He doesn’t kiss it, but his thumb comes up to stroke my knuckles. Somehow, it feels even more intimate like this. More raw.
Twenty-three steps between our rooms. I know, because I counted them. Soon, there will be twenty-three steps between us. A distance so short—and yet, it feels like an ocean.
“Goodnight, Matvey,” I whisper, and cross back to my side of the dark, churning waters.
“Ow!” Petra winces under my pins.
I don’t pay it any mind. Right now, I’m focused on one thing only: the dress coming to life around her. “Stay still.”
“Christ, fine!” Petra pouts. “And I thought I was bossy.”
It’s not completely unfair, as far as accusations go. When I’m like this, I can’t see anything else. “Put yourself in my shoes: I’ve got two gowns to deliver and my mannequin quit on me—”
“Can’t i
