Page 58 of The Entanglement of Rival Wizards (Magic and Romance #1)

Four Years Later

I found the ring in Thio’s sock drawer.

Not the best hiding place, and I’m almost positive he wanted me to find it. It prompted me to check where I’d hidden mine, under a loose floorboard in front of our closet—and, sure enough, the ward I’d cast over it was broken.

So.

He knew I was going to propose.

I knew he was going to propose.

Thus began a small war of not outright telling the other I know what you’re doing while doing the exact same thing.

Like we were watching a sappy rom-com, and at the part where one character proposed to the other with the glittering Eiffel Tower in the background, Thio nudged me and went, What do you think? Would you want something like that?

I thought he was joking. Until a Paris trip ad popped up on his phone while he was showing me a recipe he wanted to try for dinner, and he chucked that thing across the kitchen so hard it cracked his case. Didn’t prevent me from seeing the prompt Finish your booking now!

Nuh-uh. Paris? First of all, we can’t afford that; second, over my dead body is he going to propose like I’m the prize in this relationship. He’s the prize. He’s the whole damn jackpot, and I’m going to get down on one knee and proclaim how much I love this man and put my ring on his finger.

I started researching how to create a portal dimension. Nothing massive, something small and sweet for the two of us, maybe full of plants, junglelike.

But I must’ve left my laptop open, because soon, we were getting letters in the mail addressed to Thio from pixie skywriters asking if he’d reconsidered his proposal inquiry.

I thought, fuck it; he wants to play? We’ll play. And I left literature around the apartment about druid-run tree canopy suites and their romance packages.

Which Thio responded to by asking if I had a fear of enclosed spaces— what —and mentioning how a coworker had gotten engaged on an Atlantis submarine cruise.

Before I knew it, seven months passed, and I barely thought of the trial at all.

Well. That’s a lie.

But I didn’t spiral out about the trial, which was, I suspect, Thio’s actual reason for encouraging this rivalry: distraction.

And that makes it all the more important that I propose to him first .

Not in Paris, or a portal dimension, or on an elaborate trip; too expensive. Not via pixie skywriting or over a romantic dinner; too cheesy.

As I stand in front of the component supply cabinet at work, vacantly staring at the jars of chalk dust, I beat my fingers on the shelf and go over all my plans. Again.

I know, after today, this competitive back-and-forth will come to a head, so I need to execute my proposal before he does. As far as I know, everything’s ready. Just waiting for my go-ahead.

But is it too obvious? Too simple?

I thump my forehead to the shelf.

Nothing’s worthy of him.

Nothing’s good enough for him.

My phone vibrates on my desk.

I jolt upright, cold sweat doing nothing to douse the frenetic energy that’s been humming through me all day.

I could complain about the call breaking my concentration, but my concentration’s been nonexistent, and it’s a spreading virus; a fact proven by the way my two lab techs simultaneously leap away from the data they were supposed to have been entering and break into action like they’ve been rehearsing for this moment.

“Everyone, SHUT IT! ” Olayra screeches, and the half dozen sectioned-off research areas in this long lab immediately go silent.

Skogrin snatches my vibrating phone, wheels my desk chair over, and thrusts both at me.

Heads pop out of the partitions separating our lab spaces. In the middle of the room, the department lead, Dr. Zuarashi, comes to the door of her office with a tentative smile.

The whole of Clawstar Lab’s attention is fixed on me.

And I’m staring at my phone in Skogrin’s hand, my anxiety so potent it’ll screw with whatever experiments are being run around me.

The screen says DAD .

Thio wanted us both to take today off. But I’d nixed that real hard, nauseated by the thought of spending all day pacing our small apartment.

Turns out that’s what I did anyway, only I swapped pacing our small apartment for pacing my small lab area, and now the phone’s buzzing and Thio isn’t with me.

No, that’s good. I don’t want him here. I told Dad to call me, not Thio.

I want the news first.

That shovels aside enough anxiety that I shudder in a breath and take my phone.

The pin-drop silence of the lab is suffocating. I want to glare at my colleagues for being nosy fuckers, but can I blame them? They’ve ridden this lawsuit with me practically my whole time at Clawstar, whether getting updates from me directly or through the clickbait news articles it generated.

FORMER CAMP MERETHYL STUDENTS SUING OVER ALLEGED MISTREATMENT

I don’t know which word I hated more when that first headline popped up years ago.

