“You seem to have everything planned out.” I sipped my mocha, which was perfect. “Now that you have me all to yourself, what do you plan on doing with me?”
A crimson sheen rolled across his eyes, and he wet his lips. “I would like to take you out on a date.”
“The courtship is over,” I pointed out. “We’re an old mated couple now.”
Five days old, but who was counting?
“Our courtship wasn’t what it ought to have been.” He broke a strip of bacon in half then handed me the larger piece, waiting until I took a nibble before he dug into his food. “I want to make things right.”
Squinting at him, I confessed, “I…can’t tell if the other shoe is about to drop.”
I had the unique ability to twist any seemingly innocuous phrase until it resembled a pretzel of insecurity.
“The mate bond is permanent.” He grinned at that. “You’re stuck with me.”
“Stuck is not a great word.” I tugged my earlobe. “It implies one or both of us doesn’t want to be here.”
Gaze traveling my face, he lowered his hands. “How do you think mate bonds are formed?”
“I figured it was reflexive.” I squirmed on the spot. “Like you get within so many yards of your fated mate, and bam. A mystic bond is formed, and congratulations! You’re mated.”
“Then why didn’t I mate with you the first time we met?”
Again, my mouth had its own ideas. “You’re not an exhibitionist?”
“Stop deflecting,” he chided me. “Why didn’t the mate bond snap into place the first time we met?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “You didn’t know who I was?”
The mixture of Amelie and Hadley, and Ambrose, might have confused his inner predator.
“Exactly.” He tapped my knee. “I had to learn you to love you, to choose you.”
A pleased flush spread through my chest, warming me and slowing my heart’s frantic beat.
“This—” he gestured between us, “—is what concerns me.”
“That I’m a person-shaped bundle of neuroses and insecurities?”
“I don’t want you to doubt.” He rubbed his palm over the stubble on his head. “Not me, and not us.”
“I’m working on it,” I said quietly. “I trust you, I do, but I’ve never not screwed up a good thing.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
The smile I attempted fell flat, but his faith in me—in us—worked its magic.
What we had was worth fighting for, every single day, every single hour, whatever it took, and I…I would get better about believing I was worthy of his love.
“I don’t want you to feel like you missed out.” He crumbled another strip of bacon without eating it, a cry for help from a gwyllgi if ever I saw one. “I don’t want our story to only be how I tricked you into a courtship then kept our mating a secret from you out of fear you would leave me.” He wiped his hands clean on a napkin. “I want you to feel like you had a choice, not that I trapped you. Twice.”
Oh, Midas.
Our neuroses and insecurities played so well together.
We really were perfect for each other.
“Midas.” I slid onto my knees in front of his chair. “There are many things I regret, but you will never be one of them.” I rolled a shoulder. “Our story is what it is. There’s no rewriting the past.” I tickled his ribs. “Plus, it’s flattering that you were so desperate to have me you acted lowdown and sneaky to get and keep me.”
Granted, he hadn’t known what to do with me once he got me, but I had that effect on people.
“I did,” he agreed, his voice a low rumble. “I do.”
Resting my palms on his thighs, I relished the clench of his muscles in response. “So…a date?”
“Yes.” He traced the ovals of my fingernails. “I rented Choco-Loco for the night.”
“Whoa.” I sat back on my ankles. “That place is crazy expensive.”
I ought to know. That’s where I sourced most of Ambrose’s treats.
They sold human-friendly treats from noon to five, closed, then reopened around midnight. That’s when they broke out the real goods.
“Chef Daaé too.”
The pressure behind my breastbone increased tenfold. “You rented Chef Daaé?”
“For an hour,” he clarified. “He promised that was enough to teach us how to make our own bonbons.”
Squealing, I did a little dance that Ambrose joined in to mock me, but I didn’t care one whit.
“I can’t believe you did this for me.” I flung my arms around Midas. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“I did good?”
“Better than good.” I pulled back enough to brush my lips over his. “I’m a very lucky girl.”
“Let me know if that ever changes.” He kissed me back gently. “I want to make you happy.”
“Same.” I pressed my cheek against his. “This couple stuff is terrifying, right?”
“Yes,” he exhaled, warm breath on my throat. “But I like it.”
“Me too.” Pushing off him to stand, I dusted crumbs off my palms. “What should I wear?”
“We’ll be in the kitchen, so comfort over style.”
“I like that you think I have style.”
“We have about forty-five minutes.” He checked his phone. “Can you be ready by then?”
Cramming the final croissant in my mouth, I tucked one mocha into the bend of my right arm then claimed the second with my left hand. Throwing a leg over the windowsill, I mumbled around my food, “Yeth.”
“I’ll clean up out here and meet you in the living room.”
Straddling the wall, hands and mouth full, I nodded to him, dropping crumbs down my shirt.
A caffeinated skip in my step, I rushed into our bedroom and set my mochas on the new dresser, careful to center them on the delivery receipt rather than the gorgeous wood finish. While I pulled on a tight pair of skinny jeans and a cute blouse from the modest wardrobe I bought from Target to replace the clothes I lost in the fire, I stole gulps until I polished off both drinks.
“You look amazing,” Midas said from the doorway. “God, you’re beautiful.”
The compliment struck me with the force of a blow, knocking the wind out of me, and I staggered a bit.
Midas had chosen to keep his sight. He saw through my glamour, past Hadley, straight to Amelie. And he still loved me, a woman whose truth lay somewhere in between who I was born as and who I was becoming.
“You’re just saying that because I’m wearing clothes that don’t have holes or bleach spots for a change.” I slid on sandals and turned to dig a hair tie from my purse. “The contrast is confusing you. That’s all.”
Warm palms gripped my hips to hold me still, and calloused fingers spread heat across my stomach where Midas linked his hands at my navel. He ducked his head, burying his nose in my hair, and breathed me in deep.
“I don’t care what you wear.” His lips brushed the side of my throat. “As long as you’re mine.”