Page 22 of Madness Becomes Her

“We should get you to bed. There’s no telling if you have a concussion. I’ll keep watch for awhile. You rest,” I tell him, breaking the tension.

Standing, he mutters something before heading to the bedroom.

I take a moment to breathe through how my body reacted to his proximity. Am I that desperate to throw away my escape plan for a man who speaks in riddles?

I have to keep my wits.

But just when I’ve got myself calm, my feet carry me into the space where Hatter is fully nude. His back is turned toward the door as he slips into silk sleep bottoms.

He turns back around, a lock of his brown hair curling on his forehead, his rippled abs stretching, and the silk bottoms clinging over a very thick part of him. And I have to swallow through more attraction.

If I don’t get myself together, I will end up as mad as the rest of them.

For a split second, I wonder if that would be such a bad thing.

CHAPTER SIX

HORRIBLE QUEENS

After much convincing, the hatter agrees to take me to the palace with him for his next ‘Hatting Day,’ which isn’t for another week. Thank goodness.

His head wound is closing nicely, but my attraction to him has only grown in the last few days.

I haven’t tried to escape into the Cheshire Wood again, and I’ve grown quite used to the insanity of Wonderland.

Our tea party is winding down, and no one’s even thrown any food, which is a plus for me because I’m always the one cleaning it up. I’ve often wondered who was cleaning it up before or if some kind of magic reset it before the next party.

“Last night,” Bonnie says, shaking out her feathers. She’s holding her tea cup properly, with a feather that could be her pinky poised. “I dreamt I was a spoon. Could you imagine the adventures you could have as a spoon?”

“I don’t know why one would want to be a spoon,” a frog I’ve come to know as Bert replies. “I think I’d want to be a teacup. Teacups have all the fun.”

When I wander my gaze around the table in confusion, my eyes catch on Hatter, who’s looking at me longingly.

He smiles, and I find my own lips curling up.

I can’t deny the feeling that I’m defiling an innocent man by even entertaining the thoughts in my head, but I also can’t help them.

After the tea party disperses and I’ve cleaned up, I sit at the table, my feet atop it as I take in the trees. They remind me of birch trees, except these are all whimsical colors: pinks, greens, and purples. The breeze pushes through them, causing a few to sway, and the sound is comforting and calming.

I don’t hear Hatter approach; his hand on my shoulder startles, causing an unladylike squeal to escape me. “God, Hatter, you scared me.”

He crouches. “Please, call me Finlo.”

I swallow, nodding.

His proximity steals my breath. He stands, his hand remaining on my shoulder. “What are you doing out here?”

This is the most normal interaction I’ve ever had with him. I’ve noticed that when he’s alone, without the chaos of Wonderland surrounding him, he’s more capable of such.

“Watching the trees in the breeze.”

“You have changed little.”

His statement reminds me I’ve been here before and that he knows me. Not only that, but he knows a part of me I don’t even know any longer. You lose your sense of wonder and whimsy as you age, and I can’t even recall a time when Wonderland would’ve seemed entirely normal instead of mad.

“I’ve grown into my head,” I joke.

His green eyes deepen with curiosity before darkening. His lips tip up. “One doesn’t grow into an abnormally gigantic head.”