Dying to Marry Him novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: Dawn, Part One

"Collection at dawn," Gilt sang again, and the letters on the ceiling pulsed gold.

I had Rook's weight on me and my pulse in my teeth, and my vow had just been declared over.

"He can't do that," I said. "I never told you the ending."

"No," Rook said. "You did not."

He rolled off me and stood.

The mist around his mouth had gone black.

"The notebook is full," he said. "Gilt reads that as the end."

"He says it in front of the house, and the house believes him."

"Do you believe him?"

"I am not asked." His voice was flat. "I only grant."

I sat up with the coverlet held to my chest.

My dress lay in a heap on the floor.

I could not bear to put it back on yet.

Rook picked up his coat, shook it out and held it toward me without looking.

I took it. It smelled like snuffed candles and cold roses, and the sleeves covered my hands.

"I need to say something before the bell," he said.

"Say it."

"In the chapel, you looked me up and down. The shoulders, the gloves, the waist."

He said it plainly, and I felt my face go hot.

"Every bride before you looked at me as a door she could not open."

"You looked at me as a man you had already written."

"I looked at you as a man I was scared of."

"You looked at me as a plan." His mouth was tight. "I have thought about it all night. Was tonight the plan?"

I crossed the cold floor until I stood in front of him, with his coat hanging off my shoulders.

"Tonight was not a plan," I said. "I was the one who stopped writing, and you were the one who didn't stop."

"You said I would only do what you wrote."

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