Serah's POV
I knelt by the stone basin in the servants' yard, scrubbing my baby's tiny clothes with numb fingers. The water was cold, turning my hands red from the tiny clothes I scrubbed. My son's little shirts and soft wraps floated in the suds, so small they barely covered my palm. I worked the soap into the fabric with slow circles, trying to focus on the rhythm, but my mind kept drifting back to the border.
Tristan's mouth on mine. The way he tasted, cool and wild, like night air after rain. The kiss had been slow at first, careful, then deeper, hungrier. I could still feel the gentle press of his lips, the soft scrape of his teeth, the way his hand cupped the back of my neck like I might disappear if he let go. Heat climbed up my cheeks just thinking about it. I smiled without meaning to, small and secret.