Alleged or mistreatment . But it’s been four years of headlines way harsher than that, four years of public opinion shifting back and forth— Are they telling the truth?

Are they lying for attention? Four years of waiting for the trial, then the actual trial itself, rehashing every detail of the summers that tried to break me, but I survived.

I survived .

And I’ll survive this phone call, too.

Heart in my throat, I answer and shove it to my ear.

Skogrin and Olayra grumble, clearly upset I didn’t put it on speaker, but I bat them away—they ignore me—and sink into my desk chair.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Guilty.”

One word. Not even a greeting.

One word, and I’m folding over myself, elbow on my knee and hand covering my face and it’s a miracle I keep the phone pressed to my ear.

“What?” I croak, because I need—it isn’t—

“The conviction came through,” Dad says, and I can tell he’s smiling. “They’ve been found guilty on thirty-four counts of negligence, misconduct, gross abuse of magic—do you want me to read the list?”

I laugh. It’s watery; my eyes are burning. “No, I’m good.”

“Are you sure? It’s a doozy.” He chuckles. “I might get it framed. Hang it in my study—”

“Sebastian!” My mother’s voice. She’s grabbed the phone. And she’s sobbing. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so happy for you. For you and Orok. Oh! We need to call Orok! Mason, have you called Orok?”

“I haven’t—”

“Call him!”

“I will, but we’re on the phone with your son right now .”

I smile.

Because they’re bantering, a dancing, celebratory arguing that’s light and teasing.

Because my parents were like this when I was a kid, before Camp Merethyl wedged itself between us and all I got from them was disappointment and collisions.

I smile, because after four years of wondering if ripping out my deepest pain for the world to see would be worth a damn, I have my answer—but what’s throbbing through my body isn’t even in response to that.

Camp Merethyl and the people who ran the ouroboros project are being held accountable for what they did.

Our lawsuit brought other allegations forward, and the rest of the partners who’d been in our training group—the ones who disappeared, who failed out —came with their own stories, their own evidence.

With this guilty verdict, it isn’t just me and Orok who’ll benefit from restitution; with this guilty verdict, the money Camp Merethyl will owe us all now means they won’t be able to keep running. They’ll shut down.

It’s over.

But that’s not what I focus on.

Dad reclaims the phone. “We’ll be up to celebrate this weekend, Sebastian. I love you.”

But that isn’t what I focus on either, how my relationship with both my parents is an entirely new beast. I can’t recognize who we are to each other now versus the people who barely spoke for six years. I’ve even made up with my siblings, too.

No, what has me staying hunched over, hand in my hair, is the confirmation that I can do it now.

“We’ll be celebrating more than that,” I say.

At the word celebrating , my Clawstar colleagues let loose an ear-piercing cheer.

Dad chuckles into the phone. “We will, huh? You going to propose to that boy?”

Somewhere behind him, my mother shrieks.

She adores Thio, especially since he switched careers and they’ve bonded over the highs and lows of nursing.

Dad loves him just as much, and originally I thought my father’s affection was his way of overcompensating with earning my forgiveness; but he and Thio really do get on, and I think it has more to do with Dad realizing Thio needed a family after the shitty way his treated him.

My grin stretches and I laugh, nearly disintegrating at the release of pressure, the freedom.

I’m almost certain Thio’s been waiting until after the lawsuit verdict to propose, too.

Is that the real reason I didn’t want to be with him today and had my father call me first?

Abso. Fucking. Lutely.

I shove up from the chair. Olayra and Skogrin are rejoicing with everyone else and the lab is buzzing with conversation and excitement now; I’ve started an impromptu party.

My boss nods at me from outside my lab area, reading the unspoken question on my face, Can I dip out early?

“Yeah, Dad.” I wipe my damp cheek on my sleeve. “I’m on my way to propose to that boy right now.”

Dad hangs up, promising not to let Thio know yet and saying that he’s going to call Orok.

We were already planning on getting together tonight, guilty verdict or not; me, Thio, and Orok.

He’s only been back in Philly for about two months since the Hellhounds snatched him from the Vegas Chimeras, and having him physically in the same city as me again, particularly on a day like today, almost makes me believe gods like his give a shit about us.

But we’ll celebrate tonight. I’ll let myself feel this verdict tonight when I see Orok in person and we can both take a breath.

For now, I have a boyfriend to turn into a fiancé.