Newlyweds
When Mr. Gold stepped back from her, Belle felt quite dizzy, as if she had drunk a whole bottle of champagne. Now you're Mrs. Gold, she thought somewhat dazedly. She gazed up at her new husband, her lips rosy from his shockingly passionate kiss, her cheeks flushed and some of her hair escaping its careful coif to tumble carelessly about her shoulders. She feared she looked disheveled, like the wild squaw woman the men of Storybrooke had always taunted her for being.
Rum found her enchanting, like a forest nymph, wild and untamed. Now his wife. His hand reached up to gently brush a tendril of hair from her cheek, then said, "Shall we cut the cake, Mrs. Gold?"
Belle nodded. "Of course." She turned to where the carrot cake was sitting upon the table in the place of honor, and next to it was a large knife. Beside it was a smaller fruit cake, the groom's cake, which was for luck. But she would cut the first piece of the bride's cake, as was tradition, to symbolize her loss of her virginity.
She took the knife and cut carefully, a neat perfect wedge of the cake, and then she went and placed it upon a plate.
Bae and Regina applauded quietly.
Belle held out the fork to Rumple. "The first piece of cake, belongs to us."
Rumple came and took the fork she held. Belle picked up another. They both fed each other pieces of the cake.
Rumple licked his lips. "Mmm! This is delicious. And what's the other cake for?"
"That's the groom's cake," Belle explained. "It's for luck . . and everyone at the wedding has to eat a piece." She handed him the knife. "But you cut them."
Rumple sliced five small pieces of the groom's cake, one for each of them including Father Tuck.
Tuck took his piece and happily ate it. "This is wonderful, Mrs. Gold! Did you make this yourself?"
"Actually Regina did. I made the bride's cake," Belle said. The groom's cake was a spice cake filled with sultanas, golden raisins, dried cherries, peaches, blueberries, and strawberries.
"The dried fruit was from our orchards." Regina explained.
"It's really good!" Bae exclaimed.
"He's right," agreed Rumple, savoring the spicy sweetness.
"You know, it's supposed to be good luck to save a piece of wedding cake and put it under your pillow on the wedding night," Belle told them.
Rumple goggled. "No thanks, dearie. I'd rather not go to sleep with crumbs in my hair, even though I like this cake very much. I think we can skip that tradition."
"Well, it's better than the other one that used to be practiced in ancient Rome," his wife reported.
"What one's that?"
"The one where they broke a sugar loaf over the bride's head for luck and prosperity," she replied.
"Maybe we should do that one!" Regina teased, then she ducked her mother's playful swat.
Belle invited Tuck to eat the wedding feast with them, and the rotund priest readily agreed. They all toasted the health of the newlyweds with cider and ate all the food Regina had made. Everyone praised the girl's cooking skills, and they saved most of the leftovers for the next few days, wrapping them carefully and setting them in the spring house, which was a little house attached to the main cabin, and it could keep food and milk and butter cold.
While Belle and Rumple bid Father Tuck goodbye, Bae and Regina went out to the barn to make sure Bossy, the six hens, rooster, and the mule Jenny, which they had bought to bring Rumple back and forth to town on the sled, were fed, watered and snug for the night.
They were expecting another arctic gale according to what Regina saw in the sky and observed from the animals about the place. Her Mesquakie upbringing had taught her how to read the signs in nature and climate and she said snow would probably begin falling that night.
Bae finished putting some hay into Jenny's manger and said softly, "So . . .do you feel any different now that your mama and my papa are married?"
Regina paused in forking straw into Bossy's byre. "Well . . .I haven't had a papa in over a year but . . .yours seems nice . . .better than any other white man my mama could have married. Neither of you seem to care about us being Mesquakie. Or my having magic."
"We don't. Papa always said . . .he said that differences are what make the world beautiful. That if we were all the same . . .the world would be dull." Bae replied. "And at least your mama . . .won't do what mine did. Run off with another man first chance she got. Or scream and throw things at my papa because he didn't want to leave our village and give her a better life." The boy's voice was bitter.
