Page 29 of Beyond the Cottage (After the Fairytale #1)

Chapter 29

T he parlor door banged open, and Ansel lowered his book. He lay on the chaise with his feet hanging off the end, since the damn thing was little more than doll furniture. He sat up and turned on another gilded lamp.

Gretta hunched in the doorway, clumsily unlacing a boot. When it came off, she stumble-spun to shut the door.

Ansel removed his spectacles and set them aside. “Hey.”

“Sorry,” she loudly whispered. Her backside landed in an armchair as she attacked her other boot.

He glanced at the clock. Philip had retreated to his chamber hours ago, and Ansel had settled in to read shortly after. He’d worried when she didn’t return but knew she wouldn’t care to have him check on her.

Now he wished he’d done it anyway.

She yanked off the second boot and braced a hand on the floor to keep from spilling from the chair. Her legs crossed awkwardly as she stood. Ansel leapt to steady her. She smelled so strongly of liquor, he wondered if he’d get a contact buzz.

“Sorry,” she repeated. “I’ll be quiet.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. Are you alright?”

“Fine.” She swayed, and he grabbed her arm. “Everything’s fine. Got fired, but…it’s fine.”

“Philip fired you?”

“Nat told him to. I was sick of them, anyway.”

She seemed to get her bearings, so he let her go. Instead of heading for her room, she slumped into the chair again and dropped her forehead to her palm. Waves of hair had escaped the pins and ribbon, falling in a silky veil around her face.

Ansel crouched at her feet. “What happened?”

“Said I’m undisciplined,” she slurred. “And a pigheaded asshole. It’s only brandy though, I’m fine.”

“Philip called you an asshole?” He’d gut the prick with his own knife.

“Dozen madder,” she yawned. “I’ll get a diffrin job.”

Ansel didn’t follow any of this. Why would the senator fire her the day after she found Isobel?

There was no point in pressing about it now. Gretta’s eyes drooped, and her chin fell to her chest. Would she rather be carried to bed or have that cloaked fuck discover her like this in the morning?

It wasn’t much of a dilemma. Whatever had happened at dinner, he’d be damned before he gave Philip any further reason to insult her. Living with his father and Jonas had given Ansel plenty of experience handling the inebriated.

He cupped her chin and lightly shook her shoulder. “Wake up, Gret.”

Her eyes opened, darting around the room. “What?”

“Time for bed.”

Focusing, she planted her hands on the armrests and pushed out of the chair. He helped her stand.

“I’m fine ,” she said, suddenly alert. “I can get there by myself.”

When he released her, she took two overly precise steps. The third one sent her reeling toward a sideboard. Ansel caught her from behind before she collided with it.

“Let me help you,” he said. “Your room’s not far.”

Her fingers dug into his arm, and she craned her neck back to look at him. “I have to pee.”

He sighed into her hair. “Alright. I’ll walk you there.”

Adjusting his hold on her waist, he led her the short distance to the bathroom. He nudged the door open with his foot, turned on the light, and propped her against the vanity. Her hair skimmed the porcelain sink when she lowered her head.

“Got it from here?”

Her head shot up. “Got it.”

Ansel shut the door and waited. Ten seconds later, he heard a crash and a thud, and he burst in.

A crack bisected the shower door, and Gretta sat on the floor, legs sprawled. Heart pounding, he scanned for blood but didn’t see any. He slipped a hand between her head and the tiled wall.

As he checked her scalp, he waited for Philip to burst in at the commotion. His door remained blessedly shut.

“Are you okay?” Ansel asked.

Clutching his forearm, she gave him a wobbly nod. Her teeth tugged her bottom lip. Two tears spilled down her cheeks.

She shook her head.

With a curse, he reached in and pulled her from the shower, and she nestled herself in his lap. His legs were uncomfortably bunched, and the vanity handle dug into his spine, but when her arms circled his neck, he didn’t want to be anywhere else ever again. Like the night before, he didn’t understand this shift in her demeanor, but he wouldn’t risk breaking the spell by addressing it. Whatever she needed from him, it was hers.

He rubbed her back as she trembled.

“I thought Nat was my friend,” she said against his neck. “I don’t have any friends.”

He squeezed her. “That isn’t true. I can tell Brand cares for you a great deal. I imagine many others do, as well.”

“They don’t. I’m a very difficult person.”

“Easy people are dull.”

They sat in silence, and he continued petting her back until the tension in it eased. She shifted to face him.

“Ansel,” she whispered. “Are you really still my friend?”

“Always,” he said, brushing hair off her forehead.

She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. “I missed you so much.”

