Glove of Satin, Glove of Bone by Rachel White

Author:Rachel White [White, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Lesbian, Bisexual, Fantasy, Romance
Publisher: Less Than Three Press, LLC
Published: 2016-06-08T00:00:00+00:00

VII

What an absolute mess.

Muriel stared at her reflection in the mirror, ferociously not thinking about what had just happened. Out of nowhere, Enne had kissed her, and Muriel had succumbed to the kiss like a blushing virgin from some hideous romance. Her heart was still pounding, and her face felt as though it were on fire. Enne's kiss—her hands—

"Stop it," Muriel told herself, trying to shake off the lingering arousal. There was no reason for her to be feeling so flustered. It had been a terrible, ridiculous, silly mistake.

Outside, the bells signed the half hour. Soon enough, Muriel would need to leave to meet Natasha, who had responded so promptly and enthusiastically to Muriel's message that morning that Muriel couldn't possibly imagine being late in return. She needed to get ready. The last thing she wanted to do was face Natasha with evidence of Enne's kiss still on her face; Natasha's response would be ruthless.

She spent the next hour preparing: changing in and out of dresses, fixing her hair, adjusting her paint. Even though she knew it was silly, she wanted to be beautiful in front of Natasha—not, as Enne believed, because she wanted to go back to Natasha, but because…

Because she didn't want Natasha to look down on her. Muriel could admit it, if only to herself. Their break had been hard—harder than Enne knew—and Natasha had thrown Muriel's own adoration and respect in her face, telling her that she would never make it on her own. But Muriel had, and she wanted to prove it.

Finally, at half past five, she judged herself as ready as was possible and gathered her things to depart. Enne was nowhere to be seen, thank goodness, and Kylia was off at a friend's house; she had gone there directly after lessons were over and planned to stay the night. Though Enne had grumbled about it, it only took a look to silence her protests. Muriel locked and warded the door behind her and hailed a cab at the corner.

The location had been Natasha's choice, a quaint little restaurant near the city center. There were a few tables outside, patronized by simpering women and dashing men. A lovers' place, Muriel thought, stomach flipping. But her feet carried her through the door regardless.

It didn't take long to spot Natasha, who still seemed to have the ability to pull all light toward her. She was sitting in the back, near a window, so that the fading sunlight highlighted her regal, fine-boned features and set her skin glowing. The effect was luminescent. When Muriel approached, she brightened further.

"Muriel!" she said, rising. "There you are." Her hair—very long, very thick, and absolutely jet-black, though she was thirty-five—fell over her shoulder like a waterfall to pool on her seat.

"Hello," Muriel murmured, reaching the table. "I hope I'm not late."

"No, of course not." Natasha leaned forward, going in for a kiss, but Muriel turned her head at the last moment, so Natasha's lips only brushed her cheek. A reflexive prickle went down her spine at the ghostly touch.

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