"Mama's not like that. She's a lady . . .and a woman, not a spoiled child. Sorry, but that's how your mama sounded to me. Like some brat who makes a scene because she couldn't have her own way." Regina sniffed.
"I know. I was little when she did that but . . .I remember thinking if I did things like that, Papa would've paddled my behind."
"Maybe he should have done that to her," Regina grinned.
"I used to think that," Bae admitted, giving Jenny a pat. He glanced around at the warm barn, with the animals contentedly eating and sleeping, smelling the straw and the faint pungent scent of the animals within it, and said, "I'm glad we don't have to leave here. I like it here."
"So am I. And I still want to know what Tolle the polecat was after," Regina said.
"Maybe we can try and look around tomorrow?" Bae suggested.
Regina nodded. "We'll explore a bit. If it's not too cold out."
Bae pulled on his mittens. "Sure. Come on, let's get back to the house. I want some tea or cocoa with cinnamon."
Regina gave him a puzzled look. "Hot cocoa with cinnamon?"
"It's really good. I made it once by mistake and now I love to drink it," he explained. "If you have some cocoa I can make you some."
"I'd like to try it," Regina said. "With some of Mama's carrot cake."
"Then let's go." He led the way inside.
Regina followed thinking that now he was supposed to be her brother . . .yet sometimes when she looked at him her thoughts were anything but sisterly! Then she flushed, scolding herself. She wasn't even of an age to court yet, though in her tribe she would have already started sizing up potential suitors, though not until sixteen would she be eligible to marry one.
And were you still with the tribe, you would have Horse courting you, and Bae wouldn't even be a glimpse in your eye, Raven Heart. Shaking her head, she stamped snow from her boots and entered the warm kitchen, her thoughts turning to cocoa with cinnamon.
Belle flicked through her book without really seeing the words on the page. A cup of tea was in the chipped cup by her elbow, but she barely sipped it, an instead gazed into the fire that popped and snapped in the grate. She watched Bae as he curled on the settle, reading his fairy tale book, and Rumple was knitting a scarf, his needles flashing in and out, his golden yarn trailing down his legs and into the basket he had placed beside his rocking chair.
Regina was sipping her hot cocoa and cinnamon while quilling a pair of moccasins, they were a wedding gift for her new papa, though Rumple did not know this. She had meant to get them finished before the week ended, but had been too busy to work much on them before the wedding.
Belle's eyes lingered on her daughter for a moment before sliding involuntarily to where her new husband was sitting, one foot gently rocking to and fro while his head was bent slightly as he peered at his yarn. The firelight cast a warm glow upon his hair, which was the rich color of well-turned earth, tinged slightly by an early frosting of silver at his temples. He had discarded his suit jacket, hanging it neatly in the armoire in her—their—bedroom. He knitted now in just his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, which, she had to admit, fit him admirably.
My husband. My family.
It was something she had never thought to have again.
But here she was a wife, and this time no one would be shooting her husband before her eyes and dragging her back to a world she had left five years ago, a world that judged and scorned her for choices she had made while following her heart.
Her hand smoothed the skirt of her rum pink gown, thinking how lovely it was, and how lucky she was that her husband was able to make such garments with such skill on such short notice. If only she could still the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. But she couldn't help but think about what was still to come—her wedding night.
With Storm she had looked forward to that part of her wifely duty with eagerness, nay, even anticipation. But now she was unsure, nervous, and anxious. She wasn't sure how to react. She only knew that if he demanded his conjugal rights, she was supposed to submit to him as his wife. According to what her religion taught, consummation of the marriage made it legal in the eyes of God and man, and also enabled her to have children.