His heart stuttered. Could that possibly be true? Based on her reaction to their previous conversation, it was likely the alcohol talking. Still, hope bloomed in his chest. He tucked her head under his chin and fiercely hugged her back.

“My life’s a mess,” she said.

“It’s not. Philip and the senator can fuck themselves.” She’d get a new job, and he’d find some other investor.

“It is . I feel broken, Anse. Like the cottage did something to me. I don’t know how to fix it.”

Fresh rage for the Eater coursed through his veins. He wished he’d been the one to kill her.

“You aren’t broken,” he said firmly. “You have emotional scars that will never fully disappear, but they made you resilient and independent. They gave you the courage to make your own way in the world.”

She toyed with the hair on his nape. “What about your scars? Do you feel stronger for them?”

He didn’t know how to answer. The cottage had hardened him, but he wasn’t sure that was the same as strength. If anything, it gave him a weakness, and she currently sat in his lap. “We’re different people. But I suppose without the Eater, there would be no spell repellent. Maybe something good will come of what we went through.”

He felt her smile against his neck. “That doesn’t sound very villainy.”

“Then I’ll be sure to lace the formula with bunny blood.”

She smiled again and pulled away, rubbing the residual moisture off her cheeks. Her eyes tried to focus on his before lowering. “Sorry. I know I’m drunk.” She crawled out of his lap. He already missed having her there.

They both stood, and she leaned on the sink, cheeks turning pink. “Um. I really do have to pee.” She hiccuped. “I might need help.”

Ansel closed his eyes and nodded.

It was only pissing. He could do this.

He opened the toilet lid and stood facing out with his legs on either side of the seat. She offered her hand. He pulled her to him, and his palm flattened over her belly.

“Can you, ah, get your pants by yourself?” Please let her be able to handle her own pants.

“Uh-huh.” Her belt buckle gave her trouble, but she finally got it. As she bent to shove her pants down, her ass ground into him.

He grimaced, turning away. She hiked her tunic and dropped onto the seat.

After pissing for what seemed like half an hour, she pulled up her drawers and kicked her pants aside. Her tunic wasn’t much shorter than a nightshirt, so he didn’t press the issue. She washed her hands and stumbled, snorting a laugh.

“I can carry you,” he said without thinking. She latched onto him before he could retract the offer. When he hoisted her in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, and her top half draped on him like dead weight.

Somehow, he survived the short trip to her room. He set her on the bed, but her legs didn’t release him, and she raked her fingers through his hair.

“Gretta — ”

With the preternatural strength of the intoxicated, she yanked his shirt and pulled him on top of her, slamming her mouth on his.

He groaned through his nose. She tasted like brandy but sweeter, and he allowed himself one sip before abstaining. Removing his lips was like dragging a lion off a kill, and he tried not to notice her groin rubbing his. Her thighs fastened tighter when he pulled away.

He removed her hands from his neck, pressing them into the counterpane. “You’ve got to let me go, Gret.”

“Why?” She ground against him with a smile. “Not tired anymore. Feel like fucking.”

He choked and resisted the urge to thrust. Without realizing it, she’d found the perfect way to torture him.

Mentally reciting the atomic weight of the noble gases, he wedged his palms between her thighs, gently pushing until they opened. He evacuated her warmth to sit on the edge of the bed.

She knee-walked to him. “What’s wrong?”

Helium, four-point-oh-three. Argon, thirty-nine-point—

Her hand slid to his cock, and he grabbed her wrist. “Gretta, stop .”

“Why? I thought… Don’t you want to?”

“You know the answer to that question.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“You’re hammered. And I know you don’t really want this.”

Her naked leg swung to straddle him. He caught her before she tumbled from his lap, keeping his hands off her ass.

“I’m barely tipsy,” she laughed. “Just enough to admit I do want it. Have for a couple days.”

His heart jolted.

Did alcohol make her honest or cruel?

He desperately wanted to believe the previous night hadn’t been a delusion or a fluke. Because she wouldn’t want someone she hated, right?

Her fingers skated over his scalp, and she gripped his hair.

He couldn’t take any more of this. He tugged her forward until their noses touched.

“Gretta, when—” He cleared his throat. “ If you ever let me fuck you, you’re going to remember it the next day. Now it’s time to sleep .”

Her body slackened, and her hands fell off him. He picked her up and ripped the corner of the blanket back. She let him slide her under the covers.

“Will you at least stay by me?” she asked. “To sleep?”

Could he handle sleeping in bed with her?

Fuck yes. Exhaustion already made his muscles buttery, and they’d both be out in minutes. Staying over the covers, he crawled in behind her, and she tucked herself against him spoon-style. As he curled his body around hers, she dragged his arm around her.

Ansel hesitated, debating. Then kissed her neck before closing his eyes.