Page 32 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
She stared at her phone, watching the dots appear, then vanish, then reappear.
Lochlan
What you usually wear is fine. I’ll pick you up at 6.
Me
Okay…
They arrived at a sprawling manor on the outskirts of Stella Rune. Grand, imposing, and a little outdated—so much mahogany and dark wood it felt like stepping into a relic of the past. Nia wasn’t sure what she’d expected when Lochlan mentioned that Becket wanted them to meet him at a work event, but it wasn’t this. There were too many suits. Too many fake smiles and polite, meaningless conversations.
She hated it.
All this space, all this potential, and it was being wasted on corporate events. From the decor and the stale arrangements, it was obvious no one lived here anymore. She was pretty sure it belonged to an old fae line that had been in Stella Rune since the beginning. Nia let her gaze wander over the grand foyer, the little nooks tucked here and there, the halls off which countless rooms must hide, thinking how it could all be so much more. Ivy had always dreamed of creating a space where witches who needed a home, or just a place to be themselves without constant scrutiny, could find safety and community. But it was a huge project, and though they’d both been working on the idea for years, real progress still felt just out of reach.
Nia turned to Lochlan, about to ask him if he knew who owned the place, when she remembered, with an uncomfortable jolt, that they still weren’t really speaking.
Lochlan had seemed broody since he picked her up. He took a sip of his first beer—non-alcoholic, she noted—as his eyes continued to avoid hers. He wore black pleated slacks and a fitted knit polo, the soft texture and open collar doing ridiculous things for his already-unfair bone structure. No jacket, no tie. Just him, all sharp edges and furrowed brow. Did he know what he was doing, looking like that?
As they neared the bar, a cluster of well-dressed regs caught sight of them, their expressions brightening with interest; but there was no spark, no stir of recognition that came when magic encountered magic.
“Nia,” Lochlan paused and nodded, “these are some of Becket’s colleagues from his first firm.”
One of the men leaned back with a lazy smirk, but his words were edged. “Before he left us for bigger and better things.” His gaze drifted to Nia, giving her a slow, deliberate once-over.
Before she could say any of the deeply unpleasant—and doubtless accurate—things she was thinking about the man, Lochlan spoke.
“This,” he cut in smoothly, “is my wife, Nia.”
Someone in the group choked on their drink.
A momentary silence settled over the table.
Nia turned, arching a brow. Whispers of their marriage had been circling, but neither of them had publicly confirmed it. And her father? He hadn’t reached out yet about the promise spell. She had no idea when he would, which was irritating.
“The Duchess of Charity,” Lochlan added belatedly, “and a menace to society.”
His expression remained impassive as he glanced at her.
Nia slowly folded her arms. “Is that so?”
One of the men coughed. Another let out a nervous laugh.
“How absurd,” one of the women chimed in, playfully swatting his arm. “Stop teasing, Lochlan.”
Nia resisted the urge to swat the woman’s hand away as she turned toward Nia with an overly bright smile. “I read you’ve funded over two hundred charities and raised almost a hundred million dollars since you started. How do you do it?”
“Extortion,” Lochlan cut in. Nia’s stomach churned as he downed his drink in one smooth gulp, setting the empty glass down with a clink. “And I’m pretty sure she’s committed murder.”
Laughter erupted, light and carefree. They thought he was joking. Of course they did.
Nia felt the blood drain from her face.
She knew better.
Quiet Lochlan didn’t mean happy Lochlan. It meant he’d been silently freaking out about what she’d done.
“Will you excuse me and my husband?” Nia said through clenched teeth. She grabbed Lochlan by the arm, her grip firm as she steered him away. She didn’t miss the blush creeping up his cheeks.
