’ll show you a few things tomorrow.”

“Great!” I was probably overly cheery in my reply, but I really was feeling encouraged by his response. I had to find a way to win him over so that I could stay here. Seduction seemed out of the question. While it was clear I had a physical effect on him, that effect didn’t exactly seem positive. He seemed almost frightened of his own desires for me. Or maybe even disgusted. If I pushed him too far, I could push him away entirely. But if I could show him what a good worker I was, maybe he’d grow to admire me, respect me, love me, and –

Hold on. Love me?

I stopped chewing mid-bite, staring blankly at Silar as he shoved some meat into his mouth.

Did I actually want my husband to love me?

Maybe I had been lonely. Maybe I had been searching for something. Maybe I was still chest-deep in grief for Mama.

But love? Here? With him? A man who talked more to his animals than he did to me?

Oh, God. How stupid was I?

This was even worse than borrowing money from the mob. At least the worst outcome of that scenario only ended up with me being dead.

The outcome of this scenario, of falling for Silar and hoping for my unrequited feelings to be returned…

That would end in heartbreak. Which was a million fucking times worse.

Silar’s as solid as they come. The warden had told me so, and I believed him. Silar was good. Decent. Loyal, I hoped, if I could prove myself worthy of such loyalty.

But could he actually love me? Did he even want to?

Somehow, I doubted it. And that hurt a hell of a whole lot more than I wanted to acknowledge. A hell of a lot more than it should have.

With a huge amount of effort, I swallowed my half-chewed bite of egg. When I looked down at my plate again, the food was blurred by a veil of tears.

I shouldn’t be crying over this. I shouldn’t be crying at all. I was safe. I was alive.

I was lucky.

My husband might not end up loving me but he had built me a table and everything was going to be alright…

Probably.

18CHERRY

Any stupid, weird, new hopes about my husband actually growing to love me were dashed after dinner when he stoked the fire so high that the house became toasty enough there would be no reason to touch each other in bed.

After collecting my clean and now-dry PJs from where I’d hung them, putting them on, and crawling into bed, I watched as Silar heaved himself awkwardly into the bedroom after me. I guessed that with the table and chair project finished, he didn’t have an excuse to dawdle out in his workshop late into the night. And while I wasn’t great at reading Zabrian expressions, especially on a face as stony as Silar’s, the man looked exhausted. He really was just here to lie down, do his best to ignore me, and sleep.

He took off his boots, reached for his belt, then hesitated, his gaze jerking to me as if he’d gotten lost in muscle memory and had only just remembered I was there. In his bed. Watching him like a weirdo.

“Don’t worry about me,” I squeaked, flapping a very uncool and not-at-all nonchalant hand his way. “Wear whatever you usually do. Whatever is comfortable.”

After a moment’s consideration, he did end up taking off his belt and placing it on top of the dresser. He kicked off his boots as well, but ultimately left his trousers on. Without realizing just where my thoughts were going, I wondered idly about where his soiled pants had ended up after he’d…

Nope. Don’t need to think about that.

And I wasn’t going to say anything about his current trousers, either, only…

“They’re a little dusty,” I said doubtfully, noting the creased and therefore slightly more clean places that were a completely different colour from the rest of the fabric. “I mean, it’s up to you, of course! I’m not complaining!”

I was complaining, though, at least a little. I’d gotten my PJs all nice and clean, and the blanket and bedsheets were pretty clean, too. Which told me that he didn’t normally wear his dusty clothing to bed.

“Do you have any pyjamas?” I asked when he didn’t respond to what I’d said before.

“No.”

Of course he fucking doesn’t. Just like he apparently doesn’t own a goddamn shirt. Even now, the dim glow from the oven in the kitchen was licking around the hard planes of his body, illuminating the taut curves of his shoulders, painting shadows into the hard lines of his abdomen.

His hands went to his hips, as if he were going to take his pants off, then he stopped.

“I won’t look,” I said quickly. “If you want privacy to change or… Or to just take them off. I don’t mind if you sleep naked.”

I did mind. I very much minded, in-fucking-fact. But not because I was alarmed or truly bothered by the idea. But because I was suddenly breathless with the thought of his big body stretched out beside mine without any fabric between us. Well, apart from my own pyjamas, I supposed.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve already seen me,” he said so suddenly that it took me a second to understand what he meant.

My face burned.

“Oh. God. Sorry. You mean right before we got married.”

“Yes. When I was cleaning up.” His eyes flashed white. “You saw me. And then you told the warden you would marry someone else.” His voice turned clipped. “Anyone else.”

“You heard that?” I gasped, mortified. I’d probably sounded so desperate.

His golden ears twitched.

“Right,” I said, grimacing. “That great Zabrian sense of hearing I keep hearing so much about.” I ran fluttery fingers through my hair. Silar’s gaze tracked the movement with silent… something. Interest? Desire? Irritation? Absolute impassivity? It was impossible to tell.