“Then we break up.”
“Preferably not inside me.”
Maeve frowned.
“What?”
“I take rejection personally.”
Cassian sighed.
“Of course you do.”
Maeve pointed at him.
“You are buying groceries.”
Cassian stared.
“Excuse me?”
“If I am fake-dating a vampire to save my building, you are paying for groceries.”
“This was your decision.”
“You asked for the requirements.”
“You said yes.”
“You looked emotionally supportive.”
“I was standing still.”
“That counts for you.”
Moonridge clapped her spectral hands.
The lobby filled with golden light.
Maeve and Cassian froze.
“What did you do?” Maeve asked.
“Registered your household.”
Cassian looked horrified.
“Already?”
“Yes.”
A glowing line appeared on the floor.
It connected Apartment 7A to Apartment 7B.
Then both apartment doors vanished upstairs with an echoing magical thump.
Maeve stared at the ceiling.
“Moonridge.”
“Yes?”
“Where are our doors?”
“Renovating.”
Cassian’s eyes turned red.
The elevator dinged.
Moonridge smiled.
“Congratulations on moving in together.”
The new shared apartment appeared by noon.
Moonridge had merged 7A and 7B.
Literally.
A wide archway now connected the two living rooms.
Maeve stood under it.
Cassian stood beside her.
Neither spoke.
Sebastian the gargoyle trotted from Cassian’s side into Maeve’s kitchen.
Maeve’s black cat familiar, Pepper, emerged from her bedroom.
Pepper stopped.
Sebastian stopped.
The animals stared at each other.
Maeve whispered, “No.”
Pepper puffed up.
Sebastian spread tiny stone wings.
Cassian raised one finger.
“Sebastian.”
Maeve pointed.
“Pepper.”
Both creatures charged.
Maeve screamed.
Cassian lunged.
Five seconds later, Pepper was sitting on Sebastian’s back.
Sebastian seemed delighted.
Pepper looked confused.
Maeve stared.
Cassian stared.
Pepper licked Sebastian’s horn.
Cassian said, “Apparently they’re fine.”
Maeve crossed her arms.
“Of course they are.”
Moonridge spoke through the wall.
“DEPENDENT BONDING CONFIRMED.”
Maeve shouted, “Stop documenting us!”
“NO.”
Day One of fake domestic bliss went badly.
The first requirement was dinner.
Cassian wanted to order food.
Maeve insisted that ordering did not demonstrate domestic bonding.
Moonridge confirmed this.
Cassian accused the building of inventing rules.
Moonridge locked the delivery app on his phone.
Maeve cooked.
This was a mistake.
Maeve could brew a sleep potion strong enough to tranquilize a troll.
She could make anti-anxiety tea that had won awards.
She could enchant sugar to compliment lonely people.
She could not cook pasta.
The pot caught fire.
Cassian walked into the kitchen.
He stopped.
Maeve held a lid over a burning saucepan.
“Don’t.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re thinking loudly.”
Cassian approached.
Maeve backed away.
He calmly extinguished the fire.
Then looked inside the pot.
“What is that?”
“Dinner.”
“It has become geological.”
“You eat blood.”
“And still recognize carbon.”
Maeve shoved the wooden spoon into his hand.
“Fine. You cook.”
Cassian raised an eyebrow.
“You assume I can?”
“You’re three hundred years old.”
“Two hundred and thirty-seven.”
“That is worse. You had time.”
He stared at her.
Then rolled up his sleeves.
Maeve hated the effect.
She leaned against the counter and watched him move.
Cassian cooked like he did everything else.
Quietly.
Precisely.
Annoyingly well.
He sliced garlic.
Chopped herbs.
Made sauce from scratch.
Maeve blinked.
“You can cook.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I lived in France.”
“For how long?”
“Thirty-two years.”
Maeve stared.
“You spent thirty-two years in France and still dress like a funeral?”
Cassian looked down at his black shirt.
“This is practical.”
“You own seven black shirts.”
“Nine.”
“Why?”
“They match.”
Maeve put a hand over her heart.
“Tragic.”
Cassian’s mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
Maeve saw it.
“You almost smiled.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I did not.”
“I’m documenting this.”
Cassian pointed the knife at her.
“Don’t.”
Moonridge spoke from the ceiling.
“EMOTIONAL SOFTENING DETECTED.”
Both looked up.
“Shut up,” they said together.
The lights flickered happily.
Dinner was excellent.
Maeve hated that too.
They sat across from each other.
Pepper sat on one chair.
Sebastian sat on the floor.
The gargoyle wore a napkin around his neck.
Maeve looked at Cassian.
“You did that.”
“He spills.”
“He eats rocks.”
“Crumbs travel.”
Maeve took another bite.
“This is really good.”
Cassian looked surprised.
“You sound offended.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“You’re supposed to have flaws.”
“I steal groceries.”
“That is crime, not personality.”
“I’m a vampire.”
“Again, biology.”
He leaned back.
“What flaws would make you comfortable?”
Maeve thought.
“Bad dancing.”
“I dance well.”
“Terrible singing.”
“I was trained in opera.”
She stared.
He continued eating.
Maeve narrowed her eyes.
“Fear of ducks.”
“No.”
“Can’t swim?”
“I crossed the Atlantic in 1891.”
“By boat?”
“Partially.”
Maeve stopped.
“Partially?”
He drank wine.
“You don’t get that story on day one.”
Her stomach did something strange.
Not attraction.
Curiosity.
Which was worse.
Day Three introduced public affection.
The assessor, a tiny witch named Maribel Crane, arrived at eight in the morning carrying a clipboard and drinking something that smelled like peppermint vodka.
She looked around the merged apartment.
Then at Maeve.
Then Cassian.
“You two have terrible chemistry.”
Maeve brightened.
“Thank you.”
Maribel pointed at the couch.
“Sit.”
They sat.
“Closer.”
Neither moved.
Maribel drank.
Moonridge shifted the couch cushions.
Maeve slid into Cassian.
He caught her.
Maribel wrote something.
Maeve glared at the wall.
“That’s cheating.”
Moonridge hummed.
Maribel looked at her notes.
“You need believable romantic familiarity in public.”
Cassian crossed one ankle over his knee.
“Define believable.”
“Touching.”
Maeve frowned.
“No.”
“Eye contact.”
“No.”
“Pet names.”
“Absolutely not.”
Maribel shrugged.
“Then the building dies.”
Maeve looked at Cassian.
He looked back.
She sighed.
“What kind of touching?”
Maribel pointed at them.
“His hand on your back. Your hand on his arm. Holding hands.”
Maeve recoiled.
“That sounds intimate.”
“You are pretending to be romantically intimate.”
“I thought we could just stand near each other.”
Maribel laughed.
“No.”
Cassian looked oddly calm.
Maeve noticed.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Not remotely.”
“You’re smirking.”
“I don’t smirk.”
“You do now.”
Maribel snapped her fingers.
A pink ribbon appeared around their wrists.
Maeve looked down.
“What is that?”
“Practice tether.”
Cassian stared.
“No.”
“You have twenty minutes.”
“For what?”
“Maintain casual contact.”
Maeve tried pulling away.
The ribbon shortened.
She slammed into Cassian’s shoulder.
He caught her.