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AIDEN

T hree days later, we’re walking back at sunset, my siblings already racing back to the house, Whit carrying Sienna on his back, Sienna pretending to kick him like he’s a horse.

Emory is smiling, her face freckled from a day in the sun.

We picnicked in the grass and exercised the ponies and then took the fastest boat out on the bay.

It’s not even weird that Emory and I are together.

She’s a Prince now, like I told her the other day.

I can see my siblings trying to keep her, just like I am.

Sienna took her for a “girls only” ride to cool down their ponies earlier, and I heard lots of giggling as they left.

Tristan keeps trying to tempt her to come work for us with increasingly higher offers of employment.

It’s getting ridiculous. Soon her proposed salary will outpace mine.

And Whit, who is ever unpredictable, brought her a giant pastry this morning and said something to her that made her throw her arms around his neck.

I gave him a dirty look for that, because it’s a bigger hug than I’ve ever received.

Dusty trots along next to me, occasionally doubling back to check that Emory is behind us, occasionally rambling into the grass to investigate something. I pause to make sure he’s not eating anything weird.

“Aiden.”

I turn to see my wife giving me a hazy smile. Her hair is down, her nose is sunburned, and her eyes seem to gleam in the pink light of sunset.

“I want to show you something.” She tips her head and turns off the path.

Dusty follows, then me, with my hands in my pockets and a smile on my face, because I can’t stop smiling around her.

When we get to the garden wall, I blink up at it.

She entered the garden. Right. Somehow, between our fight and the storm and our truce, I forgot.

Her hand is on the handle before I have a chance to protest.

I’m not sure I want to go in here. The garden scares me a bit—it’s the one place on the property I’ve never been. The one place that’s too wild to be controlled by one of us, alive and with a mind of its own.

Like my wife.

A shiver runs through me as she looks back at me over her shoulder. This part of the property is wild and scented like flowers and earth. The July night is lazy and thick today, heavy with night insects and birds heading to sleep.

“Want to go inside?” she asks. She looks witchy in the fading light. Her eyes are navy pools, glinting with what I fear might be magic. Her dress swirls on the breeze.

“If you can open it again,” I tease.

“Watch me,” she says as she turns the handle. The gate’s hinges creak in protest, but it swings open, presenting a gate-shaped hole in the curtain of ivy that obscures the stone walls.

My heart thuds faster as Emory disappears into the green darkness beyond.

“Come on, Aiden,” she calls. “Don’t be scared.”

“You could be leading me to my death,” I say, but I follow her into the garden.

I might not believe in magic, but the garden is undeniably magical.

Emory is already striding down the path, of course, but I swivel slowly and look up at the old-growth trees arching overhead, the roses and ivy covering the walls.

Even the air feels different here, like passing through the gate brought us into a different realm.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” I turn to see Emory waiting for me on what looks to be a stone path through the tangles of plants.

I swallow. “I can’t believe this.” I can’t believe she was able to open it. “A Hunter, opening the garden.”

“I know.” A smile curves her lips. “I was just as surprised as you.”

I doubt that. Nothing could have prepared me for Emory Hunter. Evil queen who isn’t even close to evil.

I trail behind her past low, crumbling walls and weeds, flowers, and vines, around the plinth and the silent fountain until I reach the metal plaque on the wall where she’s waiting.

“Watch this.” She winks at me and presses her fingers to the metal. Nothing happens for a moment, then another, then a grinding sound makes me jump back.

“It’s just a door,” she says, laughing.

It is a door. A door into a dark cavern hidden in the wall. My pulse speeds. “Emory. Don’t—” But she’s already reaching inside, and pulling out…a bottle?

“Look what I found. There are hundreds of them.”

She cradles the bottle in her hands, like it’s precious, and I peer over her shoulder.

“The slogans of both our families are on it. It was bottled during Prohibition, I think.” She runs a finger over the label and gives me a smile over her shoulder. “What do you think?”

“I can’t believe this exists. Our logo and yours are melded together. Do you see that?”

She peers at where I’m pointing. “The logos were combined,” she says slowly. “And these were bottled for a special event.” I can see her mind moving behind those pretty blue eyes. She’s so much more than she appears. So much more than she shows to the world.

“Aiden.” She’s practically vibrating with excitement. “These were bottled for a marriage.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Think about it,” she says excitedly. “What could make our families combine the logos? And both of our names are on the bottle. What does La Chasse mean in French?”

“The Hunt,” I say immediately.

“The hunt. Exactly. The chase. Like chasing someone down and winning them.”

I shake my head at her, but I can’t deny the excitement that threads through me. “The marriage never happened, though.”

She stills. Her brows tug down. “The engagement was broken, maybe.”

“By a Hunter, I’m sure.”

She shoots me a quelling glance. “I bet this is how the feud started. I bet the land between the properties was a wedding present. This is from nearly a hundred years ago. What if our families were going to merge, and then someone broke it off? That would be enough for bad blood for generations.”

I can’t help my smile. “You really think so?” She’s so pretty like this.

I want to keep her. I want to kiss her smile and steal it for myself so it can light up all the dark corners even when she’s gone.

“You should make this.”

My head jerks up. “Make it?”

“Instead of Old Kingdom. Since you can’t find it, make this.” She taps the bottle, excitement on her face. “It’s a tie to the past.”

Hope sparks in my heart. It’s not Old Kingdom, but it’s maybe even better. Something to usher in a new future.

“You have to make it with me.” The words are out before I can stop them.

She blushes. “I don’t have the knowledge.”

