Petals

thirteen

Adrian's smile flashed white in the moonlight. "Were you expecting something more, my lady?"

"Of course I -" Annabelle caught herself, blushing to the roots of her hair. "No, absolutely not. That would be entirely inappropriate."

"Of course," he drawled. "But if you should desire more..." His lips hovered just an inch away from hers.

Annabelle's breath came in sharply, resented excitement gnawing at her stomach. Desire more kisses, she did. And yet... "Damn you, Adrian Morey," she hissed.

One dark eyebrow arched up. "Damn me?"

"Yes." Angrily, she raised her chin. "Why couldn't you have just left everything alone? I had it all perfectly planned out, and you had to go and ruin it by replying to the damn bluebottles!"

"Are you saying, my lady, that you did not wish me to reply?" he questioned, obviously confused.

"Of course I didn't! They were simply supposed to give you some idea as to who I was at my funeral!"

"Funeral!" Adrian echoed loudly, hands tightening on her elbows. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

Is she ill? he wondered. Is that why she won't marry me? She's pale, but she's always been that way as far as I can remember.

"Yes, funeral," Annabelle confirmed. "I sent you the flowers so that you would have something to think about besides how dreadful I look. Instead, you would be thinking about how very odd I must have been, and wondering what your wife will say when you tell her about -"

"Annabelle, you're not making any sense!" Adrian exclaimed, a note of panic in his voice. His hands slid up to her shoulders, and he shook her gently. "I've never thought you looked dreadful, and I don't have a wife - which is a slight -"

Annabelle harrumphed. "Well, you'd have a wife by the time I die. I've -"

"You're not going to die, damn it!"

She was quite effectively stunned into silence at this outburst. Her lips were parted in mid-sentence, and he couldn't help his gaze from falling to them. Drawing her close, he covered her mouth with his. This time, it was no mere peck.

Annabelle shivered, screwing her eyes shut. Worries about why she shouldn't be doing just this drifted away. Her hands clenched his shoulders instinctively for support, as her head spun in a dizzying rush she could barely think through. She forgot her panicked need to make Adrian understand, allowing herself to drift on the sensations his lips elicited. She had always wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Now she knew.

It was extraordinary.

"You're not going to die," he whispered against her lips.

"Oh, Adrian," she murmured, eyes still closed. Her head listed against his shoulder, where it rested ever so lightly. "Everyone dies eventually."

"'Eventually' being the key term," he responded, his voice no where near as dreamlike as hers. In fact, his whole body was tensed as if waiting for an attack, whereas her every limb was slack with airy contentment.

As her mind lazily picked apart his words, the mist within her slowly dissipated. By the time she fully comprehended what he meant, she wasn't sure whether or not to laugh. Shifting, she tried to look him in the face, but it was no small feat with his chin resting atop her head. "Adrian...when I spoke of my funeral, I didn't mean -"

"You're not going to die," he repeated adamantly, refusing to budge.

"No, not just yet, I don't think. When I spoke of it, I was speaking in terms of the future." She finally managed to dislodge his chin from its resting place and pull back enough to meet his eyes. "The distant future."