Page 25 of The Cuddle Clause

Roman

The next day, I found Maggie in the kitchen.

Her hair was up in one of those loopy buns that made her look infuriatingly pretty. Hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows. Same mug she always used. It said: “Not Before Coffee” in pastel purple script and was chipped at the rim.

We both reached for the coffee pot at the same time. Her fingers brushed mine.

I stuttered. “Oh—uh—you go ahead.”

She nodded and poured her coffee without looking at me.

The silence stretched, and it was our usual comfortable silence where she doodled, and I read in the same space. Nope, this silence buzzed with everything we weren’t saying. Last night hung between us like fog, thick and heavy.

She still wasn’t looking at me.

God, did she regret it? Of course she did. I’d kissed her like it meant something. Like we weren’t fake dating to keep Lucien off my back. Like I hadn’t spent weeks telling myself she was off-limits.

I cleared my throat. “About last night,” I started. My voice cracked, so I tried again, steadier. “I’m sorry. I crossed a line. That was... the wine. And me being an idiot. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. It was a stupid mistake.”

Something flickered across her face. It wasn’t anger. Surprise? Disappointment?

She finally looked at me, then nodded as she stirred creamer into her mug. “I haven’t forgotten about today,” she said, finally. “The pack lunch thing. I blocked off a long break for it.”

I swallowed, grateful and gutted all at once. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

She shrugged. “No problem.”

Then she turned and walked back toward her room without a teasing comment or sly smirk. She just retreated like it cost her something to stand there with me. I exhaled slowly and filled my own mug, letting the heat center me.

I’d fucked up. Whatever rhythm we’d found, whatever fragile thing we’d been building since the first fake date… I’d broken it with one impulsive kiss. One second of leaning into something I wasn’t allowed to want.

She was hurting and still in love with her ex. And too good for the mess I’d become. And I… I was just a disaster with decent abs and a habit of mistaking proximity for permission.

I leaned back against the counter and rubbed a hand down my face.

Maggie was the first person in a really long time who really saw me.

She noticed when I was spiraling and met me there without demanding an explanation.

She’d kept to my ridiculous roommate agreement like it was scripture.

She made me laugh when I didn’t want to.

She sat on the bathroom floor with me when I was nonverbal and humming like a malfunctioning power line.

And I repaid that by pinning her to the door and kissing her like she was mine.

I took a sip of coffee and winced. Bitter.

Perfect.

Lucien would be thrilled today. Bonded couples, he’d called it. As if proximity and a matching wardrobe were the same thing as partnership. As if Maggie and I weren’t faking our way through this whole thing just to keep my alpha off my back.

Except last night hadn’t felt fake. And that was the real problem.

By the time we arrived at Lucien’s sprawling estate, the late-morning sun had baked the front steps to a dull gold, and the scent of manicured roses and money hung in the air like designer cologne.

We walked in together, arms brushing. Maggie’s scent—citrus and pine—wrapped around me like a tether, and I hated how easily it calmed me.

Lucien’s staff led us to a long table draped in white cloth that was set up on the back terrace. Crystal glasses. Fresh-cut floral centerpieces. Because of course.

Seraphina was already seated at our assigned table, which should have been my first clue that the universe was actively working against me.

She looked perfect. I didn’t mean subjectively—like, Roman you’re still bitter and angry.

I meant objectively. She was professionally airbrushed perfect. And she wasn’t alone.

A shifter I didn’t recognize was beside her. Young. Smug. The kind of guy who wore loafers with no socks and called himself an entrepreneur.

Maggie and I took our seats, and I immediately felt Seraphina’s eyes on me. She toasted her mimosa with a smirk. “To real love,” she said, sweetly venomous. “Not rushed nonsense.”

I raised my water glass. “To actually knowing your partner before you claim them.”

Maggie didn’t say anything, but her lips twitched.

The conversation meandered into boring pack small talk—border tensions; magical agriculture exports; Lucien’s new commission for a ceremonial cloak made from sustainably sourced silk.

Seraphina’s gaze never left me.

I shifted closer to Maggie and rested my hand on the back of her chair. She leaned into the contact, and the knot in my chest loosened. At least here, in this room, I could still fake it with her and pretend I wasn’t unraveling.

Lucien caught my eye from across the terrace and tipped his chin toward the house.

I excused myself, muttering something about needing air, and followed him to the study. He paced the room like he’d downed four espressos in quick succession.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Things are worse than I let on. The border’s under real threat. There’s a rival pack pressing in from the north, and the magical barrier is failing faster than expected. They want my land. My title.”

My mouth went dry. “Shit.”

