Page 14 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
“Yes.”
They both turned to Lochlan.
“Yes,” he said, because fighting it felt impossible, and some reckless part of him wanted to see what happened next.
“Lovely!” Wulfric stood and clapped his hands once. “Now if you two will excuse me, I have a meeting with someone or other. I’ll have the promise spell ready for our first family dinner and will be in touch soon.”
“Fine.” Nia turned toward the door. “I’m going to work.”
“Wait,” Lochlan called, following.
She paused near Wulfric’s very curious secretary, Francine. Lochlan glanced at the older witch, then inclined his head down the hall. Nia followed him to an alcove just far enough away, he hoped they wouldn’t be overheard.
“I’m sorry about this.”
He’d wanted a chance to be in Nia’s life, but not under these terms.
She looked down at her feet and rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not your fault, so…” She glanced at Francine, then lowered her voice. “We’ll be living together?”
“We’ll make it work.” Lochlan resisted the urge to reach out and hold her. He wanted to—desperately—but, under the circumstances, he wasn’t sure how she’d receive the gesture. This was all a lot for both of them to take in. “Would you prefer your place or mine?”
“Yours,” she said, quickly. “My place isn’t much more than a corner of that asshat’s office. I live in an apartment above Charis. Would you want to meet me there around six? I have a motorcycle, so riding with my things isn’t exactly ideal.”
“Okay,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I’ll be there at six.”
Her lips twitched upward—not quite happy, but maybe relieved. Her eyes still carried the burden of what the day had thrown at her.
“Good,” she murmured as a tear slipped free.
Before he could think better of it, Lochlan reached out and brushed it away with his thumb. Nia froze. Then she stepped back, wiping at her other eye with the heel of her hand.
“Good,” she repeated, as she turned and left.
Lochlan stayed where he was, staring at the empty doorway as if it might offer answers. The feeling in the hall shifted subtly, and he knew without turning that Wulfric stood behind him.
He’d appeared like this many times before, usually as Lochlan worked on delicate restorations in the Videt’s archives. Wulfric had often stayed longer than necessary, watching Lochlan’s careful progress with almost paternal interest. They’d talked—about the pieces Lochlan handled, their history, their value—and it had been comfortable. Reassuring, even.
Now? That presence made Lochlan’s stomach twist. The man he’d once respected, even admired, had orchestrated something so elaborate, so personal, so invasive, Lochlan felt like he’d never really known or understood him.
“Why are you doing this?” Lochlan asked. He didn’t turn around, keeping his eyes fixed on the spot where Nia had stood.
“Because I feel it’s what’s best for everyone,” Wulfric replied, his tone casual.
Lochlan glanced over his shoulder. “Why me?”
“Why not you?” Wulfric said. “One day, I hope you see yourself as others see you, as I’ve always seen you.”
Lochlan moved to leave. He needed space and time to think—but Wulfric’s voice stopped him.
“And Lochlan?” Wulfric said, a note of warning in his tone. “Not a word about us.”
Lochlan turned, frowning as he searched Wulfric’s face for some kind of explanation. “You can’t possibly think I could keep this from her,” he said, disbelieving.
“I expect you to,” Wulfric said firmly.
“Why?”
“Because it’s what’s best, and what I want,” Wulfric replied, his gaze unyielding. “Her knowing our connection won’t help either of us.”
