Tilly Ann.
The knock came at sundown before dinner, just as I was about to call for my bath.
I frowned, tying my robe tighter. Probably my mother, with another lecture about not mouthing off to future husbands. Or their powerful fathers.
"Not now, Mama," I said under my breath and marched to the door.
I yanked it open.
And there he was. Not my mother. But Chase Dubois. Still in that damned wheelchair, parked in the hallway.
Every furious feeling from the receiving room rushed back.
My face went hot. Without a word, I moved to slam the door shut.
His hand shot out and stopped the door.
"What do you want?" I hissed. "This marriage will not happen. I don't care what your father promised mine. And you don't have access to me or my bedroom. So, goodbye!"
He looked up at me. His dreamy eyes weren't cold now. They were… tired. Like he stayed up all through the night.
"I'm sorry" He rubbed the back of his head. "Truce?"
That made me pause. And suspicious.
Chase Dubois did not look like a man who would ever admit that he was wrong.
I pushed on the door again. He was playing another game, I don't care for it. He held it firm.
"This marriage is going to happen, Matilda. It's the one thing everyone involved in this mess can agree on. You will be my wife and I will be your husband—"
I pushed the door harder. He held it open without effort. Wheelchair or not, he had the strength of an Alpha.
"I don't love you, Chase—"
"I don't love you either, Matilda"
Those words froze me momentarily. I didn't think he would actually say them.
He exhaled forcefully.
"Fuck. I'm doing this whole extend a hand of friendship to my future wife thing wrong"
I blinked. "You want to be my friend?"
I was surprised at the admission.
"Yes. That" He took a sign of relief. "I want to be friends. I obviously suck at being anything more than that. I'm too..." He exhaled again. It seemed to be all he did. "I'm too angry at everything and everyone to be anything but your friend."
He ran his hand through his hair.
"Why are you so angry?" I asked him.
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just a miserable fuck face." He extended his hand to me. "Truce?"
I thought about it. Was tempted by it. I ended up asking the question I wanted to ask.
"How could you forget me, Chase?"
I didn't mean to, but I think my true ache seeped into my voice and he heard it.
"I wouldn't, sweet girl."
Sweet girl. I raised an eyebrow at him. He wasn't getting off that easy.
"Well, I can be dick sometimes. It won't happen again. I promise"
A surprised laugh almost burst out of me. "Finally, something we can agree on. You are an arse"
A real smile touched his mouth. It was almost playful.
"Let me make it up to you. I had my omega set up a place for dinner...just the two of us. In your favorite spot in your garden. At least, your mother said it was. The one by the willow tree and lake. Does that interest you?"
He was being gentlemanly. Kind. The anger in me softened, turning into something warm. "No. Not even a little bit" I said, trying to sound careless.
"It will give us the time to set the rules for this inconvenience called marriage" He leaned in, closer to me. "It can be on our term or it can be on our parents. I choose us."
I hesitated.
"You can punch me whenever I do or say something stupid, okay?"
My eyes lit up. Punching Chase would make me very happy. "Alright. I will be there"
"Good. See you then, Matilda."
He wheeled himself backwards, then turned and moved down the hall. I watched him go.
I closed the door slowly.
I leaned back against the wood. Maybe… maybe he wasn't all bad. Maybe the chair explained the strangeness.
Knock knock.
My smile grew. He forgot something. Probably more pretty words. I did enjoy self deprecating Chase.
I pulled the door open.
"Did you forget to—"
He was standing.
No wheelchair. No weakness. He was just… standing. Different too. The weariness in his eyes was gone. All that was left was the most piercing and captivating eyes I have ever seen.
All the air left my lungs.
I should have asked. Should have demanded answers. Should have shoved him away and locked the door and never looked back. Instead, his mouth found mine, and every question I'd ever had dissolved into the taste of him.
He didn't let me speak. He moved fast, one step forward, his hand cradling my jaw, his mouth crashing down on mine.
This kiss was worse than the storage room.
I gasped into his mouth.
He didn't wait for an invitation.
He walked me backwards into the room, kicking the door shut behind us.
My back met the wall beside the door.
He pressed into me. One of his hands was in my hair; the other on my hip, holding me there.
He finally broke the kiss, but only far enough to look into my eyes.
"How did you escape in the storeroom?" he whispered, his voice amused. "Did your mother suspect that her virgin little princess had been thoroughly finger fucked by me where she stores her Manila rope and vinegar?"
"Are you right in the head—"
He kissed me again, slower this time. Shutting me up.
I couldn't think. I could only feel. If I could think I would have asked him what the hell he was talking about.
But I was rather preoccupied.
My hands fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt—the new one he was wearing.
Pulling out a little to ask "What is with the occasional wheelchair and tired eyes, Chase Dubois?"
He looked at me briefly before turning his attention to my chin, kissing me there.
"Hush. Busy right now, Winchester."