By my fifth attempt, Ellie was tapping her foot against the ground, tugging at her skirt like she was trying to give her hands something to do other than rip the blow pipe directly out of my hands.
On any other occasion, I might have been annoyed by this, except that I’d let the fourth bulb cool on purpose.
“All right, you’ve got it this time. Just don’t get distracted talking, and I’m sure this will be the one.” Ellie scratched the stretch of skin under her jaw, as if watching me work was giving her hives.
“Perhaps it’s not me that’s the problem. Have you considered that it could be your teaching style?”
By the look on her face, Ellie clearly had not. “My teaching style? I’m telling you exactly what to do. You’re just not listening.”
I’d never had to fight that hard to suppress a grin. “I’m more of a hands-on learner myself.”
Ellie’s throat bobbed, and she took half a step away from me.
“But if giving verbal instructions is the only way you’re comfortable teaching, then I underst—”
She flicked her wrist, banishing the rest of my sentence. My lungs were shaking now with the effort of holding back a laugh. Then, to both my eternal amusement and utmost disappointment, she shuffled around to the other side of me so she could place her hands on the rod while still being able to maintain space between us.
“See, you have to keep turning it consistently so the bulb with stay even.”
“Got it,” I said, turning the rod much faster than would be to her liking.
“Well, I suppose that’s consistent, but—”
“I think we’re in need of a demonstration,” I said, passing the rod to Ellie. When the weight settled into her fingertips, her shoulders loosened, and the relief in her cheeks was palpable.
Then I wrapped my arms around her from behind, and every last fiber of Ellie Payne’s body went rigid.
“I thought you said you needed a demonstration,” she said, her tone warbling, but she made no move to push me away.
“No,” I said, nuzzling in close so she could hear my low whisper. Her breath hitched as my lips brushed her ear. “I said we’re in need of a demonstration. I’m demonstrating to you how to properly demonstrate.”
When I pressed my chest to her back, the rod in her hands began to tremble. I let my fingers trail down her arms before letting them rest over her hands, my grip steadying the rod.
“Ellie Payne?” I asked, dragging my thumb across her fingers, noting every dip, every ridge.
“Yes?” she answered, her voice hardly audible.
“I think I’m ready to learn now.”
CHAPTER 23
ELLIE
“You’re going to give me hives with all that jittering of yours. I’m allergic to anxiety.”
Blaise stared at my fingers, which were tapping against the library table where we were supposed to be studying decorum, with a look of revulsion.
“I’m not anxious,” I corrected. “I’m just unable to ignore the fact that my father, who typically depends on my labor to fulfill his orders, is now short a pair of hands.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Evander and I had spent the better half of the day yesterday crafting windows, which he’d promised would be delivered to my father this week. Evander had said that in my free time, I was free to use the workshop, but given the reason Blaise and I were currently in the library, I didn’t know how much free time I’d actually have.
Besides, the king still hadn’t allowed me a key to my room, so I would have to have someone from the palace escort me anytime I wished to use the workshop.
I also had a feeling that my jittering wasn’t isolated to my concern that my father’s business might crumble. The phantom heat of Evander’s chest permanently seared into my back, his fingers caressing mine as we maneuvered the blow pipe, likely also had something to do with it.
“There’s a word for that, you know?” Blaise said, saving me from unwittingly replaying my and Evander’s interaction in the sweltering workshop for the seventy-eighth time.
I raised an eyebrow. “I do?”
“It’s called anxiety.” Blaise rolled her eyes, then flopped her hands onto mine dramatically.
She’d been assigned to me for the afternoon with the task of preparing me for the queen’s luncheon tomorrow. The queen herself was busy with preparations and, though she was the one requiring me to attend, she couldn’t seem to be bothered with helping me navigate the tedious rules of high society.
So they’d made Blaise do it, who I was fairly sure wouldn’t know decorum if it sniffed at her with an upturned nose while drinking bland tea, pinky-up.
Blaise slammed the book in front of her, the one we’d gotten about three pages into.
That was fine with me. I might not have been of royal blood, but my father’s income kept us if not in high society, then at least adjacent to it. Our neighbors had never considered us truly wealthy. For some reason, it was more notable to have had money handed to you by your parents than to earn it yourself. But still. I knew a thing or two about which side of my plate the salad fork should go.
It was the left, by the way.
“We’ve got to find you something to do. I’m already going to hear your fingers tapping in my sleep. I’d rather it not persist to my grave.”
My jaw hung open a little, and I considered spitting back a retort, but then again…
It really would be nice to have something to do other than want to claw my ears out as Blaise droned on reading the Handbook for Proper Ladies aloud.
“Fine,” I said, wrestling the book from Blaise before she drooled on it, or worse. I rose and tucked the book safely back into its place on the library shelf and approached her. “What do you propose we do?”
