Page 7 of The Imp Act

CHAPTER SEVEN

NOELLE

I never thought anything could make me hate the holiday season. It’s my favorite time of year: cool weather, sparkly lights, the scent of gingerbread and a sense of anticipation in the air. Shopping for your loved ones, eating pie until you think you might die. Opening presents and sharing stories around the fire. What could possibly tarnish that?

But it turns out, I was wrong. There is something that makes me hate all of it: marriage. Or, more specifically, my husband’s large and frustrating family.

Enzo, of course, is as wonderful as ever. Except…he’s taking everything in stride, rather than joining me in my stress bubble, and that’s a teensy bit annoying. For reasons I cannot fathom, we’re hosting the Feast of Remembrance, one of the major holidays in imp culture. It’s a gathering of family, a coming together to eat and reflect those who are no longer with us. Very specific cultural rituals are involved, including the preparation of a specific meal.

As the newest couple in the family, we’ve been given the ‘honor’ of hosting, which is ridiculous. It’s not enough that my home and appearance have to be perfect, that I have to put on a show as the perfect wife. Now I have to entertain the whole extended family while cooking a banquet?

So yes, I’m stressed for a reason. But Enzo couldn’t be calmer. He’s looking forward to it, certain that everything will be fine. His nonchalance makes me grit my teeth. I know he grew up with all this and it’s normal for him, but would it kill him to remember that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing? And that his mother dislikes me? And that this is all a lot ?

I stare at the list of recipes his mother sent over, then wander over to the room he’s converted into a home office as he tries to make sense of his new job.

“Enzo, I don’t know what any of these things are, much less how to make them. Besides, cooking isn’t exactly my forte.” I’ve been grateful to have a housekeeper since we got married; she handles the meals, so I haven’t had to worry about it. If it were up to me, we’d live on cereal and peanut butter. It’s possible Enzo knows how to cook. But I’ve never asked and he rarely volunteers.

“Not to worry. Mrs. Grimsby will help you. She knows how to make everything.”

“Yes, but I’m supposed to make it. Not Mrs. Grimsby, not you, me . Your mother said that was part of the tradition. Of course, if you had an imp wife like she wanted, this wouldn’t be an issue. I’m sure an imp wife would have been trained for years on how to prepare this feast.” It’s possible I sound bitter. I certainly feel it.

He shrugs. “So what? If it isn’t perfect, who cares? No one should expect you to master all this, especially on your first try. Don’t worry about what they think.”

I stare at him. How can he be so obtuse? “Are you kidding me? This is the biggest impression I’ll make on your family. Everything has to be just right.”

He sighs, truly not understanding my agitation. “Noelle, when did you start caring what my family thinks? This whole time, you’ve been happy to thumb your nose at them.”

I glance around, making sure our housekeeper is out of earshot. “That’s not true. I accepted that your mother would never like me, and I refused to give up my career, but otherwise, I’ve tried to be a dutiful in-law to all of them.” I have, it’s true, but it’s not like there have been ample opportunities for it. If I’m being honest, I’ve gone out of my way to avoid his family.

He stands and takes me by the shoulders, lowering his voice. “If we really end this marriage after a year, then this will be the only Feast of Remembrance you celebrate. It won’t matter what happens. Regardless of whether people love it or hate it, you won’t have to do it again. So please, stop freaking out about it.”

I do, momentarily, but only because he said something that makes me freak out even more. “What do you mean, if we end this marriage in a year? Are you having doubts or second thoughts?” I cannot afford for him to back out and stop paying my bills. Not now, when my fashion line is closer to being real than ever before.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, tousling it in a way I’d find sexy if I weren’t in full panic mode. It’s something he does when he’s frustrated. Our marriage may be fake, but I’m learning a lot about my husband, those little quirks you pick up on when you live with someone.

“No, of course not,” he says. “I should have phrased that differently. I just mean, this is the only time you have to deal with this, so stop sweating it. Tell Mrs. Grimsby to make the food and clean the house. That’s what Mother pays her for. All you have to do is show up, look like your gorgeous self, and act like you adore me.” He winks. “Should be a piece of cake.”

