Dao had ever called her Yan, but the effect was so, so much different when Fei Long did it. She couldn’t control the quickness of her breathing when she finally did turn to face him.
Fei Long didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he reached past her, stretching overhead to retrieve the bolt of cloth himself. He was close enough that the edge of his sleeve brushed against her.
‘There,’ he said, depositing the cloth in her arms.
His manner had retreated back to formality, but he was still there. Watching her. She imagined… No, she wasn’t imagining. There was a touch of colour to his face that she’d only seen once before.
When he’d kissed her.
‘Is there anything else you need?’ His breath hitched slightly beneath the brusque tone.
Her eyes darted to the shelves, searching for something else to ask him for. As if she could rationally keep him there by fetching things.
‘Dao told me I should be preparing wedding gifts,’ she began. ‘I thought I would embroider something. You had mentioned that many officials of the Khitan court have adopted Han clothing. Perhaps a pair of shoes?’
His eyes glazed over as she babbled on. Fei Long had no interest in these womanly concerns, but she flushed happily from having him so near after he’d avoided her for so long. The space of the closet shrunk to enfold them and she never wanted to leave.
‘Whatever you think is best,’ he said.
‘Did you sleep well?’ she blurted out as Fei Long started to dismiss himself. All those lessons on etiquette and clever conversation—worthless!
‘Well enough,’ he replied stiffly.
He didn’t appear to have slept well at all. The dark circles beneath his eyes gave them a sunken look.
Pining, her heart insisted. Thinking of me. Me.
Silly, torturous thoughts again.
He gave her a small nod of appreciation. ‘Thank you for your concern.’
‘Are you quite busy today?’
There wasn’t really much more she could do to delay him. They were stowed away in a storage closet and the door was open. Soon Fei Long’s rigid sensibilities would take over and she dreaded the moment. Until then, he had come in there on his own to be with her, hadn’t he?
‘I have some business to attend to, but…’ He paused, as if considering those boundaries he spoke so dearly of. ‘I think the outcome will be good.’
Fei Long never spoke of his business affairs in anything more than a passing comment. He certainly never spoke of his hopes.
‘I’m sure you will find success,’ she assured dutifully, but she meant it deep in her heart. It was so hard to speak to one another like this. Whispering across so many walls and hoping that some meaning carried through.
‘Thank you,’ he said again, while he looked upon her with a controlled expression that she could read to be anything: thoughtful, doting or indifferent.
He backed out of the closet and stood aside as she slipped out past him. The rest of their conversation was nothing more than a few murmured farewells. Just sounds with no meaning, but her heart still clung to each word.
Out in the parlour, she cut out a small portion of cloth and set it into the embroidery frame. Fei Long retreated into his study while she sat and tried to work out what she should
create, while at the same time trying not to think of the impending wedding or her nameless, faceless husband-to-be.
She would do a tiger. There was an exquisite painting of one in an art shop in the East Market that she had fallen in love with. In her mind, the colours would be striking: orange-and-gold pelt against dramatic black stripes. The tiger in the painting had looked ready to leap off the scroll. Grace and power curled through every stroke, from the glint in its eye to the tip of its curved tail.
After holding the image for a moment in her mind’s eye, she threaded the needle and began in earnest. She was too impatient to sketch out the tiger and the needlework accomplished the task of keeping her hands busy, though her mind wandered quickly to Fei Long as she stored away every touch and look and the indolent warmth of being near him in that little closet.
At the end of the hour she looked down to find that the last ten stitches were miserably jagged. She’d have to cut them out and redo them. Her tiger was looking a little skimpy as well. It wasn’t nearly as glorious as she’d imagined. The only sewing she’d ever