Page 42 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
She was inside, hoping the couch would swallow her whole.
They bought it secondhand and years of use had worn it into something impossibly squishy and soft. She and Ivy had spent countless hours on this couch—holding hands with people in need, sharing exhausted glances after long nights of chasing down funding, even dozing off in the early hours of morning when work had stretched on too long.
And now? Nia wished it would just pull her under entirely.
Coward.
She was a coward.
Usually, she got things done. Kicked ass and took names. She didn’t hide, certainly not from a handsome plant witch just because she couldn’t wrangle her creeping affection for him. She’d begun to lose control three nights ago, in her father’s attic. Now she was questioning the one thing that had guided her for years: the belief that marriage was a trap, that losing yourself in someone else was dangerous. Since the promise spell, she’d been hiding—leaving the house early, working late, spending as little time as possible with Lochlan for fear of what might happen if she let herself stay. If she really, truly lived with him the way her father had intended.
The town bells chimed six times and Nia pressed the pillow over her head.
Jade probably had her head in her food bowl now and Lochlan would be prepping dinner. But she was here, hiding, instead of enjoying his company and the delicious food she knew he was still making for her, even though she hadn’t eaten anything he’d cooked the last three days.
Nia groaned as Ivy dropped onto the couch, picking up Nia’s legs with a huff and setting them on her lap.
“Why are you still here?” Ivy asked. “Lochlan is probably worried you aren’t home yet.”
He probably was, because he cared, and it was utterly annoying.
Ivy tsked. “You could be cursed like me, but no, you have a husband. And this is how you act?”
“Shut up,” Nia’s voice was muffled by the pillow. She threw it to the side. “You are not cursed, you’re just bad at picking partners.”
It came out harsh and Nia winced. She wasn’t mad at Ivy.
“Sorry.”
Ivy didn’t look hurt, just thoughtful as she flipped her white blonde hair over her shoulder. “It’s fine, you can make it up to me. And you’re probably right. I have a date tonight with a reg.”
That got Nia’s attention. She bolted upright, staring at her friend with wide eyes. “A regular? Good luck.”
“Why does everyone say that?” Ivy rolled her eyes. “He’s nice, okay? Funny. Has biceps bigger than my head. It’s not impossible.”
“It’s not impossible,” Nia agreed, cautiously, “but it’s not easy.”
Regulars and supernaturals mingled all the time, but it was never simple. It always started with deceit—the supernatural hiding their true nature for as long as possible. And if things got serious, the real work began. Elders and the Videt would get involved, running background checks, conducting interviews, even requiring presentations and studies. It was a lot.
Something nagged at her. Ivy stared at her with an expectant smirk until Nia finally realized?—
“Wait. Make it up to you? How?”
“By coming with me.”
“Like a chaperone?”
“No,” Ivy said, grinning wider. “You and Lochlan. A double date.”
“No way. Not happening?—”
Before she could finish, Lochlan burst into Charis, his hair wild, eyes wide, looking frantic.
Ivy giggled, drawing his attention immediately.
“I may have texted him from your phone about an emergency,” Ivy stage whispered.
“What happened?” Lochlan’s breath came fast, shoulders rising as his gaze darted between them. When his eyes settled on Nia, her heart clenched. “Nia?”
