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Just like Michal is mine.

As if sharing the thought, he laces his fingers tighter through my own, and together we watch as Beau says, “I want to spend every day with you, Coco. I want your lovely face to be the first thing I see in the morning. I want your laugh to be the last thing I hear every night. I want the big moments with you—a wedding, a coronation—but I want the quiet moments too. I want us to curl up near the fireplace while you work on your tinctures, and I read my ledgers. I want to shop at the markets, to bicker about the best kind of cheese for a soufflé. More than anything, I wantyou. Just you.” His hands begin to tremble now around the ring box. “I would be honored for you to take my last name, or for me to take your last name. The logistics don’t matter. I just... I want to spend my life with you, Cosette Aurélie Monvoisin. My whole life. Every single moment. Because you make it better—you makemebetter, and I love you. I never thought I could feel this way, but I love you so much it feels like I might die without you. You are my other half.”

In the brief, tentative silence that follows, Coco laughs and leans forward to wrap her arms around his neck. “And thatwasn’tthe speech you’ve been preparing?”

His entire body relaxes as he presses his forehead against hers. “What can I say? You inspire me.” Then, quieter still, his voice a breath against her lips, “Every day you inspire me, Coco. Would you marry me?”

Coco hesitates for not even a second.

“Yes. Of course,yes.” With an incandescent smile, she pulls him into a fierce embrace, the strength of it knocking the ring from his hands. Though it soars through the air, Odessa catches it before it hits the floor. “This was perfect.” Coco kisses his cheek as the room breaks into applause, into raucous cheers and congratulations. “More than perfect,” she manages, kissing his other cheek too, kissing every inch of his face in between. “You have”—his nose, his forehead, his eyelids—“always undone me, Beauregard Lyon. You have always been the one for me. I love you too.”

Odessa passes Beau the ring surreptitiously, and he untangles from Coco long enough to place it on her finger. And then he kisses it. He kisses every finger, every knuckle on each of her hands as she clings to him even tighter. The moment is beautiful, intimate, and I cannot help but throw myself at the two of them along with Lou, Reid, even Odessa, who begins to offer floral suggestions for Coco’s bridal bouquet.

“This ruby could chip several teeth,” Lou announces, seizing Coco’s hand and inspecting it in the light. She winks at Beau. “Fantastic job, brother mine.”

Coco beams with unbridled joy, and even my mother comes over to congratulate them. When they kiss again, I shoot her anexpectant look—anticipating disapproval—but she simply arches a superior brow. “They’re gettingmarried, Célie. How else do you expect grandchildren are conceived?”

I gape at her. “They won’t beyourgrandchildren—”

She lifts her chin. “Says who?”

Shaking my head incredulously, I turn to make a face at Filippa, but she is no longer sitting on the settee. Indeed—I sweep the room quickly—she seems to have vanished altogether, slipping out during the celebrations without notice.

Dimitri has vanished with her.

“Where are they?” I ask Michal in a low voice, and he tilts his head toward the window beside us. Curiosity burns through all decorum at that; the temperature has been steadily dropping for the last week, and on my walk to Michal’s town house this morning, my toes nearly froze from the snow. When he offers no further explanation, merely smirks, I attempt to part the drapes as furtively as possible to see where they’ve gone. A fool’s errand. Nothing escapes my mother’s notice for long, and especially not inside her own house.

“What are you doing?” Her sharp voice cuts through the room, startling everyone from their revelry. Even Coco and Beau look back at us, intrigued. “Is there someone outside? Is it the carolers again? I did not hear them knock.” She exhales a harsh, irritated breath through her nose at the last. Then—

“I loathe carolers,” she and Michal say in unison.

Lou snorts as they glance at each other, startled. “Do you also loathe grandchildren?” she asks my mother politely. “Because based on what’s happening outside, you might be well on your way.”

The room explodes with movement at that, everyone hastening toward the window to eavesdrop. “You owe me twenty couronnes,” Coco says to Odessa, who elbows Michal aside to peel back the curtains.

“Absolutely not.” Her eyes narrow as she peers outside into the shadows of a—garden? My lips pull down in a frown. There shouldn’t be agardenbeyond this window, yet sure enough, the earth looks freshly dug, inexplicably green amidst the snow. Two silhouettes stand stiff and awkward beside it.Filippa and Dimitri.He must’ve drawn her name, and this—this must be his gift, I realize in dawning comprehension. Even Odessa cannot disguise her interest. “You said Filippa and Dima would be kissing by Christmas, yes, but there must be an explicit exchange of saliva—”

Beau protests at once. “We never specified tongue!”

“You watch your tone, Your Majesty.” My mother pushes through everyone, craning her neck to see through the clouded glass. “I cannot hear them! I cannot evenseethem—”

Before Lou can react, Reid flicks his wrist, and quiet voices drift through the windowpanes. Everyone stills to listen. Towatch. The bitter wind lifts a tendril of Filippa’s hair as she stares at the white flowers carpeting the ground at her feet. “Snowdrops,” I whisper in awe. Michal and Lou exchange conspiratorial grins, and I point an accusatory finger between them. “Did you two know about this?”

“Perhaps,” Michal says.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Looping her arm through the crook of my elbow, Lou bumps my hip. “Le secret du Père Noël, right? Emphasis onsecret.”

“Quiet, all of you,” my mother hisses, practically pressing hernose against the glass now. “I’m trying to listen.” When Dimitri steps forward outside, lifting a hand as if to tuck a strand of Filippa’s hair behind her ear, we all obey instantly, the entire room holding its breath.

He drops his hand at the last second, however, his fingers curling into his palm. “For your daughter.” At Filippa’s stricken expression, he adds gently, “They’ll bloom each winter in honor of Frostine.”

Though Filippa stiffens slightly at the name, she does not snap at Dimitri. She does not flee either, or fold into herself as she so often does. Instead, she slowly bends to trail her fingers over the nearest buds, as if checking to ensure they’re real, before staring up at him in equal parts disbelief and accusation. “But they—” She swallows. “Snowdrops have always been my favorite.”

His dimples flash. “So you’ve mentioned.”

“And you remembered?”