Page 42 of The Cuddle Clause

Maggie

I stared at my eggs like they’d betrayed me.

They were too yellow, too cheerful, too aggressively optimistic for the state of my soul.

Roman sat across from me at the kitchen island, nursing his coffee as if it was his last remaining friend in the world.

We hadn’t said more than two words since we woke up in separate rooms. The silence between us was thick enough to chew on.

We were mated.

Sort of.

Fake mated. Publicly bonded. Magically adjacent.

I was still trying to figure out how exactly I’d gone from “traumatized woman escaping a messy breakup” to “fake soul-bound lover of a drama queen werewolf with commitment issues.”

I glanced at Roman. His hair was a mess, like he’d rolled around in his sheets all night trying not to feel things. He had a smear of egg on his wrist. He looked… normal. He didn’t look like someone who’d pretended to claim me in front of an entire mansion full of magical elders.

Still, the silence was going to kill me if I didn’t break it.

“So,” I said, poking at my eggs. “What’s the plan now?”

He looked up, startled like he hadn’t expected me to speak. “What?”

“You know,” I said, gesturing vaguely with my fork. “Now that we’re bonded. Which we’re obviously not. What happens when Lucien finds out?”

Roman rubbed his jaw, eyes dropping to his mug. “I was hoping to buy myself some time. That’s all. Just a little breathing room to figure out how to get out of this mess.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because faking a magical soul bond is such a chill little detour on the road to figuring shit out.”

His mouth tilted like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t. “Lucien wants me to rise in the ranks. He wants me to be his beta, eventually. But once he finds out I lied about this, he might exile me.”

I sipped my coffee slowly, letting that sit for a second. “Would that really be the worst thing?”

His head jerked up. “What?”

“I mean… you don’t exactly seem thrilled about any of this. You’re constantly annoyed with the pack, you roll your eyes at every ceremony, you act like Lucien’s parties are a personal attack. Why do you care so much about making everyone happy?”

He sighed and leaned back, fingers threading through his hair. “Because this is all I’ve got, Mags. The pack. Lucien. It’s the only family I’ve ever known. My parents died when I was a kid. I don’t have siblings. Lucien pulled me in, trained me, gave me a place where I belonged.”

His words were calm, but there was a weight in them, a sadness that sat behind his ribs and pressed outward.

“Okay. But is that enough? Just because it’s all you’ve known, it doesn’t mean it’s all you have to be. Do you actually want to be his beta?” I asked. “Or are you just doing this because Lucien said so?”

He looked away. That told me everything.

“Roman, you don’t need to lose yourself just to stay in someone else’s good graces. You get that, right? You’re allowed to want something different. You’re allowed to have boundaries, even with people who helped you once.”

He didn’t say a word.

“You need to think long and hard about what you actually want. Not what Lucien wants. Not what looks good on paper. And if beta isn’t it, then you need to have a serious conversation with him. Enough of this pussy-footing around. You’re not a side character in your own damn life.”

He stared at me, but the look on his face told me I hadn’t overstepped. I’d said something he’d needed to hear.

“That’s…” He blew out a breath. “That’s really good advice.”

“Well, yeah,” I said, stabbing another piece of egg. “I’m not just good looks and sarcasm.”

His smile was small but real.

Then he glanced at his watch and winced. “We should probably start getting ready for the gala.”

“Roman, it’s ten in the morning.”

“It’s an all-day celebration. We’re expected to show up early for the procession and pre-ceremony photos.”

I groaned. “You people really know how to milk a fake relationship.”

He shrugged and stood, collecting our plates. “You knew what you signed up for.”

“Debatable,” I muttered, grabbing the makeup bag and dragging it toward the couch.

I stared at it for a beat too long, then looked up at him. “I guess it’s time to make it look like you actually bit me.”

His brows lifted.

I sighed. “I never thought I’d ask this, but… will you please do my makeup for me?”

Roman burst out laughing. “What?”

“You heard me,” I said, sitting cross-legged on the rug. “Come on, big bad wolf. Let’s see those makeup skills.”

He walked over slowly, crouched in front of me, and picked up the makeup he’d bought from a costume store.

“I’m going to regret this,” he muttered.

“Probably,” I said. “But I already regret everything, so join the club.”

His fingers brushed my collarbone. It was the lightest touch, but my breath caught anyway. I kept still, heart hammering, as he sketched shadows and fake dried blood along the skin just above my shoulder.

I wondered if he could feel it, too—that thing between us that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

When he finally leaned back, he looked at me like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t.

“It’ll pass.”

“What will?”

“The bite. It’ll pass as real. Just don’t let anyone get too close.”

I stared at him, at this man who had fake-bonded with me and lied to his alpha, and yet somehow made me feel more like myself than anyone else ever had. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, what he really wanted.

Instead, I said, “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The gala looked like something out of a dream.

