Crown Me, Prince by Frankie Love

Author:Frankie Love [Love, Frankie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-08-14T18:30:00+00:00

When I wake, bright sun shines through a small window across from the bed. I sit up and see that no one is beside me.

No one, meaning my husband.

Husband. The word is still so foreign on my lips. I look at myself—wrapped in a sheet, naked—instantly remembering the way he took my body last night. So fully and completely.

After we made love many times, I fell asleep. My eyes closed as the exhaustion of the day swept over me.

I moved to a new country after saying goodbye to everyone I love, boarded a plane and arrived in Alpinweiss, and met my husband—well, actually I married him first. Then we fought, made up, and made love.

And now, sitting up in bed, I look around this one-room cabin and realize it’s actually icy cold. A shiver runs over me. Last night, it was dark when I woke up from a fainting spell.

I woke in a room filled with candlelight and a fire blazing in a wood stove. I wasn’t able to make out the details of the room around me, mostly because I was blinded by the way Garrick looked at me—like he wanted me, needed me.

The same way I looked at him.

I stand, wrapping the sheet around me, and walk toward the wood-burning stove. There’s a log in it, but it’s fading fast. The neon-orange embers glow against the ashy gray.

Sighing, and not at all interested in setting my new husband’s house on fire, I step away from the wood stove and assess the situation. “Garrick?” I call out. “Are you here?”

I turn in a circle, getting a grip on my surroundings. A queen-sized bed, an end table with a stack of books. Hurricane lamps, two windows. A kitchen without a stove ... though this wood-burning stove is here. A water pump mounted above a white enamel basin. A table with two chairs; in the center, a bowl of apples. There are two chests of drawers.

There’s little else. A braided rug on the floor, with two rocking chairs. A few rifles hang on the wall, and an axe hangs below them.

This place is really rustic. Really rugged. Being here alone, I feel exposed—naked and alone. My suitcase waits by the front door, and when I walk to get it I notice a small door leading to the bathroom. Thank God. For a moment I had this terrifying thought that there wasn’t actually an indoor bathroom.

By which I mean, there are limits … and then there are limits.

I toss my suitcase on the bed and root around for my toiletries. I need to brush my teeth before Garrick shows up. Grabbing my bag, I step inside the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind me.

I pee, sitting on the icy toilet seat, looking around this man’s bathroom. And it’s exactly that. I don’t think it’s ever had a woman’s touch, let alone ever had a woman sit on this seat.

At the sink, I realize there’s no warm water handle on the faucet.

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