Page 111 of Of Love and Treason
“You little Cretans think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?” Valentine chided, a chuckle breaking through his mock scowl. “Pick up your end, come on.” They tried and failed, laughing too hard at their trick.
Iris trotted to the other end of the couch and lifted, meeting Valentine’s grin with one of her own. The children danced around her, giggling and asking if she’d seen what happened.
“My sandals are wet.” Valentine shook his head. “I should have asked you to help from the start.”
She lifted a brow. “You assume I wouldn’t have done the same thing?” She jostled her end of the couch.
He chuckled.
The two oldest boys, brown eyes sparkling with mischief, tried to direct them again.
“I’m too smart to fall for your tricks this time.” Valentine looked at them and stepped in another puddle. They screamed in laughter and began a game of tag.
Valentine narrowed his eyes at Iris. “You did that on purpose.”
“I did not.”
He grinned and tugged his end of the couch, sending her skittering toward a puddle. She squealed and wrestled her end of the couch away from it. “You’re no match for these arms.” Her eyes narrowed in challenge. “Kneading bread has got me built like a gladiator.”
He shook his head, fighting to keep a straight face. “If only you could bake.”
She gasped in mock offense. “You’re lucky they don’t have a fishpond.”
Beatrix, Martha, and Delphine clustered near the doorway of the guest room, whispering and throwing little glances their way. Iris sobered as her face went warm again.
Valentine followed her gaze, then caught her eye with an apologetic look. “It’s Bea.” He shrugged a shoulder. “If she has her way, she’ll have us married within the week.”
“Would that be so bad?”
Valentine didn’t answer as they shuffled the couch past the scheming women, but the look in his eyes said a week would be an agonizing wait. Her stomach fluttered. They set the couch against the wall and Iris turned toward the open door, lit a dusky blue-gray from the evening light. Delphine called the children to the culina to wash before the evening meal.
Valentine caught Iris’s hand and drew her to him. In the dimness she saw his pulse pounding in his neck.
“I know it was only a kiss.” He drew in a shaky breath. “And I have nothing to offer you and no right to ask, but will you—?”
“Yes,” she whispered before he could finish. His breath left him in a rush as he pressed his lips to her temple. She shut her eyes, wrapped in the solid warmth of his arms.
“Now that you’ve agreed never to bake again...” He choked back a laugh and wrestled her to stay against his chest as she pushed away. “You will marry me, won’t you?”
She swatted him, stilling. “You’re terrible.”
He grinned but waited expectantly.
“Why me?” Her voice sounded calmer than her stomach and knees felt. “You could have your pick of any other woman.”
“I don’t want any other woman.” He took a half step back and looked into her eyes, swallowing before continuing. “You infuse life and laughter into any room you’re in. No matter the task or the conversation, you join in with passion. You are kind and compassionate and caring, and I don’t want to miss a single word you say or spend another moment alone, if I could be with you.” He let out a shaky breath. “I just wantyou.”
She tilted her face back. “I already said yes.”
He kissed her, sweet and full of promise, then took her hand, tugging her out of the room before Beatrix could interrupt again. Across the twilit courtyard, the open culina door glowed amber. They hurried toward it, Valentine’s sandals squeaking with every step. Four of the children tumbled out the door directed by Martha and followed by Phoebe, who clutched a wooden tablet.
“This just came for you, Valens.” She held it out.
He dropped Iris’s hand and took the tablet, stepping into the culina and tilting it toward a lamp. “I have to go.”
Iris’s heart dropped. “Another wedding?”
“Just one.” He sent her a look full of mischief and love and anticipation. “Your father will be back soon. I won’t be long.” He squeezed her hand and left to fetch his cloak and satchel.
