The Lonely King (Book 1 of the Shadows, Roses and Ice Trilogy)

Chapter Twenty-Four

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Amabelle's POV

I woke just before the dawn, unable to sleep. Though the travel had been long and tiresome, my body fought to stay awake during the night. Jolie slept soundly next to me, snoring adoringly quite a few times. Even though I stirred awake from my dreamless sleep, turning inward slightly and nudging her on accident, she did not move a muscle. Still sleeping, she only mumbled something in her dreams and curled herself tighter into a ball.

Smiling, I kissed the top of her head gently and slipped out of my bed strategically. Despite how homesick I felt, I was glad to be here with my family for a short time. It felt strange like I didn't belong in this place anymore, but the memories that haunted me in Dante's kingdom some weeks ago, stopped hanging over me. Coming back, I realized this was no longer my home. My past only clung to me because I had loved my family so dearly.

I still did.

But now, I realized the person I couldn't live without was Dante.

There was a gaping hole in my chest, being so far from him. He had snuck his way into my heart so quickly I hadn't seen it coming. Thinking about him made waves of aching endearment spread throughout my body. Shuddering as I walked through the silent house, I knew then, at that moment what the truth was. The truth that Dante had wanted me to say just two days ago. I had been so close to saying those three little words and it was killing me that I hesitated.

I regretted not saying it sooner.

There was a tiny gleam of light peeking through our kitchen windows. As the sun had just begun to rise, the world was still waking up, including the Bonnet household. The old, oak wooden floorboards of my kitchen creaked as I tiptoed across them. Our tradition was that the first one up had to make a pot of coffee for everyone else.

Usually, it was my mother who rose first, but today it was me. I smiled, heading to our old stove. Humming, I fired the stove up and grabbed a pot from our hanging rack. I ground some fresh coffee that had been tucked away in its normal spot on the shelf near the dated farmhouse sink. A heavenly aroma of burnt caramel and old spice filled the air while the coffee brewed, making a sense of nostalgic warmth seize my heart.

A dip in the wooden floors behind me made the floors creak. A cold chill ran down my spine from fear, only for me to realize it was my mother leaning against our island. Relief settled once I saw her cat-like grin. Her hazel eyes twinkled those same ones that belonged to Jolie.

Though she had aged a little over the years, her features remained mostly youthful. The lines around her eyes and mouth, and her slightly silvery platinum blond curls were the only indication of her maturity. Graceful and boldly beautiful, my mother's thin but sensual lips were glossed, and her lightened eyes were shaded with brown smokey eyeshadow. Even though it was early, my mother appeared flawless and was clothed in a simple long-sleeved, short, and frilly lavender dress.

"You're never up this early," She commented, cocking her head and crossing her arms over her chest.

I looked away for a moment, once to check the coffee, and again to stare out the pale lime green paned window over the sink. My mother was very observant, even though she hadn't been overly involved in my life over the years, I knew she loved me from the way she watched from afar. She noticed everything, even when I had snipped a few strands of my hair with her kitchen scissors at age five.

"Couldn't sleep," I replied simply, evading her real question.

My mother smiled, sighed, and crossed the kitchen to grab the milk and sugar for our coffee. Ever since I started drinking coffee in my teen years, my mother had taught me to like my coffee with a little bit of milk, and a few tablespoons of sugar. In those days, I had wanted to be just like my mother in every way possible. Eventually, I learned I could never be the woman my mother was.