She ran her tongue around her teeth and thought about the fireflash of passion she had felt when Rum had kissed her. She couldn't recall ever feeling like that, since Storm had kissed her rarely, his reserve and restraint as a leader making him wait till she was his wife to indulge . . .but that time had never come.
She darted another glance at him, wondering what he would be like in bed . . . and if what went on there would be something she looked forward to or dreaded. She bit her lip and tried to lose herself in The Count of Monte Cristo again.
Rumple could feel her anxious eyes on him, even while he pretended to be engrossed in his knitting. He could have knitted this scarf with his eyes shut, and he was trying to do something relaxing so he could calm his own nerves. When he had agreed to marry Belle, he had done so to help her out, to do the right thing, and because he owed her for saving his life. He had never expected to feel the sweeping rush of passion he did when he kissed her to seal their wedding vows.
He couldn't recall ever having felt like that before, even with Milah at the very beginning of their marriage, when he thought he loved her and she him. He had been too shy and awkward to kiss her with any real force, and performing his husbandly duty had been something he'd done because it was expected, and Milah had never acted like he was anything special in that department. He supposed wryly he had been lucky to have conceived Bae on that first night, because four months later he had been drafted. Then almost six months later he came home, branded a coward and after that Milah had scorned to have him in her bed.
The needles flashed in and out, and the scarf grew by inches, and he fought against looking over to where Belle sat on the settle and risk seeing some sort of revulsion in her eyes. She had, after all, only married him to save her land, not because she wanted crippled Mr. Gold.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and listened to the soft ticking of the mantle clock, wishing that time would freeze and then wishing it would speed up and put an end to this eternal waiting.
The clock struck nine, and Rumple nearly dropped his knitting. He looked up at his son and said quietly, "Time for bed, Bae."
His son had nearly nodded off over his book. "Mmm . . .all right, Papa." He shut the book and set it on the small bookshelf before going to change in the little necessary off the kitchen. Bae usually slept on the couch before the banked fire.
"Regina, you too," Belle reminded her.
"All right," the girl replied and she put the moccasins and her needles and quills away in her work basket and set it back on the shelf beside the fireplace. She went and hugged Belle good night on silent feet, then she approached Rumple.
She hesitated only briefly before she put her arms around him and said, "Night, Papa." Then she kissed him lightly on the cheek.
Rumple was startled by the girl's sudden show of affection, but not so much that he didn't respond to her the way he used to Bae when Bae was younger. He hugged her back and whispered, "Good night, lass. Sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite."
Regina giggled and made a face. "Ha! As if Mama would have bugs in her beds."
Then she drew away and practically skipped down the hall to her room, thinking about how nice it had felt to be held by a man again. And while not as sinewy and strong as her father's arms, Mr. Gold had his own quiet strength and it made her feel safe , loved, and part of a whole family once more.
Belle rose slowly and tucked her book away on the bookshelf also, then carefully banked the fire. Outside the wind rose to howling shriek and snow swirled in its wake, rattling the windowpanes.
"That's some storm building up out there," she heard Rumple remark.
"Yes, but hopefully it'll blow itself out by morning," Belle said practically.
Her heart thudding nervously in her chest, she made her way to her bedroom, carrying a large beeswax taper in its holder. She set the candle atop her vanity and removed the overskirt of the gown, her shoes and stockings and petticoats. Then she froze, realizing she couldn't remove the whole gown without assistance and tiptoed across the hall to Regina's room to get her daughter to undo the buttons in the back.
But she discovered that Regina was fast asleep.
Biting back a cry of dismay, she walked back into her room, and discovered her husband was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, removing his boots. His cravat was undone and folded neatly on a chair, as was his waistcoat. He glanced up as she entered, and upon seeing the trepidation on her face, said quietly, "Belle. You needn't be afraid I'm going to . . .ravish you."
She colored faintly. "I . . .just wanted to see of Regina could . . .unbutton my dress . . ."
"Turn around, dearie," he said, and gestured.
