Emma found the first night apart from her new husband a more difficult experience than she had imagined. Sleep wasn't at all the easy task that it seemed to be for her interim roommate, Belle. Emma's belly had swollen just enough to make lying on her back too uncomfortable (and on her stomach just plain impossible), so she spent the night rolling from one side to the other while she worried about Liam. She didn't know him all that well; Killian had been the one whose company she had sought and hoped for. Captain Jones had simply been the kindly older brother, whom she saw at the occasional state meeting or public function. Emma, in the foolish self-involvement of her adolescence, hadn't bothered to develop any sort of relationship with him beyond that. How foolish not to do so, she berated herself, particularly after her mother became ill.
Now he was her brother-in-law, and she had so many more reasons to get to know him than simple convenience or advantage in the eventual running of the Enchanted Forest. And she might never get the chance to do so.
She slipped out of her bed, fumbling in the dark for her slippers. Using the poster of her new bed to steady herself, Emma quietly cursed her increasing clumsiness. If she was this awkward at a mere four months or so of pregnancy, what on earth would she be like at eight months, or nine? Pushing that thought to the back of her mind, along with the unbidden images of Killian holding their baby, Emma wrapped herself in a dressing gown and tied it shut above her belly. Belle stirred in her bed across the room, and Emma stared over at her for several moments, sorely tempted to sneak out of the room and wander about the palace on her own. It wouldn't be the first time she'd taken an illicit jaunt in the middle of the night. But Killian had arranged to have Belle stay with her for a reason. And it was a good reason; she knew it as well as he did, even if they hadn't spoken of it in so many words. She couldn't break Killian's trust like that and wander off, Emma decided. If this marriage was going to work in any form, she couldn't run roughshod over him and destroy the tenuous faith in each other that was blossoming between them.
Grumbling to herself, Emma shuffled over to Belle's side, unable to even vent her frustrations with a good petulant stomp. With her luck, she'd fall on her face and hurt herself and the baby. "Belle," she sighed, feeling a little guilty at disturbing the other woman's slumber, "wake up."
She woke easily when Emma shook her, an apparent light sleeper despite earlier appearances. "What's wrong?" she demanded, sitting up in bed. "Is it the baby? Liam?"
"No, nothing that serious," Emma admitted. "I can't sleep, and I need to get out of this room for a while. I thought…well, Killian would want me to wake you."
"I see." Emma might have imagined it, the room was still quite dark, but she thought Belle's expression shifted from sleepy to thoughtful. "Are you hungry?" she finally asked, sliding out of the bed. She lit the lamp on her bedside table and reached for her dressing gown. "It's been a long time since I've indulged in a middle of the night treat, but I can prepare something for us in the kitchens. Maybe some warm milk to go with it, to help you sleep."
"Actually," Emma said haltingly, "I wondered if you might take me to the library."
Belle paused in the act of cinching her robe shut, her expression torn between delight and suspicion. "Is that a trick question?"
Cast in moonlight and mystery, the library at night was one of Emma's favorite places. She'd spent many an evening in her adolescence curled in some cozy nook or corner, exploring dusty tomes and gilded books alike. It was her secret, private time—sacred and inviolable. But more and more, as Emma grew older, she found herself retreating to the library to think rather than to read. And sometimes, to indulge her dreams…
Strong hands pressed against her hips, nudging her backward into one of the bookshelves. The sound of fluttering paper and thudding volumes registered only dimly with Emma as she arched her back in response to the kisses being trailed down the curve of her neck. "Killian," she whimpered as he sucked at a tender spot along her collarbone, sending a jolt of electric pleasure straight through her. He slid the bodice of her gown down to her waist, exposing her bosom. "Oh gods," she gasped, as his fingers administered an exquisite and torturous pleasure that ignited a throbbing fire between her thighs, leaving breathless for several moments. "Don't stop," she begged as he pulled away, his blue eyes glinting silver and coal in the semi-dark library.
"Never," he swore, sinking to his knees before her, after removing the last vestiges of her dress. "The fun is just beginning—"
"Emma!"
