Chapter 99 - Ninety Nine
Delia and Eric entered their small, rustic room, leaving the rainy world behind. The sound of the heavy downpour drumming on the roof created a cozy, intimate atmosphere, trapping them together in the warm, candlelit space. After taking turns bathing and changing into dry, simple nightwear, a comfortable but charged silence settled between them.
Eric sat on the edge of the far side of the bed, his expression soft and a little hesitant. He looked at Delia, who was standing awkwardly by the small washbasin drying her hair.
"I promise," he began, his voice a low, sincere murmur that was barely audible over the sound of the rain. "I will just hold your hand while we sleep. Nothing else. I’m still having trouble sleeping at night, please."
Delia looked at him, at the genuine, vulnerable offer in his eyes. A part of her, a part she had long kept locked away, yearned to accept, to feel that simple comfort but her logical side took over. "Fine then," she replied, her voice quiet.
Eric’s expression immediately lightened with a pure, boyish joy. "Really?" he beamed, his whole face lighting up like a little boy who finally got what he was promised.
"You can have the whole bed," Delia continued, her defensive walls immediately shooting back up. " That should be enough space for you."
The joy on his face vanished, replaced by a look of utter confusion. He watched as she took her own pillow and the spare blanket from the foot of the bed. "Where will you sleep?" he asked.
"I will take the floor," she said, her tone matter-of-fact as she prepared to get down from the bed.
Before she could, Eric moved, blocking her path. "We will just be sleeping, is there anything wrong with that?" he asked, his voice now laced with a familiar, teasing amusement. "Or are you perhaps having some dirty thoughts, my duchess?"
"What?" Delia replied, her cheeks flushing. " What are you saying now?"
"You don’t think you can control yourself when you are lying next to me in this bed, right?" he continued, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He leaned back, wrapping his arms around himself in a protective gesture. "Like you might... pounce on me?"
Delia looked at him, at his playful, ridiculous pose, and couldn’t help the small hesitate smile that tugged at her lips. "Who is pouncing on who, exactly?" she retorted.
She sighed, a sound of fond annoyance. She shifted and, just as she had done the night before, she began to build a formidable barricade of pillows down the exact middle of the bed. "Fine," she declared. "You can sleep on the bed. But you stay on your side, and I will stay on mine. And do not touch me, and do not cross this line."