1780s

— “𝓘t’s a shame to undo such beautiful hairstyle…” — said one of the maids, as she undid one of the braids in your lovely updo, intertwined with ribbons and small white gypsophila flowers, also known as baby’s breath.

She let your delicate hair fall down your back and then began to brush it gently. Through the mirror of the beautiful dressing table, you saw another maid preparing your outfit.

— “Nervous?” — asked the maid, noticing your wide eyes and clenched fists.

You nervously settled onto the stool.

— “A little…” — you replied as she brushed the other half of your hair.

— “You’ll be fine. Mr. Harlow is very kind. He’ll be careful with you.” — the maid said, finishing brushing your hair, which she gently let fall over your shoulders.

She approached the dressing table to open a black velvet box, from which she took out a delicate necklace with the most delicate jewels you had ever seen, shimmering in the candlelight. The woman placed it around your neck and then added matching earrings.

— “How beautiful. You look like a doll.” — the woman said, looking at you in the mirror, taking your shoulders and squeezing them gently.

You smiled slightly, a mixture of discomfort and nervousness. How else could a young girl like you feel? About to spend the wedding night with your new husband: Mr. Paul Harlow.

He was a wealthy man; he manufactured the finest velvet in the country. Your family had a prestigious name, although they were currently going through a difficult time. That's why this marriage took place, even though Mr. Harlow was old enough to be your father.

The maids helped you into a long, light silk nightgown, pastel blue in color, its neckline adorned with white lace, as were the long, sheer sleeves. You looked like an angel fallen from heaven itself, one of them remarked, as they let your delicate curls cascade down your back and shoulders.

They guided you out of the room, and you walked in silence, glancing back a few times for comfort, to which the maids gestured for you to keep going.

Your bare feet moved silently across the red carpet, the train of the nightgown trailing behind you. You approached the enormous room that was now yours as well and saw the fire burning in the fireplace. Slowly, you entered the room, resting your hand in the door frame.

There he was, in a dark wooden chair upholstered in red velvet, looking at you. There was a silence in which you both simply gazed at each other. He had neatly combed black hair, thick sideburns, and a strong jawline.

— “Come closer.” —he said gently, gesturing with his hand adorned with a gold ring—an expected family heirloom.

You advanced until you stood before him, and he extended his hand to take yours, admiring you.

He slowly rose to his feet, so you had to take a step back. You saw him tower over you; he was a little more than a head taller. He released your hand and stroked your cheek with his knuckles, moving down your neck until his fingers traced the jewels and pearls of your necklace. The silence was heavy but not entirely uncomfortable; it was a different kind of tension. Only your heavy breathing and the crackling fire in the fireplace could be heard—the only source of light.

— “It suits you very well.” — he murmured, looking into your eyes. — “I had it made especially for you. Same with the nightgown… You’re my wife now, and as my wife, you’ll lack nothing.”

He held your face and kissed your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, and finally your lips. A soft, slow, and careful kiss. One of his hands held your back and pulled you closer, the other tangled in your hair.

Between a gasp, he let you catch your breath and moved down to kiss your neck. Slowly kissed your throat and then back up, until he pulled away and looked into your eyes.

He gazed at your long eyelashes, your eyes, the curve of your nose, and your full lips glistening with saliva, both yours and his.

He cupped your cheek again and kissed you, a kiss that grew more intense. He began to move forward, taking you with him until you hit the bed.