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His rich laugh filled the kitchen as he reached for the wine bottle and smirked.

"Looking pretty, am I? That's quite the compliment from someone who managed to make 'domestic witch' haute couture."

I watched his forearms flex as he worked the cork free. The fading sunlight caught the silver in his dark hair. Not from age, he was only thirty-eight, but from the same wolf genes that made him tower over my five-foot-six.

"You're the one who showed up looking like you stepped out of a magazine. Did you actually wear a suit to patrol today?"

"Had a territory meeting with the River Valley pack," he countered, sliding my wine glass closer. "Though I did change before coming here. Wouldn't want to disappoint my favorite chef."

"Chef? Careful there, or I might start charging you for these dinners." I turned to check the vegetables roasting in the oven, very aware of how he hadn't moved back to give me space.

"Would that make this a date?" The question was light, teasing. "Though I suppose after thirty-five years of being betrothed, we're a bit past dating."

I straightened up, finding myself nearly chest-to-chest with him. This close, I could see the faint stubble along his jaw.

"Is that what you told the River Valley pack today?" I asked. "That your witch-bound mate is still making you work for it?"

His eyes softened, though that playful smile remained.

"I told them I've been the luckiest wolf since the day your parents and my pack made that arrangement." He reached past me to refill my wine glass. "Even if you do make me set the table every time."

I studied his face, seeing past the teasing smile to something deeper in those eyes. Three years of dinners, late-night conversations, and learning every micro-expression: the way his jaw tightened slightly when pack politics frustrated him, how his eyes crinkled at the corners when his laugh was genuine, and the subtle softening of his features when he looked at me like he was doing now.

"You know," I said softly, my fingers absently smoothing his shirt collar, "when I first moved out here, I was terrified. Not of you, but of...this. Of feeling something real for someone I was basically sold to."

His hand came up to cover mine, warm and steady. "I remember. You wouldn't let me help carry your boxes inside."

"Because I needed to know I could build something that was mine. That wasn't about the contract or the magick." I glanced around the kitchen we'd shared so many moments in. "I needed to trust that you saw me as more than just a power source."

"Hazel." The way he said my name made me look back at him. All the playfulness was gone, leaving something raw and honest in its place. "I've spent three years watching you create a home here. Learning your favorite books, your horrible taste in music–"

I huffed a laugh, but his fingers tightening on mine kept me from interrupting.

"Learning how fiercely you love, how carefully you trust. Every day made me more grateful that my parents chose your coven's offer, not because of any magick, but because it led me to you."

"Xavier," I whispered, my free hand sliding up his chest to rest over his heart, "I think I'm done waiting."

His breath caught, pupils dilating as he searched my face.

"Are you sure?" The control in his voice was fragile, betrayed by the slight tremor in his hands. "Because I can wait–"

I rose on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his. For a heartbeat, he remained perfectly still. Then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him as he deepened the kiss. Years of restraint melted away as his fingers tangled in my hair and my hands gripped his shoulders.

When we broke apart, both breathing heavily, the look in his eyes made my knees weak.

"The food," I managed weakly.

"If it burns, then we can order takeout," he growled, lifting me onto the counter. His lips found my neck, trailing fire down my skin. "I've waited years, Hazel. Everything else can wait."

His mouth moved lower, tracing the line of my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. We slowly moved to the edge of the kitchen table, my fingers digging into his hair, urging him closer.

Xavier's hands were hot and eager, sliding up my thighs, inching my dress higher. He pressed me against the table, his breath ragged, matching mine, as his lips found the swell of my breasts. I moaned softly, arching against him, feeling the hard length of him pressing against me. This was what I had waited for, what I had wanted.

His fingers slipped under the lace of my new underwear.

"Evangeline," he murmured, voice a little thick, his lips trembling slightly.

The name was a cold slap, shocking me out of my haze of desire. I froze, my breath caught in my throat, but Xavier didn't notice. He continued to trail kisses down my neck, his hands exploring my body. I pushed at his chest, trying to put some space between us, but he was lost in his passion, his eyes glazed over.