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Finally, Mother sighed. "Just like that? After all this time?"

It sounded absurd to me, as well.

"Not 'just like that,' " I argued. "After years of getting to know each other, and years of building trust, and making sure this was more than just a contract!"

I ignored her scoff over the phone.

I touched the new lingerie hidden beneath my dress, black lace that made me feel both powerful and terrified.

"I love him, Mother. I want this to be special."

More silence.

"Love wasn't part of the arrangement, Hazel."

Tough titties.

"Well, I'm making it part of it," I said firmly, though my heart fluttered as I thought of Evangeline's perfect face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a seduction to prepare for."

I hung up before she could respond, exhilarated to defy her in this small way. I took a deep breath of herb-scented air. I stirred the burgundy-rich sauce of the coq au vin, watching the wine-braised chicken practically fall off the bone among the pearl onions and mushrooms. The bacon lardons I'd meticulously cut had rendered their fat, lending a rustic decadence to what was, at its heart, a peasant stew–though Xavier would preen if he heard me call his favorite dish that. Adjusting the flame, I watched the sauce reduce to the perfect consistency, knowing he'd expect nothing less than a proper French preparation. The kitchen windows had steamed up from all the cooking, creating a cozy barrier between my cottage and the darkening woods beyond. A wolf howled in the distance – not Xavier's voice, I knew his too well – and my hand trembled as I reached for the wine bottle.

"The winds are stronger than they should be," I murmured, eyeing the trees bending ominously outside. "It's like the earth itself is restless."

Just a splash more for the sauce. Maybe a larger splash for me.

The silver charm bracelet clinked against the crystal goblet as I poured, its familiar weight both comfort and constraint. Grandmother had clasped it around my wrist during my eighth-year Binding ceremony, along with the goblets that every promised witch in our coven received. As if giving an eight-year-old marriage tokens somehow made the contracts our parents signed at our births more real. Grandmother always said the bracelet would feel lighter after the magick came. Twenty-seven years later, and it still felt like chains disguised as charms.

I dabbed another spot of jasmine perfume behind my ear, hand trembling slightly as his footsteps crossed the porch. Not the heavy tread he used at pack meetings, but the lighter step he saved for our dinners, the one that made my heart skip.

His knock came as I was tucking a last stubborn curl behind my ear: three quick taps, our signal since that first awkward dinner three years ago.

I opened the door.

He filled the frame completely, wind and rain had dampened his hair. He held wild asters that must have come from our clearing. The predator's mischief danced in his forest-green eyes as they crinkled at the corners. His perfectly matched dress shirt did nothing to hide the wild beneath that polished exterior.

"You're early," I managed as I took the flowers.

"You're beautiful," he countered and bent to kiss my cheek. His lips lingered, warm against my skin, before he pulled back. A whiff of alcohol and cologne hit me. Almost as if he was trying to cover the smell of his drinking with it. The mail hit the counter, a loose flyer for a missing fae child facing up at me.

"Something smells amazing in here," he said.

The flowers trembled slightly in my hands as I turned toward the kitchen. His hand found the small of my back, gentle, familiar, guiding me forward like he always did.

I busied myself arranging the asters, hyper-aware of Xavier moving through my kitchen with the easy familiarity of countless dinners shared here. The copper pots gleamed in the brief flash of spring sunset breaking through the storm clouds outside as he fumbled slightly with a glass, his movements looser than usual.

"Coq au vin," he said, inhaling deeply. "You remembered."

"Of course I remembered," I replied, smiling. "The first time you came here, you told me about your grandmother making it." I adjusted a flower, not quite looking at him. "Though I doubt mine measures up to hers."

"Are you kidding?" He was already lifting the pot lid, breathing in the aroma. "Yours is the only version that's ever come close."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," I teased, swatting his hand away from the pot, causing the lid to drop back onto the pot with a clang. "But dinner's not ready yet, and if you keep sampling the sauce, there won't be any left."

"Can't blame a wolf for trying." He leaned against the counter, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. "Need any help?"

How novel.

"You could open the wine," I suggested, reaching past him for the thyme. "Unless you're planning to just stand there looking pretty all evening."