Fighting for the Fairytale

Nora

We didn't have sex on our wedding night. Or rather, our wedding morning since we didn't get back home until well after 1 a.m. 

I'm not mad about it. Cole and I had been exhausted from the last few long days leading up to "the big day." After showering in the two separate bathrooms of our newly purchased townhouse, we had shared a quick good night kiss and then... nothing. 

Cole had fallen asleep right away, while I, on the other side of the bed, had laid on my back and kicked sheep after counting them failed to help me sleep. 

This just wasn't what I was expecting was all. I mean, one's wedding night is usually not like this. At least not in any romance books I've read, and I've read a lot.

That stain on the ceiling looks a lot like Cinderella's forgotten slipper.

After staring at the ceiling for—I turned to face the clock and angry, orange numbers glowing back at me—the past four hours, I couldn't believe I missed that.

Was it water damage? 

God, I hope not. Cole and I paid too much for this townhouse for it to already have water damage. We even did an inspection before buying. When had it even rained last?

I don't usually have trouble sleeping or find myself lying in bed at night thinking about the weather, but sleep just wouldn't come. 

Maybe it was because I had gone to bed with a completely wet head of hair, a head of hair that retained water better than a sponge. 

Or because I was a mover in my sleep, and I had someone sleeping a little too close to me in a house that didn't feel like home. 

Yet. 

That was the word I needed to keep telling myself. It didn't feel like home yet. It was just going to take some getting used to.

Just like my name. 

I had been Nora Tate for all twenty-three years of my life. 

It was going to take longer than—I looked back to the clock, trying to calculate the time in my head, but I've never been good at math, so this number is more like an approximation—fourteen hours to get used to being Nora Bartlet.

Nora Bartlet.

I sighed and turned to lay on my back, slowly so as not to wake Cole, with my hands folding on my stomach. My right hand, usually on top, lay on the bottom to avoid being scratched by the diamond dominating my left hand. 

Should I have taken it off before bed? Not like there was much sleep happening on my side of the bed, but still. 

I pulled my ring off, its weight shifting as it slipped off the base of my finger to hover midair between the tips of my pointer finger and thumb. 

It was beautiful by anyone's standards: a single halo stone with a thick wedding band, lined with smaller diamonds. It was flashy. Not really me, but Cole had picked it out. He loved me and said he wanted to spoil me. 

I grinned to myself. Nothing wrong with that, and Dad did stuff like that for Mom all the time. 

The ring glittered, even in the darkness. 

It was beautiful. And large. 

Don't want to lose that, I thought, slipping the ring back on my finger. 

It caught briefly on my knuckle but slid back easily into place at the base of my finger. 

Not too snug and not too loose. 

Cole knew my ring size. He knew me. 

I laid my hands back on my stomach.

Warm breath tickled the damp hair near my ear. I turned toward my husband. 

My husband. That was going to take some getting used to too.

Cole slept with his mouth slightly ajar, long brown eyelashes fluttering. He looked so... peaceful. His hands hid the gray wedding ring beneath his cheek as he slept.

Normally, I slept the same way: cheek on hands, hands on pillow, but I couldn't sleep that way with the diamond on my hand. Knowing me, I'd probably cut myself. 

Maybe I should take it off before bed? I made a mental note to ask Mom the next time I saw her if she takes off hers before continuing my analysis of Cole. 

He was always clean shaven; I rarely saw him with anything more than stubble, but already this morning, prickly hairs peppered his jawline. 

What would it feel like to touch?

Tentatively, I reached out, running a fingernail along the underside of Cole's chin. It scraped, the little hairs like growing porcupine quills. 

I added a few more fingers to my exploration, brushing them curiously against his cheek and then down his neck until my palm rested against his pec. His breathing was heavy and slow, but steady. 

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth in soft, gentle puffs.

My pointer fingernail—the longest nail soon to be either ripped or bitten off—drew a line from his chin to his chest. His chest has a similar smattering of hair growing back with same prickly quality.

Would this hair feel the same on my lips as it does on my fingers? 

It hadn't been the first time I'd thought that, but it was the first time I would have the opportunity to pursue it. We were married now. Man and wife. There was nothing holding me back from finding out.

Emboldened, I leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the center of his chest. The hair rasped against my lips. 

It felt... different. Almost like sandpaper, but it didn't hurt. It actually kind of felt... exhilarating. 

Cole's dark chocolate eyelashes fluttered but didn't open. 

I inched closer, raining kisses up and down his neck. My lips stung slightly from brushing against the stubble lining the bottom of his jaw and cheeks. 

Still, Cole had yet to move.

I sat up, transferring my weight to my right elbow to lean over him. With my lips, I touched his brow, his eyelids, and the sides of his mouth. 

My hands splayed over his chest, running slowly over his shoulders and down his arms until I reached his hands. 

I loved Cole's hands. They were large in comparison to mine, not that that was a surprise given that he was both taller and bulkier than me. His fingers were long, nails nonexistent. 

He was a nervous biter too. 

The pads of his fingers were smooth. I brought his right hand to my lips, kissing each fingertip.

Still nothing from Cole.

Wow. You really suck at this. 

I leaned back, planning to return to my own corner of the bed for more sleepless thought- wandering when an arm snaked around me and my world flipped.