Page 32 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Twenty-eight

Handcuffs and Heartstrings

DONATELLO

Donatello winced as he reached for the spice rack, the movement pulling at the healing wound in his side.

The magimedics had done their best, but some injuries—particularly those inflicted by ancient, soul-sucking undead wizards—required time more than magical medicine to heal.

And patience, which had never been his strong suit.

He tossed diced onions into the sizzling pan. After a while, he added the tomatoes and let them marinate.

The sauce was almost ready, and still no sign of Andromeda.

He glanced at the clock—she’d left the house hours ago for what should have been a quick meeting.

He tried not to worry. She was a grown witch capable of handling herself.

But the memory of the lich was still raw, and having her out of his sight for too long made him irrationally anxious.

Finally, the front door clicked open, followed by the sound of her boots in the hallway, the gentle thud of her bag hitting the entryway table, and the rustle of her coat as she shrugged it off and hung it up.

“In the kitchen,” he called, adjusting the heat under the pan.

Her footsteps paused before continuing toward him. When she appeared in the doorway, Donatello’s smile faltered at the strange expression on her face—somewhere between distracted and determined, with a flash of something like guilt.

“What the hex are you doing?” Andromeda demanded, her eyes narrowing as they swept over him standing at the stove. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I got hungry,” he replied, turning back to the sauce to hide his wince as another twinge shot through his side. “Someone was taking her sweet time coming home.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I wasn’t gone that long.” She marched over, her hands already reaching for the wooden spoon he held. “Give me that. Back to bed, now. Seriously, your side—”

“Is fine. I was going crazy in bed. I needed to move.”

Andromeda sighed. She hopped up to perch on the counter beside the stove, her legs swinging. “It smells good,” she admitted.

“It’s the fresh basil.” He offered her a taste from the spoon. Her eyes fluttered closed as she savored it, and that familiar tug in his chest returned—inevitable now, like clockwork, whenever she did just about anything.

“Perfect,” she declared, licking her lips. The gesture made him reconsider his cooking priorities.

“So.” He turned back to the pan. “What kept you so long? I thought you were going to sign paperwork and check on the demonic pincushion.”

“Quill is fine. He’ll be delighted to learn about your concern.”

Donatello nodded, waiting for the rest. When it didn’t come, he glanced up to find her studying her fingernails with unusual intensity.

“And the station?” he prompted. “I’m assuming the paperwork took longer than expected?”

“Something like that,” she murmured.

That unease in his stomach intensified. Andromeda Swan was many things—sarcastic, brilliant, occasionally reckless—but evasive wasn’t typically one of them. Not with him, at least. Not anymore.

“Swan.” He set down the spoon and turned to face her fully. “What’s going on?”

Her eyes met his, then darted away. “Why would you think something’s up?”

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The same one you had when you hexed my hair purple and pretended it wasn’t you.” He stepped closer, positioning himself between her knees. “I’m a detective, remember? I notice things.”

Andromeda rolled her eyes, the gesture tense, not playful.

“Come on,” Donatello coaxed her, “what’s bothering you?”

She exhaled deeply, her shoulders slumping. “Chief King offered me a job.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown by her confession. “As what?”

“Director of Magical Cybersecurity,” she confirmed, a hint of pride creeping into her voice despite her clear discomfort. “My own department, a team, the whole package.”

“Woah…” It made sense—after the Arcanet case, King would be a fool not to recognize Andromeda’s talents. And under different circumstances, he would have been thrilled for her.

But a heavy weight settled in his gut as realization dawned. “The non-fraternization policy.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You know about it?”

“HR practically engraves it on new recruits’ badges.”

“Right.” She nodded, her eyes searching his face.

Dread knotted in his chest. “What did you tell him?”

“That I’d think about it. He gave me a week to decide.”

The sauce bubbled aggressively behind him, but Donatello barely noticed. She had seven days to choose between him and what sounded like her dream job. Seven days of limbo, of uncertainty.