When she complied, he began undoing the row of pearl buttons. He felt her shiver slightly as he gently undid the back of her dress and asked, "Are you cold? Or . . . are you that afraid of me?"
He dreaded what the answer would be. Maybe she found his touch repulsive? After all he was twenty years her senior. No longer a spring chicken, as they say.
"No! I'm not afraid of you, Rum. I'm just . . .nervous about . . ." She trailed off, not knowing how to speak about what was to come, and so she awkwardly remained silent.
"You're nervous about what comes next," he finished. "Sleeping with me."
Her face burning, she turned to look at him, her gown slipping off her shoulders. "Yes. You see I . . ."
"You've never been with a man, I know. But you—"
"—I know what happens," she interrupted. "I know that as your wife I'm supposed to . . .to do my duty . . .bear your children . . ."
"Belle. Stop," he ordered firmly. "I don't want you to sleep with me out of duty. Or obligation. Or even to have children. Either you come to me willing or not at all. I am not and never have been a man who ravishes a woman. That's a line I will never cross, or else be damned to the fires of hell."
"But . . .if we don't consummate the marriage . . .it's not valid . . ." she stammered, holding up her dress with a hand, though some of her corset peeked through the top.
"Says who?" he countered.
"The law . . .the church . . ."
"And is there any law that says a marriage must be consummated on the night of the wedding?"
"Umm . . .no . . ."
"Then we can wait. I don't want an unwilling bride in my bed."
"I'm sorry, Rum. I'm not afraid . . .I just want . . ."
"You want what you felt with Storm," he murmured. "But I'm not him, Belle. I'm just Rum Gold. I can't replace him in your heart, nor do I want to. I want to have my own place there. But I can't until you get to know me. And I get to know you. It's only been a few months since we met, and we're still testing the waters. Love doesn't happen overnight. Or at first sight, like in the fairy tales," he said with a wry smile. "Attraction is like a lightning bolt, striking unexpectedly. But love is more than just attraction. Love is knowing, deep in your heart, that you've found the other half that makes you complete. You know them like you know your own name, and you trust them with your life and your heart. And once you've found that, making love isn't a duty, or a chore you need to get done, it's something amazing."
She stared at him, thinking he had put into words all she could not say. "Rum, that's . . .beautiful. Did you ever . . .with your first wife? I don't even know her name."
"Her name was Milah. And no, I have never felt that way with her, or she with me, or else she'd not have run off with the scoundrel she did," he replied, with a slight hint of bitterness. Yes, he had been the village coward but he had never shirked his responsibilities towards her or his son, always making sure they had a roof over their head, food to eat, and other things they wanted. And he had always been a faithful husband to her and never beat her or berated her. Yet that, it seemed, was not enough.
"She was a fool, and worse," Belle replied heatedly. "Whoever she ended up with . . .probably wasn't half the man you are."
He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "She would disagree vehemently."
"Like I said. She's a fool. But I got the better deal. I got a husband who will stay beside me, and fight for me, and have my back. I may not know much about you, Rum, but I know that. Because any other man in your position would have hightailed it out of here when I told you the truth about me and Storm. Considered me used goods and not worth associating with. Like the so-called "good" citizens of Storybrooke." Her eyes flashed.
"Sometimes people who think they're upstanding and good really aren't. They're just sanctimonious twits and idiots."
"Yes! See, you do understand me." She shivered suddenly from the chill that had seeped through the windows, even though they were closed with the curtains drawn.
"I also understand you're going to catch your death of a chill if you don't finish getting into your nightgown and into bed," he noted. "Look, your feet are probably freezing!" He indicated her bare toes peeping out from the hem of the gown, which were nearly white.
She hopped on a foot, wincing. "I . . .forgot with what we were discussing."
"Get undressed, dearie, and then come to bed," he ordered softly. "We can continue our discussion beneath the covers."
She went to do as he had said, a little embarrassed, when she realized it would be impossible. Unless . . ."Rum, can you undo my laces?"
