Chapter 62 Alexander Wants to Go Out

The word hung between them like a prayer. Alexander’s small hand found the ribbon at his hair and curled around it, fingers cold. "Words are easy."

"And so are actions." Elaine’s thumb stroked the tiny buds pinned to his hair. "I will show you. Not with grand declarations, not with contracts either, but by waking up next to you, by asking you how your day went, by learning when to be quiet and when to hold you tight."

He tilted his head, the faintest spark of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That’s a tall order."

"It’s the only one I plan to keep." She kissed the top of his head, gentle and sure. "Now — stop sulking and tell me what you want for dinner, Princess. I’m in the mood to be chivalrous tonight."

A laugh escaped him, soft and real this time. "A roast would be nice," he said, voice small and almost conspiratorial. "And you’ll make it, and you won’t burn it."

"You wound me," she said, mock-offended. Then, her voice became softer. "Whatever you want."

He leaned into her again, letting the lace and chiffon swallow the rest of the world. For a moment, the contract and the divorce and the ghosts of first loves were nothing more than distant shadows.

Here, in the small warmth of an arm around him and the scent of fresh flowers in his hair, Alexander allowed himself to believe that mending might be possible—slowly, on his terms, and only if she could prove she was willing to be the kind of husband who kept the promises that mattered.

"I don’t care if I wound you."

"What? My ’fragile’ body won’t be able to handle your harsh words."

"I don’t care." Alexander pushed back from the table so suddenly the chiffon rustled like wind through dry leaves. He straightened, fingers smoothing the embroidered vines on his gown as if setting an invisible standard. "Let’s go to the market today," he said, voice bright with sudden, determined mischief.

Elaine’s shoulders tightened; her expression folded into caution. "Princess, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Dawdling among the commoners isn’t—" She cut herself off, choosing a softer edge. "—isn’t safe. You might get hurt."

"No." Alexander’s answer came quick and sharp. He planted both hands on his hips, the fabric of his gown pooling around his ankles. "I want to go. Besides, I can protect myself. Didn’t I defeat that alpha in a highly unfavourable match? Although, the match was too weird."

Elaine stepped closer, the distance between them narrowing until the heat of her body was an accusation and an invitation. "Your demands are reckless," she said. "You don’t understand how people look at you."

"I don’t care how they look," he snapped. "They can look all they want. I’m not a weak damsel in distress who needs an alpha’s protection."

Her jaw worked. "You always say that when you’re feeling brave," she replied, voice low. "But there’s a difference between brave and foolish. The market is loud, messy, full of strangers. Someone could—" She swallowed. "Someone could do something thoughtless, or cruel. I won’t risk you."

Alexander laughed then, short and disbelieving. "You sound like a lecturing parent."

"And you sound like a child who refuses help," Elaine shot back. Her hand came up, not touching him but close enough that he felt the heat. "I left you once because I thought you couldn’t bear the world as it was. I won’t let that happen again. Not to you."

"You left—" The word landed between them; it had sharp edges. Alexander’s voice trembled, a ribbon of hurt showing through the bravado. "You can’t keep using that as a shield to justify your control."

Elaine’s face hardened, then softened. "I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to keep you safe."

"You do it by wrapping me up and deciding for me." He moved forward until he was only an arm’s length away, eyes bright with stubbornness. "I will walk through the market like anyone else. I will taste the fruit, touch the fabrics, bargain with the hawkers. I will not be hidden away because you feel... uneasy." In her past life, he was a free spirit. Although he couldn’t escape his responsibilities, he could still go out if he wanted.

She inhaled, slow and even. The silence stretched; the sunlight through the window made dust motes float like tiny planets between them. "You know I hate crowds," she confessed finally, voice threadbare. "But you—" Her fingers found the hem of his gown and curled it as if anchoring both of them. "If you must go, I go with you. But you stay by my side. You promise me you won’t dart off when someone calls your name."

Alexander let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. "So, you’ll come because I throw a tantrum?"

"No." She stepped close enough to bridge the last inches and lowered her voice. "I’ll be beside you because I want to learn to stand in the world with you, not apart from it."

He searched her face, looking for anything that smelled like a trick. Finding nothing but an honesty wrapped in stubbornness, he gave a small, reluctant nod. "Fine. I’ll stay close."

Elaine’s sternness cracked into something warmer. "And if anyone is rude—"

"I’ll handle them by myself." He puffed up, ridiculous and brave all at once.

"You will stay by my side," she corrected, quoting him back with a smile that was all teeth and tenderness. "No theatrics."

"No theatrics." He let the word slide into the space between them like a promise they both meant to keep.

She hooked an arm through his and tugged him gently toward the door. "Good. We leave in twenty minutes. Wear something less... delicate."

Alexander looked down at the chiffon, the embroidered vines, the real flowers pinned to his hair, then at her steady hand.

He considered arguing—his pride demanded it—but the warmth of her arm around his and the steady drum of her pulse against his ribs made his resistance melt.

"All right," he said, voice small and mischievous. "But you’ll bargain for me when I want a ribbon or a trinket. And you’ll carry the purchases."

Elaine rolled her eyes, mock-offended. "As your chivalrous husband, of course I will. But don’t make me promise you won’t buy every bauble you see."

"I can’t promise that, Elaine," Alexander admitted, bright as a coin. "I’ll at least try."

She pressed a quick kiss to his temple, a sealing of the argument. "Try. And stay close."

He leaned into the kiss, then pulled back just enough to grin. "Deal."

"Also, disguise yourself properly."

"I know that already!"