“I’m sorry.” The words were out of his mouth before he could analyze why he was apologizing.

She frowned rearing her head. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because you can’t take the job.” His reply was automatic, instinctive. Honest.

The confusion on Andromeda’s face hardened into something else. “So that’s it? You’re assuming I’ll give up the opportunity of a lifetime for you?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Why don’t you quit your job instead?” she interrupted, sliding off the counter to stand toe-to-toe with him. Her eyes flashed with that defiant spark he usually found so attractive, but now it froze the breath halfway up his throat.

“I was working there first,” he said tightly, aware of how petulant it sounded even as the words left his mouth. “I’ve been a cop my entire life. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“And I’ve been jumping from contract to contract, operating in gray areas, never having stability or respect. This job would give me all of that.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But you’re right. Your career is obviously more important than mine.”

“That’s not fair. I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. You stated it as a fact—I can’t take the job. You didn’t say, ‘We need to figure this out’ or ‘Let’s weigh our options.’ No, you just gave me a blanket statement that I have to be the one to sacrifice.”

“There aren’t any options,” he snapped, frustration building. “The policy exists for a reason. King isn’t going to change it for us.”

“So that’s it? You’ve given it all of thirty seconds’ thought and decided there’s no solution?”

The sauce was definitely burning now. Donatello switched off the burner, glad for the excuse to turn his back on her while his mind raced to salvage the more important things going up in smoke in front of him.

He was trapped between the instinct to fix this for her and the cold reality that he couldn’t—at least not without one of them giving up something.

“I’m being realistic.” The words came out tight, barely controlled.

“You’re over-simplifying. This is my life we’re talking about. My career. My future. And you see it in black or white. Should I just give up on everything I’ve worked for because you’ve decided your job takes precedence?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he insisted. “I’m pointing out the facts. One of us has to choose, and I don’t see why it should be me when I’ve been at SMPD for years.”

“Right, because seniority is all that matters,” she spat. “Not talent or opportunity or what might be best for both of us long-term.”

“And you’ve decided that what’s best is for me to walk away from the only career I’ve ever known?” Donatello couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. “That’s rich coming from someone who’s had this job offer in their lap for what, a few hours?”

Andromeda’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “At least I’m willing to consider all our options instead of making unilateral decisions. Has it occurred to you that maybe there’s a middle ground? That we could find a way to make this work?”

“There is no gray area with non-fraternization policies. That’s the whole point. It is black and white.” He ran a hand down his face, tired. “Look, I’m not saying your career isn’t important. But other tech jobs won’t require us to sneak around or break up.”

“Same as the many positions in law enforcement,” she countered. “But you’re not even considering those, are you?”

The truth was, he hadn’t. The thought of leaving SMPD made his stomach twist. The department was more than a job to him—it was his identity, his purpose. Walking away from it would’ve been like severing a limb—unthinkable and excruciating.

Andromeda shook her head, the disappointment evident in every line of her beautiful face. “To you, it’s a straightforward choice—you or the job. But you’re asking me to choose between two parts of myself.”

Donatello clenched his jaw. He wanted to argue, to make her see his side, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Well,” he said finally, his voice strained, “when you put it like that, you’re making it very easy for me to see which way you’re leaning.”

She stared at him, hurt flashing across her face before it was replaced by determination. “And you’re making it very easy for me to choose.”

Before he could respond, she turned and walked out of the room—out of the house. Out of his life?

Donatello stood alone in the smoke-choked kitchen, surrounded by the remains of the lunch they’d never share and the echo of words he already regretted. The warmth he’d felt when she’d come home had curdled into guilt.

He’d handled that conversation all wrong. Had he given her an ultimatum? The Andromeda he knew and loved would never back down from a fight, especially not one this important.

And now she was gone, angry and hurt, while he stood in a too-quiet kitchen that echoed with emptiness, wondering if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life.