"Of course. C'mere."
He carefully loosened and untie the strings on her corset, frowning and muttering, "Damned wire cages! No wonder you women are always fainting. You can't breathe right."
"My mama always said we women suffer for fashion. It's the way of the world," Belle said, and then inhaled deeply. She winced as the whalebone stays bit into her skin.
Rumple snorted. "I've never understood that. Clothes can be pretty and comfortable, and there should be no need for these . . .torture devices."
"But . . .without it I probably wouldn't have fit into your lovely gown."
"Nonsense! Take the cage off and I'll prove it to you."
Astonished, she went and removed the corset behind the changing screen, then pulled the gown back on. It wasn't as full without the petticoats, and she held the skirt up but when he buttoned it again it still fit. Her eyes widened.
"There, you see!" he exclaimed.
"Oh! I never . . .how did you . . .?"
"I measured you, dearie, before I began. Without one of those . . . contraptions. And that's what I used when I made the gown."
She looked down at herself. Her bosom was a little fuller, but she could breathe normally, and the dress still looked incredible. "Rum, you're . . . incredible!"
"Hardly. Just a good tailor," he said quietly, then he went to unbutton her gown again. He scowled when he saw the red marks the corset had left upon her skin. "Torture device! Hold on a minute. I'm going to get some salve to put on these."
He rose and went to where he had his chest of drawers and opened it. Then he took the small jar of ointment he had purchased for his hands, which often became dry in this weather, and smoothed some gently on her back. "How's that feel?"
"Better," she murmured, her skin tingling a little from his hands stroking her skin, so delicately, yet his touch made her quiver with an unfamiliar heat.
He wiped his hands on a cloth he had inside the jar, thinking he had been right to be horrified the first time he'd seen one of those cages on the stand in Jack's shop. The wire and whalebone cages cinched a woman's torso so tightly that it cut off her breath and marked her skin if worn for more than a few hours. He shook his head thinking of the ridiculous fashion notions and wondered who had come up with such a hideous thing. He much preferred the simple chemise and brassieres of his homeland.
"Belle, have you ever considered wearing . . .something besides that cage?" he queried, as she returned behind the screen to resume undressing.
"Something else? But that's what white women wear," she began. "The Mesquakie don't, not with deerskin dresses and tunics, but that's how women's clothing here is made."
"What if I told you there's some undergarment better than those bloody cages?" he asked as he unbuttoned his shirt and removed his trousers and put on his own nightshirt.
"Better?"
"Yes. As in, it doesn't make you unable to breath or eat or sit properly. It's comfortable, but it holds your . . err . . .bosom in and supports it without making your waist the size of a toothpick and squishing you."
"What . . .what is it?"
"It's called a brassiere, and when I have the chance I'm going to make one for you."
"I've never heard of them before. Were they something women wore in Scotland?"
"Not everyone, but . . .many women I knew did and they found them much better than those torture devices," he replied, his lip curling. "Seventeen inch waists! Ridiculous! If women were meant to have figures like toothpicks, they'd have been born that way."
She emerged from behind the screen, in a simple pink ruffled nightgown embellished with blue cornflowers she had embroidered herself. Her hair tumbled down across the shoulders to her waist in a curling chestnut curtain. She looked charmingly fetching and also somewhat vulnerable.
Rumple looked up from where he was lying in bed, the sheet and duvet drawn up to his stomach. He reminded her of a content cat, his hair hanging in his eyes. "Come to bed, Belle. I don't bite. Or drool all over my pillow." He tried for a little humor to lighten her anxiety.
She came and cautiously sat on the side of the bed. She hadn't slept with anyone since she was a small girl and had crawled into bed with her parents after a nightmare. She hoped he didn't steal the covers or hog the pillow or kick or fart in his sleep. She also hoped she didn't do any of those things either. If I do, I hope he doesn't mention them. And I'll do the same.
