Chapter Twenty-Three

This idea is absurd. It's spontaneous, dangerous, and a bunch of other things that she cannot think of right now because if she thinks about it any longer, she will lose the courage to do it. Lottie dons her chemise again and starts readying her supplies on the nightstand in their suite. Marigold pulls the chaise closer to a sconce with a little light. She then unties the ribbons of her light pink dress until it loosens from her form and falls to the ground. Her stay is more difficult to undo, but she manages to slide it off before Lottie approaches.

"And this," Lottie says as she playfully plucks the straps of Marigold's chemise, and her fingernail scratches her shoulder, sending shivers down her entire body.

"I'm nervous."

"Don't be nervous, Mari. The pain isn't nearly as bad as you might think."

"No, I'm not scared of the pain. I'm scared of you seeing me… like this. Seeing all of me… you know…" She motions to her chest, and Lottie laughs.

"You're hardly the first naked woman I've seen."

Blushing, she says, "But you are the first I've seen, and the first whom I'll let see me. And it doesn't help that you're so—"

"So sour?" Lottie interrupts coldly.

She shakes her head and looks down, playing with her necklace. "I was going to say beautiful."

Lottie stiffens at the sudden compliment. "I'm beautiful?"

Her eyes stay on the floor. "The most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

There is a long, silent pause—too long for comfort. Her mind is racing. What did she just say? What on earth is she thinking? She has made a proper fool of herself now.

"I'm sorry, I should not—"

Lottie interrupts her by pulling her into a tight embrace. Their hearts are pounding into each other.

"I feel the same way about you," Lottie says softly into her ear.

Shocked, she tries to pull away, but Lottie doesn't let her. She keeps her tightly in her arms, pressed against her chest.

"You do?" Marigold whispers in disbelief. This was the last thing she expected to hear from anyone, much less Lottie Burke. Being here, being called beautiful, being with the girl who makes her feel something she has never felt so strongly before—it could change things. It could change many impossible things.

"Yes," Lottie says. She runs her hand up Marigold's spine in a soft line until she reaches the top hem of her chemise. Her finger skims the seam, gently touching her skin. She reaches the point of the chemise where the strap meets the bodice, and she pushes it off of Marigold's shoulder. "I want you to let me see you."

When Lottie pulls away, her gaze is wild and hungry. Marigold nearly loses her balance, but she straightens herself quickly. She pulls her chemise over her head and lies down on the chaise, clothed in nothing but cold air and candlelight. Her entire body tightens as she tries to position herself in whatever way might be most flattering. Lottie's eyes roam over her, and her seductive smile grows with every step. She wraps her hands around Marigold's wrists and pulls them upward.

"Rest your arms over your head," Lottie instructs, her tone sharp and warm. Marigold obeys, pulling the skin around her ribs taut. Lottie grabs a wet cloth in one hand to clean the area before the tattoo begins. Marigold sucks in a sharp breath as the cold, wet fabric touches her. Her skin pebbles as Lottie drags it across her sternum. Their eyes lock as Lottie's knuckles graze the underside of her breasts, and the air heats between them.

"Is this okay?"

Marigold nods fervently.

When Lottie finishes, she takes the wet cloth away and grabs a new sharp needle along with a vial of black ink. Hovering over Marigold, she dips the tip of the needle into the ink and takes a breath.

"Be very, very still. And don't distract me more than you already are."

Marigold says nothing—how could she? Her curse and her heart are at war with each other. She knows the nature of her curse—no romantic love of any kind. So, what is all this? Lust? Her imagination? A really, really good dream?

The needle pierces Marigold's skin for the first time, and she lets out the slightest whimper.

Lottie moans, her voice hungry. "Don't do that to me, Witch."

"But it hurts."

"It will hurt a lot more if you move. Here," Lottie says as she takes the yellow ribbon out of Marigold's hair, letting her blond curls fall around her shoulders. She places the ribbon against Marigold's lips and says, "Bite on this."

Her lips part, and Lottie uses two fingers to place the ribbon between Marigold's teeth.

"Good girl." Lottie continues with the tattoo, going seamlessly back and forth from the ink to the skin.

She is almost too mesmerized by her rhythm to feel the pain. Almost—but not enough. She definitely still feels the pain. Over and over and over again. Tiny little stings that seem to never end. Every few minutes, she gets a few seconds of peace, and then the needle comes back and it hurts worse than she remembered.

But it's a great distraction from the throbbing between her legs. She aches to touch herself there like she does when she's alone at night.

Lottie takes the smallest moment to reach up to Marigold's forehead and caress her cheek. "You're doing so well for me."

Marigold bites down hard on the ribbon and lets out a real moan.

"Easy, tiger. Almost done." An eternity of pinpricks later, Lottie pulls herself away from her and grabs another wet cloth. With the cloth hovering above the tattoo, she says, "It's going to be very sensitive at first, so do not spit that ribbon out yet."

As soon as the fabric touches her skin, pain shoots through her body and she growls.

"Okay, okay. We're all done."

Marigold fights to catch her breath as Lottie picks up a small mirror from the desk. "Take a look."