By the time she recovered enough to get her bearings and realize that none of it was real, that her remembered fantasy was just that, Emma almost didn't notice the heightened awareness and coiled tension of her own body. A mixture of horror, shame, and relief flowed through her. Neal hadn't completely broken her.
"Are you all right?" Belle watched her with concern, staring down at her from the ladder she was perched upon. She squinted at Emma in the light of the lantern she held aloft. "You look flushed. Maybe we'd better go back. You might be getting ill. Maybe I should send for Killian-"
"No!" she shouted. "I mean, um," she struggled to say in a normal tone, "I'm fine. Just lost in thought."
"Mmm," Belle said noncommittally. "So which volume of poetry was it that we're looking for again?"
"The one by that Arendelle poet Elsa recommended," Emma reminded her, forcing herself to re-focus on their task instead of the aching need that screamed at her to find release. It would fade eventually, she knew from experience, if ignored. That she didn't entirely wish to ignore it frightened and disgusted her.
Do you fuck yourself when you read his book?
The words slapped across her thoughts as surely as if Neal had stood before her and slapped her physically. Her eyes snapped shut as her breathing became spasmodic.
You do, don't you?
Perspiration broke out on her arms and face, and Emma reached out blindly to steady herself. Nausea overwhelmed her, and she doubled over, both wishing and dreading to be sick.
Warm, gentle hands gripped her shoulders with quiet strength and guided her to a chair. "Sit," Belle's voice commanded with quiet authority. Emma obeyed mutely, ashamed that her old tutor had to see her in such a state. Belle settled into a chair next to her. "You re-lived it, didn't you?"
"Part of it," she admitted hoarsely.
Belle was quiet for several moments. "Do you want me to fetch Killian?" she finally asked.
"No," she said with a firm shake of her head. "He needs to be with his brother right now. I can't take that from him. Besides, what if the baby or I ended up sick, too?"
"You're right," Belle sighed. "I just thought—"
"What?"
"Nothing, it's not important." She stood up, offering her hand to help Emma up. "Come," she said with a worried smile, "let me at least take you to the kitchens and make you a cup of tea. Or maybe you'd like a cup of warm broth instead?"
Warm broth? Emma thought. That did sound like a tempting indulgence at this time of night. And perhaps, she thought with a spark of hope, standing up, it could help lull her to sleep at last. "What about the book?" she wondered as Belle led her out of the library.
"We'll pick it up on the way back," the other woman reassured her. They stepped out into the darkened corridor outside the library, and Belle paused to lock the door. "It's a lovely choice, by the way," she said, securing the room from intrusion. "I'm sure he'll enjoy it very much."
"I hope so," Emma admitted with an odd twinge of shyness as they set off toward the kitchens. "I don't really know what his tastes are. We haven't gotten a chance to know each other very well."
"Liam's a dear," Belle smiled, "very much like Killian. He doesn't haunt the library as much as Killian always has, of course—" She shot a secretive smile at Emma that puzzled her, "-but he enjoys stopping by now and then. His tastes generally run to history and geography and other practical subjects, but I've seen him borrow the occasional book of poetry or fiction, so I don't think he'll find the volume distasteful. Besides," she said rounding a corner, "the important thing isn't what's read to him, Emma, it's that he knows there are people who care about him. And what better way to say "I love you" than with a book? That's always been my philosophy," she grinned.
Emma's mind flashed to all of the books she'd received from her anonymous admirer through the years. What was it Belle had said? Killian used to haunt the library frequently?
No, that's stupid, she told herself before the thought could even fully form. Real life didn't work that way. It wasn't some fairy tale-as she had more than ample cause to know. And spending a lot of time in a library didn't mean anything, except that her new husband liked books—a fact which made her all the more tolerably disposed to making the marriage work. He wouldn't expect her to give up her books for him; no, Killian Jones was the sort of man that would settle down to read with her or alongside her, not make demands to be the sole object of her attention, as Neal had.
"You know, Belle," Emma said, feeling a little less ill than before, "I think you may be on to something with that philosophy of yours."