by Nina Mason
“You can look now.”
Ever so slowly, she opened her eyes, not sure what to expect, though she could smell the faint fragrance of roses intertwined with melting wax. The scene greeting her made her heart skip a beat. The room was alight with tiny flames. Votives floating in shimmering glass bowls on every possible surface. Tears welled when her eyes found the bed: hundreds of red rose petals blanketed the sheets and pillows.
Turning back to him, she met his eyes, which twinkled in the candlelight like faceted emeralds. “This is why you wanted to wait, isn’t it? And I almost spoiled it.”
“No, m’aingael.” He took her hand and led her toward the bed. “You could never spoil anything. You are my salvation.”
As he gathered her into his arms, her mind reached back to the night she’d summoned him to her cottage and the final card she’d drawn. The Ten of Cups. And now, at last, they’d achieved the happy ending that had eluded them for two centuries.