Page 26 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time (To Fall Through Time #1)

Selene examines the card he’s handing out. Each card, helpfully, explains exactly what it does. She picks the blue counters, Dorian takes the green. He offers her the first move and the game begins in earnest.

“Wine?” she suggests.

“Please.”

Selene pours another two glasses. Dorian visibly relaxes, sinking into the chair. He still looks tired and slightly ill, but his posture is promising. He moves a piece, only to have Selene sweep him off with her next card.

“My apologies,” she says.

“Ruthless,” Dorian comments.

“Oh!” Selene says, making Dorian jump.

“What is it?”

“I’ve just remembered where I’ve played this game before. My grandmother taught me—years ago. She used to cackle and say ‘ruthless, excellent gal!’ whenever I swept her back to home.”

Dorian smiles. “I think I’d rather like your grandma.”

“It’s a shame you never got to—” she stops, because she still hasn’t quite wrapped her head around the fact that her grandmother is alive .

Dorian frowns at her pause .

“It’s a shame you’ve never met her,” Selene corrects, and then, seizing her courage for the second time tonight. “I’d like to visit her. My grandmother. She was the only one to congratulate me on our marriage and…”

“You miss her.”

Selene nods. “It’s been a long time.”

“I’m sure I could free up some time.”

“You’d come with me?”

“Of course. It would look strange if I was abandoning my new bride, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re right.”

Dorian sneezes. His face looks slightly grey. Not for the first time, Selene wonders if he’s sickening for something. Perhaps it’s too late to be playing. She ought to send him to bed.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“Fine,” says Dorian, blowing his nose with his handkerchief. “It’s probably just dust.”

“But this room is spotless…”

Behind the curtain, Mistress Stripe meows. Dorian’s face pales even further.

Selene claps her hand to her mouth. “The cat!” she realises. “You’re allergic to cats!”

Dorian sneezes again. “I may have a slight allergy—”

“Why on earth would you let me bring a cat when you’re allergic—”

“What kind of ass would make you leave behind a beloved pet?”

The Duke, she thinks. The Duke would. The Duke did. And he didn’t even have a reason to.

“You should have told me… Oh, no wonder you looked so ill in the carriage! I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine,” Dorian says, now sneezing in earnest.

“Why would you suggest we play up here?”

“I thought you’d be more comfortable.”

Selene groans. “Who would be comfortable making someone else un comfortable?”

“I actually think quite a few people—”

“Get out,” Selene says.

Dorian stands up abruptly and marches through the door. Selene gathers up the board and follows him.

“What are we—” he starts.

“I’m not letting you sit in here a moment longer,” she tells him, setting up the board in his room instead. “In fact, I may forbid you from ever entering my chambers ever again.”

Dorian smiles at her.

“What?”

“I’m quite used to women bossing me around,” he says. “But I find I prefer it much more when you do it.”

Selene’s cheeks heat. “Sit down,” she says, more weakly than before. She points towards the seats.

Dorian dutifully slides into place, the pallor of his skin already improving. Selene returns to her room to gather the wine and hands Dorian his glass. His fingertips brush over hers. The touch follows her as she sits down opposite, and they resume the game.

“Please don’t make yourself uncomfortable on my behalf,” Selene tells him, voice quiet. “I already feel guilty enough for being here.”

Dorian tilts his head. “If I have ever made you feel like a burden—”

“No, not you—”

“Has Soren said something? Don’t listen to him—”

“No, he’s said nothing, I just… I’m very aware of how little I contribute compared to other members of your household, and… ”

Dorian groans. “Please, don’t worry about that. You don’t have to contribute anything. Just… I’m glad that I was able to help you, all right?”

Selene swallows. “You don’t know me. Or at least… you didn’t.”

The ghost of something passes over Dorian’s pale features. His hazel eyes burn in the lamplight, like chips of emerald in a whiskey glass. She’s never noticed an intensity in them before. “I wouldn’t have been happy, watching you be forced into a marriage with someone who was cruel to you.”

“You wouldn’t have known.”

Dorian probably attended maybe three social events in the year she was married to the Duke. She can’t remember him being at anything after Ophelia’s wedding around harvest time. He would never have noticed how miserable she was.

No one did.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian says eventually.

Selene frowns. “What for?”

“I am sorry that you’ve spent any part of your life thinking that people wouldn’t notice if you were breaking.”

Selene stares at him, her entire body as frozen as ice. A sharp, dense pain settles in her chest. She feels like Dorian is tugging at a wound she hadn’t even noticed was there. Is she so transparent?

Is he?

“I’m sorry too,” she whispers, not breaking his gaze.

“For what?”

“For whatever has made you feel like you need to do everything alone.”

Dorian’s breath hitches. She wonders if she’s pulled on a wound, too. She wonders what he would do now if she reached across the table and took his hand. She wants to. Even just for a moment .

But everything is so solemn and so serious and she was supposed to be cheering him up, and suddenly she wants more than anything to crack the warm ice settling around them.

“And I’m sorry for this, too,” she says, playing her final card and winning the game.

Dorian laughs, throwing up his hand—the same one she was thinking about touching.

“See?” he says. “You can be smart.”

“I am sure it is just luck,” Selene returns.

“Heavens!” Dorian snaps, letting out a tired huff. “Just take the compliment!”

Selene freezes. She’s not used to Dorian being short with her—or short with anyone. How has being humble offended him?

“Sorry,” he murmurs, looking away. “That was… unnecessary. I didn’t mean to… Sorry.”

“I didn’t know you could be short with anyone.”

“Everyone has their limits.” He runs a hand down his face. “I’m tired,” he admits, standing up and downing the last of his glass. “This has been really nice, but I am exhausted now, and would like some rest.”

Selene stands up. “Of course.”

“I truly am sorry,” he says. “And—thank you.”

Selene offers him a small smile. “You’re welcome.”