Page 36 of Magic and Matrimony

“And that’s my fault?” The words are bitter and filled with anger. My hand clutches my glass so tightly it’s in danger of shattering.

“No.” She’s holding on to the trim around the archway, inhaling and then slowly blowing it out. “But it makes it hard to look at you.” She stands there, unmoving, not saying a word. Finally, she points to the letter she was holding when Piper and I first got home. “It’s the first challenge. I hope you know what you're fighting for.” With those parting words, she leaves, and I proceed to get drunk.

I’m not sure how much time has passed when Piper sinks down onto the couch next to me. Long enough that I’m well on my way to being sloshed.

“Hey.” She takes the bottle out of my hand, giving me a censuring look when I protest. I don’t need her to tell me I’ve had enough to drink. She surprises me by taking a swig, wincing at the taste.

“Fun discussion with your mom?” Taking another drink, she hands me back the bottle with a shudder.

“The funnest.” I fake a smile. “Turns out, my mother is never around because I remind her that she’s a horrible person.” I laugh. “Isn’t that a bitch.” Once again, I get to pay for my parents’ poor decisions.

“I don’t want to think about that right now.”

I roll my head to look at Piper. She’s still in her jeans and sweater from earlier, but she looks comfortable and cozy. I want to pull her into my lap and wrap my arms around her.

“How long did we agree not to have sex?”

“What?” the word bursts out of Piper’s mouth, her eyes wide with surprise.

“We should have a drunk clause in there.” I nod confidently.

Piper smiles. “What’s a drunk clause?”

Her eyes are so blue. There’re a few tiny freckles over the bridge of her nose. Her lips are full and would be incredible to kiss. If that was a fucking possibility. “That we can’t be held responsible for what happens when we’re drunk.”

Piper licks her lips, her eyes fluttering down to my mouth and back up again. “I’m not drunk, though.”

I tip the bottle up to her lips. She laughs and whiskey dribbles down her chin. I lean forward and lick her. Piper sucks in a breath and shakes her head.

“You are trouble. And no. I meant what I said. You’ll get bored with me and be ready to move on. I get too invested. I’ll be heartbroken and you’ll be off living your best life,” Piper says with a laugh, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m not bored yet. Not at all.” Piper is this fascinating mix of sweet and salty. She’s quiet until something gets her fired up, and then watch out. “Besides. You’ll be the one who gets bored. I’m just a pretty face.”

“You think you’re pretty, huh?” Piper swipes the bottle from me and takes another drink.

I shrug. “I know I was a convenient pick for the job of husband. No emotional ties. No expectations that someone like me will get hurt.”

Piper frowns, placing her hand on top of mine. “Ambrose, I picked you because you’ve always been kind to me. You're smart and…” She lowers her head, her cheeks turning pink. “I think you’re funny.”

Her words leave me stunned. Kind. Smart. Funny. Those are the things that drew her to me? Wait until she finds out that it’s all a facade. I’m just a fool who has no idea what he’s doing. Then she’ll leave. Just like everyone always leaves.

“Well, joke’s on you. I’m not at all funny, and I’m actually way more boring than I let on.”

Piper swipes her thumb under my lip, holding it up to show me a drop of whiskey. She thoughtlessly pops her finger in her mouth and my dick jerks in my pants. Crone’s sake. She doesn’t even realize what she does to me.

“It’s a good thing boring is my favorite thing.”

19

PIPER

Multiple pots boil on the stove. Steam fogs the windows in Ambrose’s kitchen and wisps of hair are stuck to my forehead. I have several potions cooking. At home, I always have a stockpile of healing elixirs, hangover cures, and even a few defensive potions. I’ve needed them all at one point in my life or another. While I feel safe at the chateau, filling up the cupboards with these spells as a precaution won’t hurt anyone.

“I know we’re witches, Piper, but I don’t think we have to be so literal.” Ambrose strides into the kitchen. He pads across the floor in bare feet, heading straight for the fridge. He grabs a soda, popping the top with a hiss. He’s wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and a faded gray t-shirt from a local baseball team. The bare feet are strangely intimate, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks. Thankfully, it’s so warm in the kitchen. It hides my flush.

He hops up onto a stool on the other side of the large island. Ambrose’s kitchen is a dream. The sheer amount of counter space is enough to make me giddy. Plus, all the appliances are top-of-the-line. Not that I haven’t made potions over an actual open flame before, but this is far easier.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I swipe my arm over my damp forehead and look around at the mess littering the island. Besides the pots bubbling over with potions, I have a collection of tiny glass bottles lined up ready to be filled. They’re color-coded so that I know at a glance what the potion is for. Blue is to cure a headache, yellow will cure your hangover, the red bottle is one you want to steer clear of. If it touches your skin or you inhale it, it’s basically like being shot straight in the face with pepper spray.

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