The Arranged Marriage
The church wasn't empty.
Squire Peters son, Matthew, stood there. He was so unlike his father that I imagine his mother, dead these past ten years, had cuckodled him with an angel. He was golden of hair and skin, with blue eyes like the ocean a week's travel from us. He turned when I entered, and seeing those eyes made me feel like the breath had been knocked out of me.
His lips curved in a small smile when he saw me. "Ani," he said, the word caressing my name. He'd never said my name before. I'd only met him three days ago, when he came home from the manor he was fostering at for his father's wedding. He was twenty-two, and perfect, and all the village girls were sighing over him. I had glimpsed him once or twice about the village, but that was all. After all, I hadn't even seen the Squire very often. He arranged the wedding with my parents only a two weeks ago, when he decided he wanted me.
But I was not thinking of that now, possibly because thinking requires oxygen.
I could not breathe. He tilted his head, and the sun shining through the stained glass window behind him sparkled light across his shimmering hair. "Or should I say Stepmother?" he asked, arching a brow.
Squire Peters son, Matthew, stood there. He was so unlike his father that I imagine his mother, dead these past ten years, had cuckodled him with an angel. He was golden of hair and skin, with blue eyes like the ocean a week's travel from us. He turned when I entered, and seeing those eyes made me feel like the breath had been knocked out of me.
His lips curved in a small smile when he saw me. "Ani," he said, the word caressing my name. He'd never said my name before. I'd only met him three days ago, when he came home from the manor he was fostering at for his father's wedding. He was twenty-two, and perfect, and all the village girls were sighing over him. I had glimpsed him once or twice about the village, but that was all. After all, I hadn't even seen the Squire very often. He arranged the wedding with my parents only a two weeks ago, when he decided he wanted me.
But I was not thinking of that now, possibly because thinking requires oxygen.
I could not breathe. He tilted his head, and the sun shining through the stained glass window behind him sparkled light across his shimmering hair. "Or should I say Stepmother?" he asked, arching a brow.