Arthur draws in a quiet breath, his lips lifting into a smile. “Then come. I know a perfectly good pair of scissors.”
My heart paces rapidly as we return indoors. Arthur goes to locate Bess as I take a seat upstairs in our chamber. I roll the scissors over in my hand, the wig Arthur bought me a good month ago catching my eye. It’s brown, like my own hair. A close match. No one should be able to detect the difference should I need to wear it.
Arthur knocks once before entering, Bess right behind him. She gives me a warm smile as Arthur approaches the stool I’m sitting on, the mirror at my back.
“Are you ready?”
I blow out a soft breath before answering my husband. “I’ve been ready all my life.”
Arthur sits on the floor, his knees bent and his eyes on me, as Bess begins cutting my hair, having acquired the talent through a lifetime of cutting her brother’s. I keep my gaze on Arthur as long strands of chestnut brown fall to the floor. Bess takes her time, removing most of my hair before slowly shaping what’s left. The absence of weight is…startling. I never realized quite how heavy a shroud of hair could be.
Bess’s hands run over my head a few times before she finally steps back. “All set, sir.”
“Bess,” I say quietly.
“Charlie.” The amendment is quick, Bess’s eyes wet with her smile.
I pull in a breath as Arthur stands, reaching for me. I accept his proffered palm, letting him guide me to my feet.
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Stay here.”
I wait as Arthur walks to my wardrobe, pulling a light green waistcoat from inside, followed by a dapper wool coat with long tails. He returns, the coat hanging off his arm as he buttons the waistcoat over my shirt, the bindings already in place underneath. The coat goes on last, Arthur walking around behind me to slip it up my arms. There’s a smile on his face as he buttons the front, but his eyes look sad in a way I’ve rarely ever seen.
“Arthur?”
He shakes his head quickly, swallowing once. “It’snothing, my love.”
“It is something,” I counter, my chest feeling tight. “Does it displease you seeing me so?”
“Charlie.”
His voice is soft, but I shake my own head.
“No, Arthur. Be honest with me. Always.”
He puffs out a breath, smoothing the fabric of my coat before his eyes meet mine, his hands settling on my shoulders. “I am upset because you are breathtaking, and the world will never see it. They don’t understand it. And I wish, more than anything, they could understand you, Charlie dear. I wish they could see what I see.”
“What do you see?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“I see the person I fell in love with looking more comfortable than ever before. I see him standing tall, his thorns ready for battle. I see my husband, the man I married, looking so handsome it hurts my chest. But, my love, it doesn’t matter what I see. What’s important is how you feel. All I wish for is your happiness. I’m quite selfish that way.”
I let out a laugh, my eyes stinging.
Arthur’s hands slide up to my face. He cups me as if I’m precious to him. It’s easy to believe it’s true.
“Charlie, you will always be my heart, no matter how many times your name may change. No matter your body or age or the years we see pass. There is nothing in this universe that would stop me from loving you. Dare I say not even death.”
He leans close, lips pressing to my temple as my hands shake against his wrists.
“I didn’t fall in love with you for your petals, my dear heart. So let them fall. Summer is but a season, and I suspect it’s long since passed.”
My breath shudders as I look down at the floor between our feet. Strands of brown lay fallen, the last vestiges of theCharlotte I was scattered like dried flowers that never fit my vine. I press the toe of my boot against a curl, imagining it crumbling to dust.
When I bring my gaze upwards again, Arthur is watching me, waiting. Bess, I realize, has left the room, giving Arthur and me privacy I appreciate.
It’s not easy, turning toward the mirror. It feels like an immeasurable trek. Miles and miles of distance crossed over landscape both harsh and foreign. There’s fear that the end of the journey won’t be what I expect. That, for all the ways I’ve come to be accepted in this home I never expected to have, I won’t be able to accept myself. That I won’t see myself as I am. As who I’m supposed to be.
My gaze starts on the vanity. Mahogany wood, lovingly crafted and polished. A brush sits to the right. The scissors near it. In one drawer rests the ivory cock Arthur and I used just this morning.
