Page 36 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love (Paranormal Romance #2)

Chapter Thirty-one

Epilog

Eleven months later

ANDROMEDA

Sarah Michelle’s wedding fell on the sort of shimmering afternoon that Salem only produced in the early days of September.

Warm golden light filtered through the botanical garden’s ancient oaks, casting dappled shadows across trimmed lawns where two magical dynasties sat rigidly apart from each other.

The Callidora coven sparkled in chaotic disarray on the left side of the aisle, a rainbow explosion of mismatched dresses, bare feet, and wind-tousled hair.

The Blacks, in stark contrast, occupied the rows on the right, each guest draped in elegant black as if attending a funeral rather than a wedding, their expressions equally somber beneath the cheerful canopy of fairy lights and floating rose petals.

Andromeda adjusted the strap of her sage green bridesmaid dress, silently congratulating herself on having talked the bride out of the original neon coral option.

She was standing next to the flower-draped altar where Sarah Michelle and Lorcan stood facing each other, their profiles gilded by the late summer light.

Shelly glowed in her white gown, her once-black locks now a platinum cascade twisted into a sleek, glimmering braid that hung below her shoulders.

She’d let her hair grow for the wedding.

Lorcan, tall and golden in a suit that was both technically black and yet defiant of his family’s somber dress code, gazed at his bride with undisguised adoration.

How these two had overcome centuries of coven rivalry, not to mention Sarah Michelle’s initial determination to arrest him for murder, was a love story even the most cynical witch had to appreciate.

“Twenty bucks says someone objects,” Donatello had whispered in her ear earlier.

“Not a chance,” Andromeda had replied. Sarah Michelle had terrorized every member of her coven into submission, threatening them with eternal hiccups if they so much as sneezed during the ceremony.

At the altar, the officiant—a neutral third party from the Department of Magical Justice who’d been vetted by both families against any hint of coven bias—gestured for Sarah Michelle and Lorcan to join hands. The garden fell silent as they shared their vows.

“I, Sarah Michelle Callidora, take you, Lorcan Black…”

The words were traditional; the emotion behind them, anything but. Her friend, who faced down criminals without blinking, whose voice never wavered even when confronting the darkest magic, stumbled midway through her vows, her eyes bright as she promised to love and cherish the man before her.

Lorcan, too, lost the calm he wore so well when his turn came. His usually composed exterior fractured, revealing the depth of his feelings beneath.

A treacherous sting prickled behind Andromeda’s eyes, and she cast a silent anti-tears spell on herself. Her makeup had taken forty-five minutes to apply, and she wasn’t about to cry it off.

She caught Donatello’s gaze from the third row, and he raised his eyebrows at her as if to say, “Tearing up, Swan, really?”

She rolled her eyes at him but smiled big all the same.

Next to him, Mila King was openly weeping, tears tracking down her cheeks.

Beside her, Chief Inquisitor Riley King sat ramrod straight in his formal uniform, his expression as impassive as ever.

But Andromeda noticed how his hand discreetly moved to magically fix his wife’s makeup as it streamed down her face.

The officiant’s voice rose above the gentle rustle of the garden breeze. “If anyone has reason these two should not be joined in sacred matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

A tense silence fell over the gathering.

Andromeda’s eyes darted to the Black section.

Right on cue, an elderly witch produced a conspicuous coughing fit, loud enough to draw attention but not to count as an objection.

Several heads turned her way, including Sarah Michelle’s, whose glare could have frozen lava.

The grandmother subsided, muttering “couldn’t even wear black to her wedding” before falling silent under the collective weight of the disapproving stares from both sides of the aisle.

The officiant ignored the interruption and continued with the ceremony. When Sarah Michelle and Lorcan were pronounced bonded for life, the garden erupted in applause—enthusiastic and chaotic from the Callidoras, measured and restrained from the Blacks.

The newlyweds turned to face their guests, both grinning like idiots. Lorcan’s arm wrapped around Sarah Michelle’s waist, pulling her close as they ambled down the aisle.

Donatello waited for Andromeda at the edge of the path, elbow raised, tall and impossibly handsome in a dark suit. On their way to the reception, they passed Quill and Nox perched together on the dessert table near the towering macaron display.

“Should we intervene?” Donatello asked, following her gaze.

Andromeda watched as Nox stretched his nimble body toward a pistachio macaron while Quill supervised with imperious brief nods. “Honestly? If this wedding can survive a cross-coven union, it can handle a pastry heist.”

“Fair point.” Donatello slipped his arm around her waist.

He and Andromeda found their seats at the main table as the appetizers were served. Sarah Michelle and Lorcan made their grand entrance last, the guests cheering until the newlyweds were seated at the head table. A lavish banquet followed.

As the dessert buffet opened, the music became louder and more lively, and the reception kicked into high gear.

The Callidora coven’s spontaneous clapping and stomping to the beat of the band’s enchanted instruments had the entire tent pulsing with energy.

Even the Black family eventually got dragged into the joyous spirit.

Andromeda was debating if she had room for another chocolate mini dessert, when Mila King, her earlier tears replaced by festive exuberance, looped her arm through Andromeda’s and pulled her toward the dance floor. “Come on! Sarah Michelle insists everyone has to dance.”

Before Andromeda could protest, she’d been dragged in a chaotic swirl of limbs, with steps that changed every few seconds and no discernible pattern. Mila twirled her around, laughing as Andromeda struggled to keep up.

“Is this even a real dance?” Andromeda gasped as she avoided colliding with one of Sarah Michelle’s cousins.