I take a deep breath. As much as I’m not a fan of Mrs. Rossetti’s live-in spy, I can hardly just hand over everything to her. But I have no choice in asking for her help. I can’t do any of this without her.

It’s truly annoying. I have my first fashion show lined up for March, and although it will be a small showing, it’s a big deal to me. I’d rather be spending every available minute refining my designs and working on my runway pieces. Not cooking for a bunch of people who hate me.

But maybe…maybe they don’t all hate me. Maybe there’s someone I can call for help.

Enzo has three sisters, after all. They were nice enough to me on my wedding day. Sienna was even kind. Surely when she got married, she had to go through all this, except she would have been properly prepared.

I leave Enzo to his spreadsheets and call her immediately.

“Hello? Noelle?” She seems surprised to hear from me, which is fair. We haven’t really spoken since the wedding.

“Sienna, hi. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. What can I do for you?”

Okay, cool. She’s not interested in small talk. Me either. “I’m hoping you might be able to help me. As I’m sure you know, Enzo and I are hosting the Feast of Remembrance this year. Your mother sent over the list of recipes I’m supposed to prepare, but I’m a bit overwhelmed. I’ve never made imp cuisine before.”

“Ohhhh,” she says, sounding relieved. I wonder what she thought I was going to ask her. “It looks more complicated than it is. If you want, we can go shopping together and I can show you exactly which ingredients to get. Then, with your housekeeper’s help, you shouldn’t have any trouble putting it all together. I’d help with the cooking if I could, but I’m swamped with the kids’ holiday stuff. Not to worry, though. The complexity comes from the ingredients, not the preparation.”

Relief surges through me. She’s making the whole thing feel a lot more manageable. “Shopping would be wonderful, thanks. I’m really concerned about not having the right supplies on hand.”

“No worries, I’ve totally got you. Does next Tuesday work for you?”

Hallelujah. “Tuesday is perfect. Thanks so much.”

ENZO

Noelle is still fretting about the holiday, and I don’t know how to put her at ease. My sister took her shopping, and with Mrs. Grimsby’s help, the food is all made. It looks great and I told her so, but she just frowned like she didn’t believe me.

She’s been zooming around the penthouse, cleaning and scrubbing and tidying everything within an inch of its life, even though it was all already clean. Our housekeeper keeps things as neat as the proverbial pin.

Now Noelle is in our bathroom, staring at her makeup and hair tools, muttering under her breath. She thinks she has to be perfect for my family, and no matter how I reassure her, she won’t listen.

She doesn’t get it. Half my family won’t care at all, and as for the others? There is no pleasing them. They are nitpickers who will find fault with anything and everything. Of course, Mother is the ringleader, but she’s recruited some of my aunts to her cause. My sisters and their families, along with my various cousins, will all be cool.

But none of that is the point. I didn’t want a wife that my family would approve of. I wanted someone they wouldn’t, someone independent and interesting and imaginative. Noelle is all those things and more.

I step behind Noelle, inhaling her delicious gingersnap scent. I put my arms on her shoulders and give them a squeeze, trying to push out some of the tension. For a moment, she leans into it, closing her eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m being crazy.”

I snort. “It’s fine. Unnecessary, but fine.”

“I can’t seem to help myself. I want everything to go well.”

“My darling wife, I keep telling you. Everything will go well. It’s not necessary to worry this much, especially about my family.”

“I just…I want to impress them.”

I can’t imagine why. I stopped trying to do that by the time I was twenty.

I spin her around and stare into her hypnotic eyes. I still haven’t settled on what color they are. Hazel doesn’t do them justice. They’re more like tourmalines. “Noelle. You do not have to impress my family. You are part of this family and you don’t owe them anything more than what you’re already giving. If they can’t be pleased by it, that’s on them, okay? Just relax, be yourself, and try to have a good time. Show them the fascinating and funny woman I married.”

For a split second, I’m tempted to tack on an ‘I love you,’ to help put her at ease. But I fear it would only send her further into a tailspin, so I keep my mouth shut. Instead, I turn her back around and continue massaging her neck and shoulders.

