Page 41 of The Cuddle Clause

Roman

We barely made it out of the car before Lucien descended like a blinged-out scarecrow on wheels, arms open, smile manicured to perfection.

“There you are! My radiant, suspiciously glowing headliners.”

I frowned. “Suspiciously what?”

“Glowing,” he repeated. “You’ve got that post-fated-glamour thing going on. Come on, follow me. Stage time.”

“Stage?” Maggie and I said in unison.

Lucien twirled away down the hallway like a game show host on cocaine. Staff flitted by with trays of champagne and floating orbs of enchanted lighting. Music thudded faintly from the east wing. Somewhere, someone was screaming with joy or magically-induced intoxication.

I caught Maggie’s eye as we were practically dragged down the corridor by Lucien’s enthusiasm.

Her mouth opened to ask something—probably what fresh hell is this—but we were already being ushered through a gold-trimmed doorway into what used to be the drawing room and had now been transformed into a full stage setup.

Spotlights. A semicircle of chairs faced a small, raised platform, and the glowing sign overhead read:

“MATES: HOW WELL DO YOU REALLY KNOW EACH OTHER?”

No. Nope.

Lucien clapped once and spun to face us.

“Surprise! Since you two are our headliners, and obviously the talk of the whole damn pack, we thought it’d be fun to do a little compatibility quiz before the ceremonial part.

Just a few questions. A little flirtation.

A little bonding magic. You’re going to be adorable. ”

My blood pressure hit critical levels. “Lucien, what kind of quiz are we talking about?”

“Oh, you know. Favorite food. Pet peeves. Love languages. All that juicy stuff.” He waved a hand like it was no big deal, then turned on his heel. “Curtain up in five!”

And he vanished. Maggie and I stood there. My spine was locking up, and my palms started to sweat.

“They’re going to eat us alive,” I muttered. “We haven’t rehearsed for this. We don’t have answers. How are we supposed to… Mags, can we convince the entire pack that we’re compatible?”

Maggie stepped in front of me and took both my hands in hers.

Everything stopped. The chaos in the room, the thumping in my chest, the rising panic in my throat—all of it eased the second she touched me.

Her thumbs rubbed slow circles against my knuckles. “Hey. Breathe.”

I did. Shakily.

Her voice stayed soft and steady. “We’ve spent weeks together. We know more than we think.”

I swallowed. “This is going to blow up in our faces.”

“Or,” she said, eyes holding mine, “we’re going to be accidentally amazing at it. We live together. We know quite a bit about each other.”

She smiled, and God help me, I felt invincible.

An assistant took us aside separately and made us fill out answers to the questions being asked. A few minutes later, we were seated onstage in front of what had to be at least a hundred pack members. Lucien sat in the front row, beaming like he’d singlehandedly orchestrated a royal wedding.

A man in a velvet suit took the mic and introduced himself as tonight’s compatibility conductor. I wasn’t sure if that was his actual title or something Lucien invented on the fly, but he took the job seriously. He had cue cards and dramatic pauses and everything.

“Let’s begin with something simple,” the host said. “Roman, what’s Maggie’s favorite food?”

Maggie stiffened. I forced a breath, digging into memory.

“Uh… she pretends it’s something cool and healthy like soba noodles, but it’s actually toaster waffles with cinnamon sugar.”

The crowd laughed. Maggie turned to me, eyes wide. “That’s freakishly accurate.”

I shrugged. “You mutter in your sleep.”

Next card.

“Maggie, what’s Roman’s most annoying habit?”

She tilted her head and smirked. “He alphabetizes the spice rack. Without asking.”

Someone in the crowd gasped. “You monster!”

I raised my hand. “If it’s not alphabetical, it’s chaos. How do you find anything in there?”

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 and off-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 comfort you?”

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 we had been 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.

Her expression twisted. “I guess you don’t know a good thing when it’s standing right in front of you.”

I glanced toward Maggie again. She was stealing a mini croissant and trying to hide it in a napkin like she was smuggling treasure.

“Oh, I know,” I said, watching her. “I know exactly what a good thing looks like.”

That was the end of that. Seraphina huffed and stalked off toward Dwight, who looked like he’d rather be in a dental chair. I didn’t feel even an ounce of regret.

Lucien found us a few minutes later. His grin stretched too wide, his suit obscenely gold-trimmed. “There you are. It’s time.”

I could feel Maggie tense beside me.

“Follow me,” Lucien said, sweeping his arm toward the double doors at the back of the hall.

We stepped into a massive chamber bathed in moonlight and lined with pack members. Dozens of them. The air buzzed with anticipation, magic thick enough to taste.

A raised platform waited in the center. Two ornate chairs, a woven silver tapestry, and a row of elders flanking Lucien like royal courtiers. My skin started to burn.

Lucien’s voice boomed through the room, reverent and theatrical. “Tonight, we witness the most sacred rite among our kind: the bonding of mates. Joined by blood, sealed by magic, strengthened by devotion.”

I kept my eyes on Maggie, who stood across from me in her simple white dress. She looked like she belonged in every version of my future. And she had no idea.

Lucien gestured to us. “Roman. Maggie. Step forward.”

We did. I could hear Maggie’s heart thudding from where I stood. Or maybe it was mine.

“A claiming is not merely instinct. It is trust. It is choice. It is soul meeting soul and saying, ‘Yes. Even now. Even still.’” Lucien nodded at me. “Complete the bond.”

My mouth went dry. I reached into my pocket and palmed the capsule, slipping it into my mouth while I was turned. It was small, barely noticeable. Crushed wolf root and herbs, mixed with a drop of my own blood to make it smell like the real deal.

I stepped behind Maggie and traced the skin on her neck with the tip of my finger. She shivered but didn’t pull away.

“You okay?” I whispered.

“Just do it,” she whispered back.

God help me. I lowered my mouth to her skin, pressing the capsule between my teeth. The second I touched her neck, she let out an involuntary gasp.

The sound shattered something in me, and my knees buckled with the intensity of my desire to do it for real. To mark her. Claim her. Make it official in the way only magic could. Not because Lucien wanted it. Not because the pack needed it.

But because I did.

Because I loved her.

But I couldn’t. So, I bit down on the capsule and let the fake blood trickle across her shoulder. The heat of her skin against my lips nearly undid me. I pulled back slowly, my mouth stained red. Maggie reached up and touched the mark like she couldn’t quite believe it.

Lucien raised his arms and cried out, “The bond is complete!”

The crowd roared. I wanted to roll my eyes and scream.

I looked at Maggie. She was trying to smile and look like the perfect mate. But her eyes were too glassy.

Hand in hand, we stepped down from the platform, applause ringing in our ears. Couples lined up behind us, waiting to begin their own bonding. I didn’t care.

We left the mansion without watching them. I didn’t want to see another moment of someone else’s perfect fairytale.

Because mine was walking beside me, and it wasn’t real.

And I didn’t know how much longer I could pretend.