She slid her feet beneath the sheets and drew her knees to her chest and settled onto the pillow. She pulled the covers up to her chin, then turned her head and looked at her husband.
"Are you warm now?" he asked solicitously.
"Snug as a bug in a rug," she giggled softly.
Her foot slid down and touched his ankle.
He yelped. "Woman, your foot's like ice!"
"I'm sorry," she groaned.
Then she gasped as he sat up, pulled her foot into his lap and began rubbing it.
"Rum! What are you doing?" her eyes almost bugged out.
"Making sure you don't get frostbite," he replied. "You really ought to wear socks on your feet," he half-scolded. He mentally added a pair of sleep socks to his list of things to make for her. His hands rubbed firmly yet gently over the arch of her foot and glided over the ball and toes.
She giggled a little bit and wriggled her toes. "That tickles!"
He smirked. "Aye, looks like you're a wee bit . . .sensitive, Mrs. Gold."
His thumb rubbed over the bottom of her toes, making them curl and she buried her face in her pillow, laughing uncontrollably.
Still smirking slyly, he ran his hands over the top of her foot, rubbing until the skin became pink again. Her skin tingled but it felt good, especially when he massaged the heel with his thumbs.
She groaned in pleasure.
He halted. "Am I hurting ye?"
"No . . .no . .. feels good . . .you have magic hands."
"That's a matter of opinion," he said, thinking how once it had been true.
Then he went and took her other foot in his lap and started massaging it too, and occasionally playfully tickling it as well. He loved hearing her laugh, it reminded him of the silver bells tinkling, ironically. He admired the shapely arch of her foot, tapering gracefully down to her petite toes, and the turn of her ankle, which was slender yet sturdy.
His fingers kneaded and glided by turns, warming her icy flesh with their friction and rubbing, as well as easing all the soreness in them from a long day of standing on her feet and rushing to and fro to get things done for the wedding feast.
Belle felt like she was some princess in a sultan's harem or some fine lady visiting a salon in Paris. She shut her eyes and luxuriated in the feel of his hands on her foot, so soothing and relaxing. She felt like her bones were melting into a puddle right there in the middle of the bed and a sweet smile graced her lips.
Perhaps being married wasn't going to be so bad after all.
She drifted off to sleep, she was so relaxed.
When Rumple set her foot down with a gentle pat beneath the covers again, and looked to see how she had enjoyed his impromptu massage, he saw her asleep, looking as innocent as a spring morning.
"Good night, dearie," he whispered tenderly, and then he leaned over and kissed her gently, a butterfly kiss , on the lips so as not to waken her.
He pulled the sheets up over her and then blew out the candle, settling down on his side of the bed and slowly shutting his eyes. He hoped she didn't snore, as he slipped off into dreamland.
He was awakened abruptly by his leg going into spasms, as sometimes happened when the temperature dropped suddenly. He woke with a soft gasp of pain, and immediately began trying to massage the cramp away.
He swore as the sharp ache lingered.
"Rum? Is it your leg?" Belle sat up beside him, blinking her eyes sleepily.
"Just a cramp," he hissed, rubbing. "I'll be fine. Go back to sleep."
But Belle couldn't do that. Her healer soul wouldn't allow it. She slipped from the bed and went to her medicine chest in the corner and pulled out a certain powder from a drawer. She then picked up a small glass next to the water pitcher, poured a measure of water into the glass and mixed the powder into it with a small wooden stirrer.
Then she carried it over to him. "Here. Drink this. It'll help."
He took the glass. "What is it? Hemlock?" he joked.
"Rum! Really!" she pretended to be annoyed.
He raised an eyebrow. "Just kidding. What is it?"
"Quinine powder in water. It'll help the cramping."
He downed the cup, wincing at the bitter taste.
Belle glanced down at his leg, which was quite well formed, except for the ankle, which was misshapen and crooked from being broken. Her hands automatically reached for his foot, without thought, they closed on it gently, feeling along it.
