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She never liked the Narnia books growing up. She found them cloying and flimsy, like shallow pastry crumbling into golden flakes when you take a bite. That’s why she never felt inclined to explore furniture, much less wardrobes. In fact, the idea of discovering another realm on the other side of it was absurd and terrifying. So when a hand shoots out of the mirror-cased wardrobe and grabs the back of her tattered wedding dress, her first instinct is to break the offender’s nose with her elbow.
She almost succeeds.
“Hey – hey – it’s me –”
Daniel doesn’t let go of her dress but lifts his other hand in a gesture of peace. Look, I have no weapons.
Grace’s eyes go wide.
“You have to get in, come on,” he urges, looking past her down the corridor.
She doesn’t have time to weigh her options. She certainly doesn’t have time to wonder if this is all a ruse, if he’s somehow more sadistic than the rest of his family and is only toying with her. A bone-deep feeling she doesn’t dwell on tells her no, he’s not like that, he won’t hurt me. He’s skillfully avoided her all night, or let her run away. She nods and takes his hand.
Grace hears footsteps behind her as Daniel pulls her inside. The door closes on them with a small click.
There isn’t a lot of space, so Daniel holds her to his chest, arm around her waist. His ragged breath falls on her bleeding shoulder. A weird, knee-jerk reaction makes him want to lower his mouth and lick the blood clean, but he doesn’t. His palm hovers somewhere between her mouth and neck, in case he needs to silence her, because he knows Alex sometimes whimpered when he made him hide in here.
She doesn’t whimper. She lifts her own hand and lowers his palm only an inch, until it rests on the sweat-stained side of her throat. She places her hand over his hand, and they both feel her rabbity pulse and the blood rushing through her aorta. Somehow, her insides have become external, an exoskeleton of sensations. She needs him to touch her there, to anchor her and keep her alive.
She closes her eyes when she hears voices outside, the family hounds trying to sniff her out. The blade of an ax scratches the parquet. She hears Aunt Helene's hideous laugh. She trembles. Daniel tightens his hold on her, bringing her closer, if possible.
They stand like that, huddled, almost embracing, and wait for the family to disperse.
They eventually do. The Le Domas clan lacks the patience of a hunter.
He can feel some of the tension leave her body when the corridor empties.
Daniel slumps against a moth-eaten fur coat.
“You have to get out of here,” he mumbles. “There’s a chance you can go through the back door in the kitchen –”
“Already tried that.”
“Let me guess. Stevens.”
She nods miserably.
“Fucking psychopath. Okay, well, the security system’s broken down, so there’s a good chance we can unlock one of the windows. Then you get down to the courtyard and run to the back gates. I’ll distract them. Tell them you’re hiding in the basement. Shit, I don’t know if this is a good idea, but –”
Grace turns towards him. Their eyes meet in the bronze-filtered dark.
“What about Alex?”
“I’ll – I’ll try to get him out too,” Daniel rasps.
She shakes her head. That’s not what she meant. She meant, why isn’t he here? Why isn’t my husband helping me?
But she feels she already knows. It’s only when you’ve got a shotgun pointed at you that you realize who you married.
“Why are you helping me?” she asks instead. “Aren’t you guys going to die, presumably, if you don’t kill me?”
Daniel shrugs. His smile is weary and resigned. “So the legend goes. Might just be an excuse to murder people for sport. Either way, I’m good with dying. Finally getting a fucking rest.”
She snorts. “You’re tired? How do you think I feel?”
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I should’ve told you this morning. Or maybe the first time we met.”
“Why didn’t you?”
His eyes, warm and dark like the stags’ mounted on the walls of this house tell her all she needs to know. Alex. Her husband told him not to.
Daniel sees that she understands. He looks away, embarrassed on behalf of his brother.
“Wish this wardrobe had a secret door out of this fuckfest. You know, like in those children’s books.”
Grace blinks. That bone-deep feeling hits her again. Kinship. Like maybe he’s that door. “I never liked them.”
He smiles. “Me neither.”
Her face is close to his face. “I’m sorry too.”
Daniel frowns. “What could you possibly be sorry for?”
Not choosing you, she thinks, stupidly. But it would have been too late anyway.
She says, “Sorry I didn’t take you up on that quickie.”
Daniel blinks, startled. He’s horrified even as he laughs. He remembers that horrible photo shoot like it was years instead of hours ago. “Oh God. I was so drunk.”
“Not that drunk, though,” she whispers.
He looks at her lips. Yeah. He’d wanted to be revolting. To disenchant her. And maybe he'd wanted to be honest for once. I want you for myself before my family get their hooks in you.
“Not that drunk,” he agrees.
She moves first. People tend not to notice. She likes moving first.
She rises up to meet his mouth, hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down.
She’s always wanted to kiss him, she realizes, as his lips part. His tongue feels really good in her mouth, which is a really stupid, brand new kind of feeling. She feels so fucking elated for a moment, just tasting the alcohol and want, just doing this forbidden thing that feels righter than anything that's happened tonight. Her knees go weak when his hands cradle her face, thumb brushing against the side of her jaw lovingly as he deepens the kiss. He’s gentle and sad and self-loathing and pretty fucking good at making her want to stay in this wardrobe forever.
But she can’t. And he won’t.
They part, but their foreheads are still touching, kissing.
“Don’t…do that,” he says hoarsely.
“Do what?”
Make me want to live, he thinks. And she knows what he’s thinking.
“You have to go.”
She nods. She has to go.
“I’ll see you soon…” she trails off, licking her lips, which still taste like him.
Daniel doesn’t believe he’ll ever see her again, so he lets his hands linger on her a moment longer, saying goodbye to something good, finally.
Grace looks into his eyes.
You’re good too. You hate yourself, but you’re good, she thinks.
And then he’s unlatching the door behind her and peeking out. The corridor is still empty. He pushes her forward, tells her to run.
Grace runs.
When she looks back, she sees a loving shadow in the wardrobe’s mirror.
She wants to live.
She's determined to live.
And see him again.