Chapter 63 Elaine Wanted to Take Him Right Against the Tree

Elaine waited near the low stone wall by the market entrance, shifting her weight as people flowed around her.

She had traded her usual tailored jacket for a simple brown coat cut for practicality, the sleeves rolled to the elbow to reveal forearms that could still look like an invitation to steady someone rather than a threat.

Her boots were scuffed and flat, the laces tied in a quick, efficient knot. The change was functional, but deliberate—she’d padded her shoulders with a spare cloth to give a less refined silhouette, and the turquoise dye at her roots—swept into a rough, shoulder-length bob—softened the verdict her face usually delivered to strangers.

A narrow, dark scarf hid the collar where the last of the contract-bound marks might show.

She kept her hands curled around a satchel as if she feared the crowd might pluck something from it.

"Why do omegas take so long to prepare?" she muttered under her breath, more out of habit than genuine annoyance. She had been waiting for her omega for almost an hour now. But what could she do? As his husband, she had to swallow all the anger because she couldn’t afford to make him angry—not when their relationship was a better than before.

After waiting for a few more minutes, Elaine was angry. She had decided to scold him a bit. Just a tiny bit.

"I’m here!" came Alexander’s voice from behind, bright and breathless.

Elaine spun, ready to scold, and then stopped. She couldn’t find the words. The sight in front of her unravelled all the caution she’d stitched onto herself. Alexander’s disguise was meticulously charming.

His long gown had been swapped for a layered ensemble that blurred status and softened lines—a loose, cream-colored chemise under a faded teal waistcoat, the waistcoat worn open so the chemise’s collar lay undone at the throat.

Over that, a thin, charcoal cloak hung from one shoulder, clasped with a brass pin in the shape of a small, sleeping fox.

The chiffon that once pooled like water was now folded into an ankle-length skirt with an underlayer of plain linen—still delicate, but practical for walking and bargaining.

His hair—pink-tinged at the tips—was a soft, mischievous halo around his face, the silver streaking through it whispering of his true self.

A gauzy scarf, striped in dusk blues and rose, was looped twice around his neck and tied in a playful knot that brushed his collarbone.

Small, embroidered flowers from his earlier finery had been repurposed as a brooch on the waistcoat, their pearly threads catching the light and giving away the care underlying the disguise.

His cheeks were flushed with excitement; his hands had flourishes as he gestured, half-dramatic, half-hopeful.

He twirled a little, the skirt fanning out and then settling. "So, how do I look?" he asked, voice pitched with nerves and a boldness that made Elaine’s pulse stutter.

For a heartbeat, she could not answer. Then she closed the distance between them in two long strides and grabbed him, her restraint collapsing.

She kissed him hard—no tender peck, no measured greeting—but with the kind of need that commanded air. Her lips came down on his with an urgency that startled the people around them into stepping aside.

The kiss was firm at first, a claim and a reprimand rolled into one; her thumb pressed at the point beneath his jaw, anchoring him to the present as if to prove he was real and not a daydream.

Alexander’s first reflex was to pull back, surprise flaring across his features, but then he fought it and leaned in.

His hands rose, uncertain, and splayed on the sides of her face as if mapping her. Their mouths moved together and then slower, a give-and-take that shifted from sharp desire to a warmer, more intimate cadence.

Elaine’s breath was hot and quick; he answered with softer exhales that trembled against her lips. She tasted of citrus from the market cart she’d passed, a sharp sweetness that mingled with the faint metal tang of her own resolve.

The kiss deepened on an invisible cue—not violent but claiming—and Alexander let his resistance melt into it, tilting his head and opening just enough for them to sync.

When they finally separated, it was as if someone had pulled the curtain back on an audience—people glanced, a child giggled, a hawker cursed low.

Elaine’s palm rested against Alexander’s cheek; fingers splayed like a gentle tether. He blinked up at her, hair mussed, eyes bright with mischief and a little awe.

"You look—" she began, then laughed, the sound half stunned, half delighted. "You look ridiculous and wonderful." She wanted to take him right against that tree which was just in front of them.

He grinned, breathless. "It’s the scarf. And the fox pin. Don’t undermine the fox pin."

Elaine’s hands moved, deft and unselfconscious now that the market noise had receded into the periphery.

She smoothed the scarf, then found the stray tendrils of his pink-tipped hair that had escaped the casual knot at the nape. "Come here," she murmured, softer than the kiss.

He leaned forward. Her fingers threaded through the rose-tinted strands, lifting them with a tenderness that contradicted the earlier fierceness.

From her satchel she produced a pin—small, delicate, a crescent moon wrought from hammered silver, set with a single tiny pearl at its centre.

She had chosen it not for show but because it fit the curve of his hair and the angle of his neck perfectly.

Elaine’s movements were practiced, economical: she gathered his hair in a low twist, the way she’d once tied packages and bandages, then wound the crescent pin through, securing the knot with a single, precise click.

When she finished, the pin held the loose locks in a soft loop at the base of his skull. It caught the sunlight and winked like a secret.

Alexander closed his eyes as if savouring the contact. "You made it better," he whispered. He touched his hair a bit. "You are being romantic."

"I am always romantic when I am with you. And you always let me fix things," she replied, fingers lingering on the pearl. "Not because things are broken, but because I like that you let me be careful with you."

He opened his eyes and peered up at her, mischief replaced by a small vulnerability. "Careful is fine. But only if you don’t tone down your turquoise hair. It suits you."

She rolled her eyes but smiled in a way that reached them both. "Deal. You promise to keep the fox pin? It makes you look like a reckless poet."

"A reckless poet who refuses to bargain for anything less than a ribbon," he said.

Elaine hooked her arm through his, the motion private and possessive. "Then let’s go bargain. I don’t know you are so adamant about this. But you do know that I can literally buy anything you want, right?"

"I know! But sometimes doing things in a different way is fun. Oh, I forgot one thing."

"What did you forget?"

"That you are not funny! When I first met you, all I could see was that you were too serious."

"I was not!"

"Yes, you were. And don’t try fight with me, okay? Otherwise, I will just run away."

"Fine. You keep close to me, and I’ll let you buy that ribbon."

He laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. "And you won’t argue when I pick something frivolous?"

"I’ll argue long and loud," she said. "I’ll also carry your trinkets."