“Who cares? It’s fun!” Mila spun away, replaced by another Callidora relative who seized Andromeda’s hands and pulled her deeper into the fray.

Andromeda caught glimpses of Donatello as she was passed from partner to partner. He stood at their table, but his dark eyes tracked her progress on the dance floor, heating her skin despite the cooling evening air.

After what felt like hours but was only twenty minutes, Andromeda’s feet protested the combination of enthusiastic dancing and impractical heels. She winced as she landed hard after an exuberant twirl, her ankle wobbling dangerously.

As if sensing her discomfort, Donatello appeared at her side with a polite nod to her current partner. “Mind if I take the next one.” It wasn’t even a question. He took her, guiding her away from the dance floor with a supportive arm around her waist.

He led her to a lone table tucked beneath the fairy lights. “Sit. Those shoes are worse than medieval torture devices.”

Andromeda sank into a chair, extending her aching feet. “They’re not that bad, but weren’t designed for whatever interpretive chaos that was.”

Donatello kneeled before her, took one foot in his hands, and slipped off the offending heel. His fingers pressed into her arch with the right amount of pressure, drawing a moan of relief from her that was too suggestive for a public setting.

“Better?” he asked, his eyes dancing with amusement as he moved to the other foot.

“Don’t stop, and I’ll love you forever.” She sighed, then flushed at her own words.

Donatello’s hands paused before continuing their ministrations. “Mmm,” he mumbled, his tone casual but his eyes intent. “I’ve been thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime for you,” she teased.

“You don’t have a roommate anymore,” he continued, ignoring her jab. “Now that Sarah Michelle’s moved out…”

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, her heart racing. “That’s true. Just me and Quill rattling around in that house.”

“It wouldn’t be terrible if your toothbrush and illegal spell books ended up permanently at my place.” His thumbs kept working their magic on her instep. “Among other things. Like you.”

“Are you asking me to move in with you, detective?” The question was casual, despite her racing pulse.

“I’m suggesting it would be more efficient than you spending five nights a week at my place and then rushing home to change clothes and feed your judgmental hedgehog.”

Andromeda pretended to weigh her options, tapping a finger on her chin. “I don’t know. I’ve grown accustomed to my freedom. My independence.”

“You can be free and independent in my house,” he countered. “I’ll even give you dibs on the shower and unlimited access to my hoodies.”

“Tempting,” she admitted. “But I’ll need more incentive than plumbing privileges. And I already steal all your sweats.”

Donatello’s eyes darkened. “I can think of several incentives that aren’t appropriate to discuss at a wedding reception.”

Heat flooded Andromeda’s cheeks. “Fine. I’ll move in if I catch the bouquet.”

“Isn’t that tradition about the next person getting married?” Donatello pointed out, rising from his kneeling position to sit beside her.

Andromeda winked at him. “We’ve always made our own rules. Why stop now?”

Before he could respond, the DJ announced it was time for the bouquet toss. Women from both covens gathered on the dance floor.

Sarah Michelle stood with her back to the crowd, her bouquet of enchanted roses and lilies glowing in the twilight. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned before turning away again.

“One… two… three!” the DJ counted down.

Sarah Michelle threw the bouquet high into the air, where it hung, suspended as if considering its options.

Then, in a move that defied both physics and probability, the bouquet took a sharp left turn midair, bypassing the cluster of eager witches and sailing straight into Andromeda’s unsuspecting hands as she stood on the outskirts of the gathering.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the women. Someone from the Black side muttered about “improper enchantment,” while the Callidoras erupted in cheers and whistles.

Andromeda stared at the bouquet in her hands, then scanned the crowd until she found Donatello. He stood partially concealed by the shadow of a massive oak tree, his expression a study of feigned innocence that didn’t mask the self-satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Clutching the bouquet, Andromeda weaved through the guests until she reached the shadow of the tree where Donatello waited, his smirk widening as she approached.

“Do you know why this thing swerved like a heat-seeking missile in midair?” She held the floral arrangement up between them.

Donatello studied the flowers with exaggerated concentration. “Bizarre atmospheric conditions? A strong cross-breeze? The natural magnetism of beautiful witches?”

“No outside interference?” She stepped closer.

“That’s a grave accusation, Swan.” His hand found her waist, pulling her to him. “Got any evidence to back it up?”

“Just circumstantial,” she admitted, tilting her face up to his.

“No proof, no crime.”

“Guess it means I’ll be moving in?”

His smile turned less cocky as his eyes searched hers. “Are you sure you’re ready for all the dirty socks abandoned on the floor?”

He wasn’t asking about laundry, and they both knew it. But she kept her answer playful. “I’ll turn your hair purple every time you do something annoying. You’ll be house-trained before you know it.”

Then, without warning, she reached for him—like she’d been waiting for one last excuse to stop running, stop deflecting, stop pretending she didn’t already know he was it for her. Their lips met in a kiss that felt both familiar and brand new, a beginning and a continuation.

When he leaned into her, hands in her hair, Andromeda couldn’t ignore how many times she’d lied to herself about not needing anyone. And how wrong she’d been, and how stupidly lucky she was that he’d seen straight through her tough facade.

As the fairy lights twinkled overhead and the sounds of celebration continued around them, Andromeda was sure. She wanted this—him, them—forever, until death do them part, and beyond in the otherworld.

She’d spent most of her life making her own rules. Now she was ready to give forever a shot with someone who made commitment feel like freedom, who never asked her to change, only to stay, who saw every one of her sharp edges and still held out his hand for more.

And who’d turned her story into theirs.