Page 11 of The Cuddle Clause

Roman

When the credits rolled, the room was bathed in that soft, blue glow that made everything feel a little quieter and a little more fragile. Maggie didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the screen like maybe, if she looked hard enough, she could keep the heartache at bay.

I stayed beside her, one arm still resting along the back of the couch.

She hadn’t pulled away all night. She’d cried.

Really cried. And not once had I felt awkward or out of place.

I didn’t know what to say. That Eric was a dumbass?

That she was worth more than some yoga-obsessed manchild who couldn’t see what he had?

That I would’ve never picked someone else, not if I had her?

But I couldn’t say any of that. Not without overstepping. Not when she was still grieving the loss of the relationship.

She’s still thinking about him. I’m just filling the space he left behind.

That thought had been clawing at the back of my mind all night, and it had been loudest during the quietest moments: when she curled deeper into the blankets; when she scooped ice cream without looking; when her eyes were red and her sobs had subsided.

I liked sitting here with her. I really liked sitting here with her. But it didn’t mean what I wanted it to mean. Maybe it never would.

I cleared my throat, turning slightly to face her. “The meeting was quick,” I said.

She looked over, her expression open but cautious.

“Lucien just wanted to follow up with his counsel,” I continued. “It’s that same thing he keeps harping on. Mates. Balance. He wants his advisors to lead by example.”

Maggie nodded slowly. “Right.”

My hands started to move, clenching and unclenching like they always did when I was working up to something uncomfortable. Of course, she noticed instantly.

“What else, Roman?” she asked gently. “There’s more, right?”

I looked at her. She was beautiful even with tear-streaked cheeks and an empty pint of ice cream at her feet.

“Lucien’s intrigued by you. By us.”

Her brows drew together, and I pushed forward before I lost my nerve.

“He’s never heard of you,” I said. “So, when he found out I’m living with a human, one I’m apparently very close to, he decided he wanted to meet you. Formally.”

She sat bolt upright, the blanket tumbling off her shoulders and the empty ice cream container rolling to the floor with a soft clunk.

“I have to meet the alpha one-on-one?” Her voice pitched higher. “I’m not ready for that. I don’t know what to say. And what the fuck am I going to wear?”

I stood, not wanting to crowd her. “Hey,” I said, hands up in surrender. “I’ll help you pick something out, okay? We can go shopping right now if you want. My treat.”

“You’re offering to go shopping?”

“I’m offering to fund the shopping. I will carry bags. I will nod respectfully. I might even offer unsolicited opinions on accessories. I’m versatile.”

That got a weak laugh out of her. “I never turn down a new outfit,” she muttered. Then her expression sobered. “But seriously, Roman. How am I supposed to convince a literal alpha that you and I are… whatever we’re pretending to be? He’ll see right through you.”

“We have about twenty-four hours to prepare,” I said. “And trust me, I know Lucien. I’ve done this dance with him before. I can pretty much guess the questions he’ll ask.”

Maggie tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Like how we met. How long we’ve been together. Whether I’ve shifted in front of you. How you feel about the pack. If we plan to… make it official.”

“Official like?”

“Like bonded,” I said, tone soft.

She looked faintly panicked. Understandably.

“Don’t worry,” I added quickly. “We’ll script it. Rehearse it if we have to. You’ll have answers ready, and if you blank, I’ll step in. You won’t be alone in this.”

She stared at me for a long moment, then exhaled. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. But I want the dress. An expensive one. If I have to meet a werewolf king, I’m doing it in style.”

I smiled. “Done.”

By the time we hit the highway, Maggie had her feet on the dash and her sunglasses perched low on her nose.

The city skyline fell behind us—sharp glass towers giving way to the Bay’s shimmer and the low sprawl of suburbs beyond.

In the distance, the red arches of the Golden Gate Bridge cut through the late-afternoon haze.

Maggie wasn’t talking much, which I figured meant her brain was doing what it always seemed to do when she was stressed: looping through worst-case scenarios and inventing disasters that hadn’t happened yet.

I turned down the radio. “This isn’t a formal event. We’re just having drinks with Lucien. It’s casual. Ish.”

She scoffed. “It’s also at the alpha’s mansion. That doesn’t exactly scream low-pressure.”