She pulls the ribbon from her mouth and takes the mirror from Lottie's hand, angling it toward herself. In the diamond between her breasts sits a small bee, no bigger than a pocket watch. She tries to touch it, but Lottie catches her wrist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. I'm going to wrap it up in a moment. I just wanted to know if you like it."

Marigold searches for words. It is beautiful, even better than she could have imagined. It's small, sweet, and perfect. Lottie's talent is otherworldly—better and more impressive than anything she ever saw in Bardshire. She would hug Lottie if her skin was not so tender.

"It's absolutely stunning, Lottie. How much?"

"Consider it a trade for this," she says as she gestures to the spell tied around her neck. Lottie starts wrapping a bandage around her ribs to protect the tattoo, and Marigold says, "Are you telling me that you might actually believe in my magic?"

Lottie pulls the bandage tight and Marigold winces. "Those were not my words. But perhaps I don't mind the idea of a soulmate."

"You've changed your tune quite a bit, Lottie Burke. You are getting dangerously close to admitting you were wrong."

Lottie hands Marigold her chemise. "I didn't say I believe in magic, and I definitely do not believe in any of that nonsense about you being cursed."

"Believe me, I wish that part were not true." She pulls her chemise over her head.

"It's not true, Marigold."

Can she pretend that Lottie is right for a moment? Where would that lead? Maybe giving in to this lust wouldn't destroy her in the end. Or maybe it would, but it could be worth it. She approaches Lottie and stands before her. "And how do you know?"

"Because…" she says as she tucks a blond curl behind Marigold's ear. "Just look at yourself. How could someone not fall in love with you?"

The two of them stare into each other, the candlelight vibrating between them. Marigold adjusts her chemise and touches her hand to her burning cheek. "Do not say things like that to me when you know them not to be true."

"Mari, I mean it. I'm—" Her face suddenly loses all color, and she clasps her hand over her mouth, gagging. "Oh no, I'm going to be sick." She hastens to their private balcony and retches over the side.

Marigold cannot stand the sight or sound of vomiting, so she keeps her distance. "You should have told me you're the type to get seasick. I would have brought something to help you," she says as starts cleaning up Lottie's things.

Lottie, bracing herself on the railing, yells, "I never get seasick," followed immediately by violent heaves.

"I find that hard to believe considering what I am witnessing."

When Lottie starts to quiet, Marigold approaches with a glass of water and a vial of black sage honey. "Honey first, then water. It's not a perfect cure, but it will help."

Lottie clearly doesn't have the energy to fight or object, so she takes her medicine quietly. She lets out a breath of frustration. "I do not know what is happening to me. Headaches, nausea, tension. I have these random bouts of pure misery that I've never experienced before."

"You've been in a new environment for days. You're away from your normal comforts. You've been drinking. And now you're on a very fast ship. It's all perfectly normal."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she says, "You are not hearing me. I am telling you that this is not normal."

"Then, what do you think the problem is?" She places her hand on her hip.

Lottie wipes her mouth with her forearm. "I do not know, but I am going to figure it out."

Marigold hovers for a moment until the air is too thick to breathe, the tension too heavy to stand. She goes to her bed across the room from Lottie's and lies on her back. Lottie blows out the candles, blanketing the room in perfect darkness. She goes to lie down and steadies her breathing quickly. Marigold thinks that Lottie is asleep until she hears her voice from across the room.

"Glad you like your tattoo."

She turns her body to face Lottie's bed, though she cannot see her through the darkness. "Thank you for giving it to me."

"Happy to," Lottie says.

"Glad you like your spell."

Lottie snorts. "It's not working. I haven't felt anything remotely similar to the feeling that you and August describe."

She sighs. "Give it time." She sounds certain enough, though she does find this concerning. Lottie should have felt something by now, surely. There is not a reasonable explanation for her magic not working. Unless… Lottie doesn't have a soulmate.

But that cannot be possible. Everyone, except a Honey Witch, has to have a soulmate. Even Lottie Burke, who hates everyone around her. Someone is her soulmate. But where are they? And if the spell won't work, how will she find them?

"Mari?"

"Yes?"

"I meant what I said."

"About what?"

Lottie smiles so that you can hear it in her voice. "You're so gorgeous."

She doesn't know how else to respond other than with the truth. "So are you." The moment she says it, shame creeps over her body. If she keeps allowing herself to acknowledge her feelings, or worse, act upon them, she will torture herself. Lust is not enough.

She clears her throat. "Lottie?"

"Yes?"

"We shouldn't get too close."

"What does that mean?"

"I mean, I am cursed. And I do not want to get hurt. So we should just… maintain a respectful distance."

Lottie sits up and releases a breath. "What is a respectful distance?"

"You know," Marigold says as she waves her hands around in an attempt to illustrate her point. "Me here, you there… respectfully."

"Respectfully, I do not think that is what you really want," Lottie says.

"Well, respectfully, you do not know me better than I know myself."

"Respectfully, I think I do."

Marigold huffs. "Respectfully, I am done with this conversation. Good night."

Lottie lets out a breath, but she does not continue the argument. There is nothing more to say.