Page 101 of The Cuddle Clause

The host moved on, grinning. “Roman, how does Maggie comfort you when you’re upset?”

The world tilted a little. I cleared my throat. “She doesn’t push. She sits next to me. Sometimes she hums. It’s awful andoff-key, and she knows it, but it helps. More than anything else ever has.”

Maggie didn’t say anything, but her hand found mine under the table.

The host shuffled cards dramatically. “Maggie, how does Roman comfortyou?”

She hesitated. “He lets me hide. But he stays close. Makes me feel like I’m not alone, even when I want to be.”

The room was still. Lucien even stopped his dramatic fan fluttering.

The questions kept coming—inside jokes, secret talents, how we met, what our first impression of each other was, favorite season, pet peeves, deal breakers.

And somehow, we kept answering right.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

Because wehadbeen paying attention. Because I knew she wore socks to bed and kicked them off in her sleep. Because she knew I hated loud chewing and never said anything when I made her cereal soggy on purpose just to avoid the sound. Because I knew she didn’t like thunderstorms, and she knew I didn’t like being touched by anyone but her.

The host finally lowered his cards and turned to the elders, seated in their ornate chairs near the edge of the stage.

One of them leaned forward, ancient eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“Either you’re very good guessers,” he said slowly, “or you’re the most compatible couple we’ve ever seen.”

The crowd erupted in applause. Cheers. Laughter. Someone whistled.

Maggie leaned toward me, lips brushing my ear. “We are either amazing liars or horrifyingly synced.”

I tried to smile, but my throat was tight.

I looked at her, and all I could think was:I’ve never felt this kind of connection with anyone in my life.Not even close.I didn’t know if it was real or magic or proximity. I just knew it was the most honest thing I’d ever felt.

And if this was a lie, it was the kind I never wanted to stop telling.

We both sighed in relief when we were finally allowed to leave the stage. The foyer was too warm, too bright, too full of gold-trimmed bullshit. I squeezed Maggie’s hand, and we walked through the arched doorway. She squeezed back. Her skin was cool, her touch steady—a stark contrast to the storm I could already feel building in my chest.

We didn’t make it ten steps before Seraphina appeared like a goddamn specter in stilettos.

“Maggie.” Her smile was made of plastic. “Roman.”

Maggie raised one brow and muttered, “I’ll be over there,” before heading toward a table of refreshments with a smirk that I’d be thinking about for days.

Seraphina wasted no time.

“I wanted to give you one last chance,” she said, eyes flicking between me and Maggie like she was calculating odds.

I arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said I wanted to give you one last chance. To choose me. My and Dwight’s parents think he and I are a perfect match. Strategic. Clean. But I think you and I are the perfect match.”

I kept my eyes on Maggie, watching her laugh with someone. She didn’t belong in this world, and yet she was outshining everyone here.

“I hope you and Dwight will be happy together,” I said flatly, then turned back to Seraphina. “Truly.”

Her smile cracked. “You don’t want one more moment to rethink this? You and I?—”

“I want Maggie.” My tone was final. Absolute.