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517 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 25, 2022
“Dora,” he breathed.
“Yes, my love?”
“I don’t think I ever dreamed before I met you. Not my entire life.”
“And now?”
He nodded. “I want a place in your dream,” he said softly. “At your side.”
“I need you to introduce me as your husband to your friend Vincent, Dora,” he said silkily. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Yes, I do. It was, frankly, so audacious that I could not comprehend its genius at first. You are very bold and direct, Miss Fields. I like that. Especially in a partner.” She licked he lips. “To marry?” she faltered, sounding entirely scandalized, even though the scheme had been of her own making. “You do not want to see me audition for you first?” She gulped. “Or—?” “No.” Christ, no. He didn’t want to lie to her face about her abysmal act. He would just let it die a natural death out on the stage. Then he would console and settle her into something else. Anything else. The haphazard clutter of the kitchen caught his eye. Not housekeeping, he winced. No, definitely not housekeeping.
The poor thing would be in for a rough enough time of it when her dreams about a stage career came crashing down about her ears. No, it would be better if he was still the solicitous ally when that crisis came. That way he could console her and find her some other cause to throw her considerable energy into. Maybe motherhood, he thought casually, and once again, paused with shock at the direction of his own thoughts.
“When I think,” she marveled, “that all this time I worried you did not even like my short hair.” “I didn’t at first,” he admitted,” until I became completely obsessed with it.” He reached across and brushed his fingers across the back of her neck. “It’s the shape here”— he hesitated—“ at the base of your neck. The line of your neck and shoulder is…” He swallowed, his words roughening. “It’s just exquisite, Dora.” Jesus, was he blushing? He sounded ridiculous. Like some idiot who did not know how to talk to women.
“You make me look beautiful,” she said at last with a queer little laugh. “I can hardly believe it.” “You are beautiful,” Clem said, and the wonder of it was, he fucking meant it. He meant it, though the beauty he was speaking of was an entirely different beauty to that which he had always measured women by before, and by which he knew society measured them. His eyes roamed over her face. “Every time I look at you…” He broke off, shaking his head in disbelief. “It seems like I notice more and more things about you that I like.”
'...the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.'