“Still,” I shrugged. “No ballgowns. No tiaras. But class is expected.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “I have class for days.”

“I don’t disagree,” I said with a smirk. “But there’s a specific flavor of class shifters expect at these things. The kind that says: ‘Yes, I might be dating a man who can turn into a wolf, but I also own a steamer and make eye contact when I talk.’”

She laughed. “So basically, polished but intimidating. Got it.”

“Exactly. You’ll kill it.”

The mall parking lot was already packed with people who had nothing better to do on a Saturday.

The whole place smelled faintly of garlic fries and ocean breeze, which was a weirdly perfect combo you only got near San Francisco’s coast. I parked and led her to the double doors of one of the higher-end department stores.

Maggie hesitated when we stepped into the air-conditioned sprawl of luxury branding and glowing white tile.

“You seriously shop here?” she asked.

“I don’t shop here by choice… more like out of necessity for all the outlandish events Lucien throws,” I said. “There’s a difference.”

We headed straight for the women’s section. I didn’t even wait for direction. I scanned the racks, pulling items and holding them up to her like I was auditioning to be Maggie’s stylist. Or her unhinged, fashion-obsessed boyfriend. Possibly both.

Maggie crossed her arms. “You don’t even know what size I wear.”

“Six,” I said.

She blinked. “How the hell do you know that?”

“I helped you unpack, remember? I pay attention.”

She stared at me for a second too long, and I pretended not to notice how flustered she looked. I turned back to the racks, holding up a fitted midi skirt in a deep plum color that would make her eyes look criminal.

“I would never choose that,” she muttered.

“Which is why you have me,” I said, handing it to her. “Humor me.”

She rolled her eyes like she was doing me a great favor, but I caught the smile she tried to hide as she disappeared into the dressing room. When she stepped out a few minutes later, I actually oohed. Out loud. Couldn’t stop it.

She looked incredible. The skirt hugged her hips, and the blouse I’d grabbed—soft, elegant, open at the collar—made her look like she belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“Okay,” she said, hands on her hips, “you’re staring.”

“I’m appreciating,” I corrected, trying not to think about how she’d probably look good in a paper bag. “Huge difference.”

We narrowed it down to a couple of outfits, but that one was the clear winner. I paid, ignoring her mild protest, and carried the bag out like I’d just purchased the Holy Grail.

On the drive home, she was quieter again, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“Lucien’s going to ask about your family,” I said. “Your career. What your aspirations are.”

“Aspirations?” she echoed. “What, like affording rent and adopting a golden retriever?”

“More like whether you’re thinking long-term. About being with a shifter.”

She glanced at me, brows drawn. “Is that... weird? For a human and a shifter to be together?”

“Not unheard of,” I said. “But I’m not just any shifter. I’m Lucien’s cousin. I sit on the council. Being my mate comes with visibility and responsibility. He’ll want to make sure you’re not going to crumble under that.”

She twisted her hands together, fingers tightening around themselves. I reached over and rested mine on top of hers.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” I said quietly. “Just be yourself. Lucien will like you.”

Doubt flashed in her eyes. “From the sound of it, I can’t just be myself. I have to be... polished.”

I didn’t like the way she said that. Like being herself wasn’t enough.

“Hey,” I said. “You won’t have to pretend. And if you say anything that feels off to him, I’ll turn it into a joke. I’m good at redirecting. Lucien and I are close. If I tell him you’re the one I want to mate with, he won’t push unless there’s something blatant.”

Maggie huffed softly, a smile tugging at her mouth. “I’ll try not to be blatant.”

We pulled into the parking lot and made our way up to the apartment. I tossed the keys on the counter and flopped onto the couch dramatically, exhaling like I’d just finished running from the law.

She sat on the arm of the couch beside me. I looked down. Then froze.

Her shoes.

My eyes narrowed. “Mags,” I said slowly, “have you been wearing those the whole time we’ve been home?”

She blinked innocently. “What, these? Yeah.”

I placed a hand over my heart. “That’s a flagrant violation of Article Seven, and I’m too emotionally raw to forgive you.”

Then I executed the most dramatic couch flop in recent history, groaning into the cushion like I’d been mortally wounded. She laughed.

That sound made everything—tomorrow, Lucien, the whole act—worth it.