Rumple froze. Since he had come home, Milah had never so much as looked at his crippled foot, except to spit and remind him he was coward who should have died. But no one, except Bae as wee lad, had ever touched his injured foot like Belle was doing.
Her hands felt expertly along the bone, noting that it had been broken . . .or had shattered . . .in two places . . .and it had not mended well at all. She looked up at him. "Rum, this ankle wasn't set right."
"It wasn't set at all, dearie."
"In the name of God, why?" she demanded.
"No one knew how," he sighed, which was true, and no one had cared either. He also wouldn't have been allowed to visit the company healers, though perhaps that had been a blessing, as half of them were unskilled and butchers who killed more than they saved.
She massaged the twisted tendons, saying, "Perhaps you ought to soak it too later on. In a hot tub with Epsom salts. That might relax these muscles. But the quinine should help."
Now it was his turn to blush and be embarrassed. To have her hands on his foot, the broken appendage that had brought him pain and suffering, though also a chance to see his son grow and raise him the way his own father never had, caused a slow heat to suffuse him. "You don't have to . . .it usually goes away in an hour or so." Or it lingered, but he'd learned to bear it.
She lifted her head and gave him a look that was part stubborn mule and part mischievous pixie. "You expect me to go back to sleep when you're sitting here suffering?"
He shrugged a shoulder. "I'm not dying, as my first wife used to say."
Her lips tightened in disapproval. "She sounds like a cold-hearted bitter hag, if you don't mind my saying so."
"I've said worse, so no," he admitted, his mouth quirking up.
She continued her massage, and he released a sigh of relief when either it or the powder she had given him worked and the throbbing cramp stopped.
"How's that?"
"Much better. Thank you, Belle."
"You're welcome. I'm glad I could help you. Like you did me," she said with an impish grin.
His eyes slid down to her feet, which were bare since she had forgotten to put on slippers. "What are you doing without slippers on!" he mock-scolded. "Get back in bed before you freeze!"
"I'm more worried about your ankle," she began.
"Never you mind me, dearie. Bed!" he pretended to growl, then he reached out and gave her a playful spank on the behind, like he used to do to Bae to get him to hustle somewhere.
She gave him an arch look and then got back into bed.
He grunted as her slightly chilly foot touched his leg. "When we wake up tomorrow, I'm making you a pair of sleep socks."
"Sleep socks?"
"Yes, so you can sleep with them on . . .and your feet will stay warm."
She ran her foot teasingly down his leg.
He jumped. "Minx!" he shook a finger at her. "The first thing I do after breakfast," he stated.
Then he brought his other leg around and trapped her foot neatly between his.
Belle's cerulean eyes widened. "Mr. Gold!"
"Now, Mrs. Gold . . .are you going to behave and go to sleep?" he asked, playing a stern patriarch. "Or shall I just sleep like this for the rest of the night, hmm?" He giggled wickedly.
She stuck her tongue out at him. "Spoilsport." Then she burst out laughing, and had to cover her mouth with her hand to muffle it lest she wake the house.
He raised his eyebrow, and it climbed into his floofy bangs. "Well?" he drawled.
"All right."
He removed his leg and allowed her to pull her foot back onto her side of the bed. His eyes were twinkling in the faint light of the early dawn. He yawned. "Good night again, Belle."
"Night, Rum." She snuggled on her side, facing him.
Both felt their eyelids growing heavy and they drifted off to sleep listening to each other breathe.
Morning found the two newlyweds snuggled together in bed, with the covers about their ears, and Belle's leg thrown over Rumple's and his hand splayed across her back, their noses almost touching upon the pillow.
A/N: Hope you all liked this sweet fluffy chapter! Don't forget to review if you'd be so kind. I really appreciate it. The wedding cake traditions were something interesting I'd read and decide to include. And who liked the banter between Mr. and Mrs. Gold?