She makes a sexy little sound that goes straight to my dick, and I take a step back so I’m not tempted to ravage her right there on the bathroom counter. “Okay, I’ll get out of your way so you can get ready. Just remember. We’re already married. There’s nothing they can do to you. So if they don’t appreciate your efforts, fuck ‘em.”

She lets out one of her big, guffaw laughs and picks up a hairbrush.

When our guests arrive an hour later, she’s perfect, but not herself. She’s understated, as if she wants to disappear. Nothing like the sparkling star I met at Club Cobra four months ago. Subtle makeup, hair in a low ponytail, and in a sweater and slacks combo that’s nothing like her usual style.

We all pile into the living room, and she sits primly beside me, her hands folded in her lap. My uncle Silvio, a harmless old man, asks the question that we’ve both been dreading, but have miraculously avoided...until now.

“So, Enzo, tell me how you and your lovely wife met!” he bellows, genuine warmth in his tone. He really wants to know. So far, we’ve evaded this question, giving vague answers when necessary. Not even my mother has bothered to get the full story—she was too overwhelmed with taking over our wedding to bother with our backstory.

Neither one of us wants to say that we met at a club, had a one-night-stand, and then got married a month later. That sounds ridiculous, and would raise way too many suspicions. Mother already has her doubts about this union, though there’s nothing she can do. She can’t prove my love for Noelle isn’t the real thing, because it is. Sure, I’ll get an earful of I told you so s after the divorce, but I’d like to kick that can as far as possible.

“I used to work in an art gallery,” Noelle pipes up out of nowhere. “One day when I was working, Enzo came in to look at the pieces. I could tell right away he had a good eye for art.”

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, wondering where this is coming from. We definitely should have prepared better for this question, but it seems like Noelle had this story locked and loaded. She just didn’t mention it to me.

“Enzo ended up buying my favorite painting,” she continues. “A really striking oil on canvas that reminded me of a storm-tossed sea. I knew right then that I wanted to know him better, so I gave him my number. We went on several dates and had a great time, but honestly, I married him so I could see the painting again.” She winks at Silvio, and he chortles.

“Smart lady,” he says.

Of course, Mother has to do her best to ruin things. “I thought you were in fashion school. Not working in a gallery.”

Noelle smiles placidly. “As it happens, I was doing two things.” I doubt Mother picks up the undertone there, but I hear it and bite back a smile. “I worked part-time to help cover my bills while I was in school. Fashion is my first love, but I appreciate all the arts. Working in the gallery was a wonderful way to earn a paycheck. And I got to meet all sorts of interesting people, like your son.”

How much of this is true? Noelle and I have only known each other for a few months; I don’t know much about her job history or what she did before school. I guess I need to find out more about my wife. But in the meantime, I have to play along.

“Yes,” I say. “I walked in and was immediately drawn to a series of abstracts that reminded me of the sea, just as they did Noelle. As it happened, the only employee in the gallery that afternoon was a stunning brunette with impeccable taste and a wonderful sense of humor. The moment we met, I knew she was the one for me. I never glanced at another woman again.”

It’s not that far from the truth. After that first time with her, when flames danced in my eyes, I knew. Even if she does leave me in June, I don’t think I’ll ever look at anyone else. She’s it for me.

“That’s very romantic,” my sister Sienna murmurs.

“Hmph,” Mother scoffs.

“Dinner is ready,” Noelle says, deftly steering the conversation away from art and romance. “Perhaps we should adjourn to the dining room, and you all can tell me how I did with my first imp feast.”

Once again, I bite my lip to hide my smile. Clever thing. By inviting them to comment on the meal, she’s sidestepping criticism. To say anything negative now, after she so vulnerably asked for feedback, would be hopelessly rude.

I shoot her a look as we all stand, and the twinkle in her eye tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing. Somehow, she’s managed to wrap most of my family around her fingers, same as she did me. Even my prickly aunts are murmuring that the food looks delicious, and I have no doubt it will be as perfect as everything else.

My god, Noelle is impressive. I’m so lucky to have her.