He doesn’t move. His lips aren’t moving.
My head jerks back in alarm. I’ve acted rashly, I’ve pushed him too quickly— He collapses to his knees and yanks me back to his lips.
His kiss isn’t even remotely innocent. There’s passion, but there’s also an urgency verging on panic. He pulls me closer, as close as my dress and my chair allow, and he’s gripping me so tightly that I feel his fingers press through the back of my stays.
I pull back, gasping for breath. Reeling. His breath is ragged, and I place my hands on his cheeks to steady him. “Is this okay?” I whisper. “Are you okay?”
His reply is anguished. Honest. “I love you.”
chapter thirty-four
Moonlight shines into my bedroom and reveals his fragile state. “I didn’t say it so you’d say it back,” he says. “Please don’t say it if you don’t mean it. I can wait.”
I rise and detach my gown from the chair. And then I help him stand, and I place his hands around my waist. I lean onto my tiptoes, rest my fingers against the back of his neck, and kiss him gently. Slowly. His tongue finds mine. Our hearts beat faster and faster, and our kisses grow hotter and hotter, until we burst apart from breathlessness.
I smile, dizzily, and touch my swollen lips. These are not the kisses of a sweet, wholesome boy next door. I draw him closer by his tie and whisper into his ear, “Cricket Bell, I have been in love with you for my entire life.”
He doesn’t say anything. But his fingers tighten against the back of my bodice. I ache to press my body into his, but my dress is making full contact impossible. I wiggle into a slightly better position. He glances down and notices that I’m still wearing a certain blue something, and, this time, it’s his index finger that wraps underneath my rubber band.
I shiver wonderfully. “I’m never taking it off.”
Cricket brushes the delicate skin of my wrist. “It’ll fall off.”
“I’ll ask you for another one.”
“I’ll give you another one.” He smiles and touches his nose to mine.
And then he spasms violently and pushes me away.
Someone is coming upstairs. Cricket grabs the songbird off my desk and shoves it into my hair as Andy pops his head in. My dad gives us a look. “Just making sure everything is okay. It’s getting late. You should get going.”
“We’ll be down in a minute,” I say.
“You’re not even wearing shoes. Or makeup.”
“Five minutes.”
“I’m timing it.” Andy disappears. “And it’ll be Nathan up here next,” he calls out.
“So what do you think?” Cricket asks.
“You’re good. Very, very good.” I poke his chest, giddy with the knowledge that I can touch him now whenever I want. “How did you get so good?”
“It’s safe to say that you’re the one who brings it out of me.” He pokes my stomach. “But I meant your hair.”
I’m beaming as I turn toward the mirror, and . . . “OH.”
The updo looks professional. It’s tall and splendid and elaborate, but it doesn’t overwhelm me. It complements me. “This is . . . it’s . . . perfect.”
“You will never tell anyone I did that on pain of death.” But he’s grinning.
“Thank you.” I pause, and then I look down at my pale blue fingernails. “You know that thing you said about someone being perfect for someone else?”
“Yeah?”
My eyes lift back to his. “I think you’re perfect, too. Perfect for me. And . . . you look amazing tonight.You always do.”
Cricket blinks. And then again. “Did I black out? Because I’ve daydreamed those words a thousand times, but I never thought you’d actually say them.”
“THREE MINUTES,” Andy calls from downstairs.
We break into nervous laughter. Cricket shakes his head to refocus. “Boots,” he says. “Socks.”
I point them out, and while he finishes prepping them, I mascara my lashes, powder my face, and gloss my lips. The makeup is dropped into my purse. I have a feeling I’ll need retouching before I come home. Cricket sweeps me up by my waist and carries me to the bed, and I’m lifting my skirts as he sets me down on the edge. His eyes widen, but it turns into more laughter when he sees how many layers are underneath.
I grin. “There’s more than panniers under here.”
“Just give me your foot.”
From downstairs: “ONE MINUTE.”
Cricket kneels and takes my left foot into his hands. The sock comes on too fast. My boot squeaks as he slides it over my leg. His careful, quick fingers lace it all the way up to my knee, where they linger ever so slightly. I close my eyes, praying for the clock to stop. He tugs and tightens the buckles. And then he repeats everything on the other side.
Somehow, this is the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me.
“I wish I had more feet,” I say.
“We can do this again.” He tightens the last buckle. “Anytime.”
There’s a knock against my door frame as Betsy eagerly bounds toward us. My parents are both here. Cricket helps me stand.