Soft lighting turned the mansion’s grand ballroom into a warm, honey-dipped fantasy.

Golden sconces cast long shadows on velvet-lined walls, and a string quartet in the corner coaxed out a melody so pretty it made my chest ache.

The music wrapping around everything, floating through conversations, brushing across champagne flutes, curling around the couples already swaying in rhythm.

Roman and I had barely stepped in when I felt his hand slip into mine. Not forceful. Not performative. Just steady. Familiar.

He smirked at me. “May I have this dance?”

I lifted a brow. “Are you about to dramatically dip me in front of all your childhood frenemies?”

“Only if you say please,” he said, bowing like a prince trying to charm the hem off my dress.

I rolled my eyes but placed my hand in his. “Fine. Knock yourself out.”

The music shifted into something slower, something elegant, and before I could make a joke about how absurd it all was, Roman was pulling me into the center of the dance floor.

He moved with a quiet confidence that made it easy to follow him. One hand pressed against the small of my back, the other held mine loosely, fingers brushing along my knuckles. Somehow, I didn’t feel like a fraud. I didn’t feel like a woman lying her way through the celebration.

I felt wanted.

We twirled once, his hand guiding me effortlessly through the motion, and I laughed—actually laughed. The sound slipped out before I could stop it.

Roman’s smile cracked open wider at that. Real. Unfiltered. It didn’t look practiced.

“You’re good at this,” I said as we turned again, my heels barely skimming the polished floor.

“I’m good at lots of things.”

“Oh my god,” I muttered, biting back a grin. “Why are you like this?”

“Because if I don’t keep talking, I might actually feel everything I’m trying not to.”

My chest went tight. Not in the dramatic, soap opera way. Just full and swollen with a hundred things I hadn’t let myself say.

I should’ve known better than to come here with him, even though it was a requirement for newly mated couples. Everything about it was designed to make you believe in forever. The music. The slow, dreamy rotations of bodies around us.

Roman’s gaze dropped to my lips when I tilted my head back, then flicked up to meet my eyes like he hadn’t meant to.

It was too much. He was too much.

And I wanted the moment to last forever.

We kept dancing. I didn’t know how many songs passed.

Two? Three? I didn’t care. My body fit against his like we’d been carved from the same piece of marble.

The scent of him—warm cedar and citrus and something deep that only belonged to Roman—wrapped around me like a tether I didn’t want to escape.

His hand drifted slightly, fingers brushing under the curve of my spine. I looked up.

His expression was unreadable. Tense around the edges. But his thumb traced slow, soothing circles against my back, like he couldn’t help himself.

And I knew, deep in my gut, that when this was over, when the performance was finished, I wouldn’t walk away unchanged.

He wasn’t just my fake boyfriend anymore.

He wasn’t even just my friend. He was a person who made me feel known in ways I’d never asked for.

Never expected. And maybe didn’t deserve.

But he didn’t want me. Not really.

He wanted freedom. Space. He wanted whatever version of his life didn’t involve the pressure of Lucien’s leash or ceremonial dress codes or bond ceremonies that had him biting fake capsules instead of skin.

And I… I wanted someone to choose me.

Not for convenience. Not because I was there. Not because I made a good enough roommate and played my part well enough to fool a pack full of ancient shifters.

I wanted someone to look at me the way Roman was looking at me right now and mean it. But once he found the courage to finally talk to Lucien, to unravel this mess we made, he’d be free.

And I’d have to move out, because there was no way I could share a space with him.

Not after the way his hand slid across the bare skin of my back.

Not after the look in his eyes when I laughed during our dance.

Not after the quiet nights and the fake claiming and the way he’d stood in front of an entire mansion and said I was his.

Even though I’d known it wasn’t real, it had felt real. That was the problem. I looked away, trying to breathe around the knot building in my throat. Roman’s grip tightened ever so slightly.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Where’d you go?”

I shook my head. “Nowhere. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How I ended up at a werewolf gala with you. In a wedding dress you picked out. Wearing makeup you applied. With a fake bite on my neck and a pack full of people who think we’re in love.”

“I didn’t think you’d say yes, you know. Back when this whole thing started.”

“I almost didn’t,” I said, keeping my voice light. “You were kind of a mess. I was, too.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I still am.”

“You’ve gotten better,” I said, looking up at him. “A little less drama. Fewer growls.”

“Only because you keep calling me out on my bullshit.”

“Someone has to.”

We slowed. The song was ending. The moment was ending. And still, neither of us moved to leave the dance floor. I wanted to say something brave. Don’t let this go. Choose me, please.

I stepped back. Just enough to break the spell.

“Thanks for the dance,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

He nodded. “Anytime.”

And just like that, the illusion snapped. The music kept playing. The lights stayed warm. The champagne still sparkled in other people’s hands. But the ache in my chest stayed.

Because I knew what came next.

And I wasn’t ready to lose him.