His brother’s Luna, his mate

Insecurities

*Josie*

With a low fire simmering on the hearth and one lamp casting a low glow from its place on the bedside table, I lay beneath the blankets, my hands clutching them to my chest as I listen to the familiar noises coming from Nathan’s bedchamber. Is he having a bath prepared? There are so many comings and goings that I don’t see how it could be anything else.

I would dearly love to slip out of bed, go into his room, kneel behind him and scrub his back, would enjoy feeling the quivering in his chest with his satisfied groan. Eventually, I would move on to more interesting aspects of his body. He would kiss me, his nimble fingers working free the buttons on my nightdress. Before long we would be in his bed, with his still-wet body gliding over mine. I love contemplating the notion of how badly he would want me.

But I can’t bring myself to do it. Not when I have never done it before, and there seems to be this odd strain in our relationship. While I had not expected it to be so, I am experiencing butterflies worse than the ones that fluttered about on my wedding night. This is Nathan. I know what to expect. Only I don’t. Four long interminable months have passed since he has been in my bed. If I’m honest with myself, I have forgotten things that I had thought to always remember: the feel of him, the scent of him, the warmth of him.

We aren’t quite as comfortable as we had been with each other before he left. I know grief is a consideration, the upheaval in our lives created by the death of his twin. Always, Ethan is there hovering, so we have been unable to relax into each other.

Then there are the changes in me, in the shape of my body as well as in the fabric of my being. I could be laughing one moment, weeping the next. My lady’s maid has begun treading lightly around me because she never knows when I might lash out. It’s unsettling to feel as though sometimes I have little control over myself.

Perhaps the changes in me deserve more credit for this distance between us.

As the minutes stretch out, I begin to wish I’d called for a bath, although I bathed that morning and washed up before donning my nightdress.

Why is he taking such care in his preparations if we are merely going to sleep? Yet I can’t deny the little shiver of pleasure that courses through me at his thoughtfulness. Nathan is always thoughtful, sometimes too thoughtful, as though he fears with a misstep that he might lose my love. That is impossible. I will never love another as I love him. I began to fall for him the moment he first waltzed me over the dance floor.

The door separating our bedchambers opens, and the butterflies launch into a frenzied flight moving from my stomach into my chest. I watch as my husband walks into my room, wearing his dressing gown sashed tightly at his waist. He gives me a small smile before striding over to the fireplace, taking the poker, and stirring the logs on the fire.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

I realize he is delaying coming to me. Perhaps he, too, has noticed that things between us aren’t all they should be. “I won’t be once you are in bed with me.”

Setting aside the poker, he comes to the bed, his gaze on the lamp. “Do you want the light?”

“No.” I mumble.

He extinguishes the flame, and the shadows move in, dancing in rhythm to the flames cavorting on the hearth. He unties the sash, shrugs out of the dressing gown, and tosses it toward the foot of the bed. At the sight of his bared chest, my mouth goes dry, the butterflies flutter lower, and I curse myself for not asking that the light remain.

Sliding between the sheets, he settles onto his back. I roll over to my side, place my hand on his chest, welcome the warmth of his skin. “You have never not worn a nightshirt to bed.”

Beneath my splayed fingers, he stiffens. “It was unbearably hot in in the dark lands. I became accustomed to sleeping in the nude.”

I trail my fingers up his chest, down to the waistband of his drawers, which I assume he has worn out of consideration for my sensibilities. “Perhaps after the babe is born, we will both sleep in the nude.”

Grasping my wandering fingers, he jerks his head to the side. Even with the shadows, I can feel the intensity of his stare. My cheeks grow warm as I force a brave smile. “I think it would be lovely.”

Bringing my hand to his lips, he kisses my fingertips. The butterflies settle, warmth sluices through me, tears sting my eyes at the tenderness of his action.

“I know I have not been myself.” He mumbles.

“Shh. It’s all right,” I coo. “Our being separated was more challenging than either of us expected, I think. I hadn’t anticipated being uncomfortable with you when you returned.”

“I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He says.

His hand is still curled around mine, holding tightly. The bond is there, it will always be there. “I don’t mean to imply you’re at fault. It’s merely the circumstances and going so long without having you about... to be quite honest, I have forgotten things that I never thought to forget. What it’s like to be with you. I got rather accustomed to caring only about my own needs, my own wants. I only had to see after myself. Now that you’re home, I have to settle back into being a mate. It’s not that I mind. I don’t feel burdened by it. It’s simply that I feel a bit awkward sometimes because I’m not quite sure how to act or what to say.”

Rolling onto his side, he presses his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry that I’m not the man you married.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Don’t you see? We changed somewhat and now we just have to get to know each other again.”

Leaning back, he cradles my cheek. “You are so... insightful. I thought I was the only one feeling as though I didn’t know you any longer.”

Reaching up, I brush his hair back from his brow. “The only thing that hasn’t changed is that I love you beyond all imagining.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “You humble me.”

Dropping his arms around me, he pulls me into his chest. That broad, wonderful chest. “It’s been a long day. What say we sleep for a bit?”

Nodding, I try not to be bothered that he hasn’t confirmed that he loves me. Before, whenever I professed my love for him, he was quick to reassure me that he loved me as well. In retrospect, I dearly wish I had not encouraged him to take the journey with his brother.