(Ruby's POV)
I woke to the sound of rain again.
The key was still in my hand. I had slept with my fingers curled around it, and the metal was warm from my skin. Nicholas was beside me, still asleep, his face peaceful in the gray morning light. His dark hair was spread across the pillow, and his lips were slightly parted.
I sat up slowly, careful not to wake him. The fire had burned down to ash. The room was cold. I pulled the blanket around my shoulders and looked at the key.
It was old. The brass was worn smooth, the teeth shallow. It looked like it had been used a thousand times, but Nicholas said it was the key to the new west wing. Our home.
I pressed it to my chest and closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, Nicholas was watching me.
"Good morning," he said. His voice was rough with sleep.
"Good morning."
He reached out and touched the key. "You kept it in your hand all night."
"I didn't want to lose it."