I shake my head, something hot and tight ratcheting inside my chest. I need this. If this is the only piece of her I can have a year from now, I’m not letting it go. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“I’d like that,” she finally says, her voice gone soft. “But let’s try it first. Make sure it’s good before we commit.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out the Swiss army knife I keep attached to my keys, then cut into the red wax on the top of the bottle.

“Careful,” she warns.

The wax crumbles, and the cork is dry, but I manage to get both of them out without too much damage. I pass her the bottle triumphantly.

She takes a small sip, shutting her eyes, savoring it as it goes down. “Good,” she whispers. “Really good. Must have been made by a Hunter.” She gives me a cheeky smile.

“Let me have a taste.”

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she takes a careful sip of the whiskey and sets the bottle on the ground.

She approaches me, her mouth full of whiskey and her eyes serious.

I don’t wait for her to kiss me. Instead, I curl my hand around her nape, band my arm around her back, and bring my mouth down on hers.

A lick of the whiskey on her lips, then a taste of the liquid in her mouth.

It’s warm and spicy and mellow. And better?

It tastes like her. We both swallow, and I want to keep kissing her.

I want to devour her. I want to consume her and be consumed.

We replace the bottles, except the one, and close the plaque with promises to return.

She’s shivering when we leave, so I shrug out of my shirt and wrap it around her shoulders. I can’t help the kiss I press to her lips as heat spirals between us. Her back meets the wall of the garden, a sound of pleasure coming from her mouth.

“Aiden,” she whispers as I pull back, pressing my forehead to hers.

“I know,” I whisper back.

Does she feel it too? The ticking clock of our time together? The clawing need?

Then I shiver, and she giggles.

“Cold?” She raises a brow.

“Warm me up, wife.” I give her a naughty grin and grab for her shirt, but she yelps and starts sprinting back to the house.

We’re laughing and gasping for air as we stumble to the house. Emory maintains that we have a solemn duty to drink one of the bottles, and I know my siblings will want to see it. They deserve it. They’re on the patio when we get back, and Emory is giggling in a way that makes my chest feel tight.

“Shh,” I tell her. “Don’t want them to hear you.”

“Why not?”

I grab her and press her up against the side of the house. “Because then I can’t do this.”

Her mouth is under mine again, where it belongs. She tastes like whiskey and she feels like heaven, and my whole body is on fire for her.

My siblings start whooping and Emory breaks the kiss to laugh under my mouth.

“They want us to do karaoke.” I bury my face in her neck, then suck on the soft skin at the crease of her jaw.

She groans. “I hate karaoke.”

“Bad singer?”

She gasps as I nibble the lobe of her ear, her body curving toward mine. “So bad.”

“What do you like? Other than beating me?” I pull back to look at her. Her lips are swollen, and her hair is mussed, and she’s never looked prettier. She’s wearing my shirt, and there are red marks on her neck from my teeth.

“Sweatshirts over a bathing suit.” She reaches up to push a lock of hair off my forehead.

I remember her saying how much she liked it, and I preen inside. I can’t help it. I want to be the thing she likes most.

“Reading by the fire.” Her lips curve. “This is the perfect place for it.” Her nails scratch over my scalp and I barely contain a groan.

“Driving to nowhere at night. Fires on the beach. Dinner outside. String lights even though they’re corny.

Peonies, but I hate daisies. Writing birthday cards that mean something.

The first sip of tea in the morning. Napping in the sun.

Dinner with my mom and Gloria when they’re bickering and I look around and realize I’m right where I want to be.

” Her voice lowers at the end, and she gives me a sheepish smile.

I brush my lips over hers and ignore the way my siblings are getting rowdier, demanding we join them. I want to gather every fact she’s given me like it’s a jewel and hoard it where no one can see.

“What do you like?” she asks.

“Sailing, alone and with Tristan. Reading by the fire.” She grins at that one.

“Getting up before dawn and knowing I’m alone.

Walking on the property when it’s foggy over the ocean.

Dusty joining me for that is nice.” I wink at her, knowing she knows I like her dog.

“Making whiskey.” At her look, I say, “I’ll show you the Crownhaven still.

” Her smile goes straight to my heart. “Listening to music while I drive. Especially at night. Crossword puzzles. Fixing things. Documentaries about topics I know nothing about.” I lean in to graze my nose over her neck, loving how she shivers under me.

“Competing with my wife.” My whisper is rough, and her sharp inhale tells me she likes my nearness, or my words.

Maybe both.

You, I think. I like you the most.

Sienna shouts at us, and Emory slips out from under my arm, with Dusty bounding after her. “Coming?” She turns and smiles at me.

“In a minute.” I lean against the wall and watch the sunset fade from purple to blue, the gas lamps flickering in the settling dark.

I want to keep her. There’s an ache in my chest that won’t subside when I think about her leaving. I blow out a long breath. Dusty circles back to check on me, nosing at my legs, then pressing against me hard enough to nearly push me over.

“I know,” I tell him, running my fingers through the short fur on the top of his head. “I want you both to stay.”

And yet it feels incredibly selfish.

She stands to lose so much. Her family, her position with the company, her dreams. Can I ask that of her?

Not when I have so little to offer in return.

I press my head back against the house. I’m so tempted to tell her to stay. To tell her I’m falling for her.

But I can’t stop the lung-crushing thought of disappointing Emory. Of not being enough for her. And how could I be? I’ve never been in love. I don’t know how to make her happy. I’ve disappointed everyone who’s ever had expectations of me.

Falling for her isn’t enough. Not when I don’t know how she feels. Not when I could hurt her.

I turn my head at her burst of laughter. She’s holding both her hands up and backing away from the wireless microphone Sienna is trying to thrust into her hand. She’s incandescent, even in a group. I can’t stand the thought of that light inside her going out.

I want to keep her, but what if the best thing for her is to let her go?