Following their actions in The Golden Girl, Marguerite and Céleste must deal with the repercussions of their recent behaviors.
*****
Marguerite has landed herself in quite the shameful predicament, but she needs to make priorities; to somehow mainta...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Flattening against her door, Marguerite let out stabilizing breaths, praying for the spinning of her head to cease. Making her way down the stairs had been hard; her fainting spell in the Royal Reading Room had taken a bigger toll on her than she'd expected. To navigate the halls without prompting gossip, she'd battled to pretend like her knees weren't weak, like her heart wasn't squeezing in her chest, like her mind wasn't foggy with flashes of Antoine's arms around her.
When she regained some motion in her limbs, she wobbled over to her bed and leaned against one of the canopy pillars. A small spot of relief seeped into her, eased her trembling... until she closed her eyes and saw him.
His hands dabbing at her forehead, patting her cheeks to wake her, heaving her up and shaking her. His breath whisking over her mouth and nose, rousing her from her unconsciousness. The contact of his skin smoothing against her had nearly driven her to faint again, but she'd refused to succumb to the sensations Antoine provoked.
When he'd kissed her hand and asked if she needed help getting to her room, a part of her had screamed to say yes, to beg him to carry her as she nestled into his shoulder and allowed her emotions to flow free.
She couldn't. She wouldn't. She'd spent years hating him, hurt from his decisions, from his behavior, and one night of drunken deeds couldn't undo her pain.
It was a night that would never happen again.
But how to forget such torrid tosses in the sheets? How to forget those eyes she'd always melted in, those lips she'd internally yearned for since the night she'd ran away? How to ignore these novel feelings, the lust growing inside? A lust that had intensified when he'd slammed against her, protecting her from those who might have broken into the Reading Room to find them.
She'd been adamant on seeking him out, on informing him of developments, but in truth she wasn't ready to meet with him again. The memories were still too vivid, plunging her into a spiraling world of numbness, dulling her logic, dimming her sense of reality. Any moment in his presence, more so when up close and personal, could tip the scale in the wrong direction.
She opened her eyes and could have sworn he was there, at the foot of her bed. Ogling her like he had that night, crawling over to her like a panther.
With a groan, she shoved the image away and stood up, but it was no use; he was everywhere. Lurking by her closet, stooping by her vanity, lounging on her couch. He was behind her, parting her silky strands of hair, planting careful pecks on her neck. His fingertips reaching under her dress, sliding it down her shoulders.
Then he was in front of her, his tongue trailing along her jaw-line. His mouth found hers and feasted on it as his hands pulled her closer, gripping her hips with a force that immobilized her.
Had that happened? With a shake of her head, the ghosts of Antoine subsided, and she was alone in her room again. She touched her lips, her longing so intense it provoked her into falling onto her mattress again.