“If word gets out about the barrier failing, we’re vulnerable. For the first time in hundreds of years, this place isn’t protected. We’re basically begging for a takeover.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “So, the mating stuff... it’s serious?”

Lucien nodded. “Exactly. The old magic is tied to our bonds, both as a pack and within it. Strength in unity. More bonded pairs mean more stability, more grounding energy.”

I swallowed hard.

He held up a hand. “I’m telling you this because I trust you. And because I see big things in your future.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “You do?”

“Of course, Roman. You’re loyal and respected. The pack notices. I want to start pulling you into leadership conversations. But first...” He trailed off, then said, “I need you to bond with Maggie. As soon as possible.”

I almost choked. “What?”

“It’s not ideal, but it’s urgent. We need that magical boost. Our familial blood, the alpha line, is tied to the magic stronger than others. Will that be a problem?”

I nodded too quickly. “No. No problem. I appreciate your faith in me.”

Lucien clapped me on the shoulder and left me there, staring at the wall.

No problem?

I was so fucked.

By the time I made it back to the table, I could already tell something was wrong.

Seraphina was leaning forward in her chair like a lioness stalking prey. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows were drawn in feigned curiosity, but the tension in her shoulders gave her away. Her voice, deceptively sweet, floated just above the clinking of silverware and background brunch noise.

Maggie sat across from her, stiff-backed, chin tilted. She was trying to keep her expression calm, but I saw her irritation in the way she tapped one finger against her thigh, and her smile was a little too still.

She was being cornered. I slowed my approach, catching just enough to know I was already too late.

“…I mean, it’s just odd, right?” one of Seraphina’s friends—Callie, I think—said, twirling her straw in her water like she was trying not to choke on her own smugness. “You’re not from here, no family in the pack, no pack ties. And suddenly Roman’s bringing you around like…what? Like you’re his?”

“I don’t need ties to the pack,” Maggie said calmly, but I knew her tells by now. Her right shoulder had drawn slightly inward. She was guarding. “Roman’s capable of deciding who he wants without an approval panel.”

Seraphina laughed. “Maggie,” she said, too brightly. “Don’t be na?ve. Roman’s not just anyone. He’s the future of this pack. You think this is some fairytale? You think he’s choosing you because of love?”

My jaw locked.

“Maggie doesn’t need to explain herself to you,” I said, sharp enough to slice clean through the noise.

Seraphina’s head snapped toward me. Her fake-smile slipped.

“She doesn’t need to explain anything,” I continued, sliding into the seat beside Maggie. “But since you’re all so invested in my love life, let me clear things up.”

Maggie’s hand was in her lap. I found it under the table and laced our fingers together. Her pulse jumped.

“I’m not using her,” I said, staring Seraphina down. “Not for politics. Not for appearances. Not for anything other than the fact that she’s the love of my life.”

A few gasps. One quiet scoff. Seraphina looked like I’d slapped her.

Maggie stiffened, but I kept my hand over hers, stroking the back of her knuckles with my thumb.

“She’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me,” I said, and it wasn’t just for show. Every word was true. “So if anyone here has a problem with that, I suggest you figure out how to keep it to your fucking self.”

Callie opened her mouth. I didn’t let her speak.

“If anyone questions Maggie again,” I said, voice dropping to a quiet threat, “they can challenge me formally.”

That shut everyone up.

I turned toward Maggie. She looked stunned. Lips slightly parted, eyes wide. She was gripping my hand like I was the only steady thing in the room.

I tucked her hair behind her ear and murmured, “Come with me.”

I stood and pulled her with me, threading through the crowd until we found a quiet alcove tucked behind one of the curved staircases. The house was loud, but here, the world slowed just for us.

She still hadn’t said a word.

I tilted her chin up gently. Her eyes met mine—bright, unreadable, maybe still trying to catch up.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

She nodded a little too quickly. I could feel her pulse where I was touching her.

“Thank you,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “For enduring all of that. For me.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, like she didn’t understand why I was thanking her.

“Thank you. For defending me.” And then her lips were on mine.

It wasn’t practiced or perfect. It wasn’t for show. Gravity dragged us together. Maggie curled her fingers into my shirt like she needed something to hold on to. I pressed my palm to the small of her back and pulled her closer.

The kiss shifted—slow to aching, tentative to hungry. Her mouth opened for me, and I was gone. Every time she made that soft sound in the back of her throat, it took every ounce of control not to lift her up right there and—

Her shoulder blades met the wood paneling beside a guest room door. Keeping my mouth on hers, I fumbled behind her for the door knob and pushed the door open. We stumbled inside.

She was breathless. Hair a mess. Eyes wide and wanting.

I kissed her again, and this time, she kissed me back like we’d been waiting for this all our lives.