“Yeah,” she deadpans. “Apparently ‘immediate’ means the entire fucking bloodline plus half of Europe.”
Her irritation is adorable. I hide my smile behind my hand.
“Slade,” she whispers, “why are there so many people here?”
Because your aunt is a menace who somehow sensed I’m proposing tonight. Because this family treats events like omens and wants witnesses. Because the Bellamys never do anything quietly.Ever.
But Icannottell her that.
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” I say solemnly.
She gives me a suspicious squint, but before she can interrogate me further, Rhea spots us practically breaking her neck to change directions. “PIPER! SLADE!” she shrieks, barreling through the crowd like a glamoured hurricane. She slams Piper into a hug, thenjabs a finger at me. “Behave.”
“I always behave.”
She snorts so loudly a passing witch chokes on her champagne.
Elle glides up behind her—gold gown, amber eyes bright. She kisses Piper’s cheeks, then gives me a look that promises polite, glitter-covered assassination if I break her cousin’s heart.
Then—unexpectedly—Draven and Caelan appear.
“Pipes!” Caelan grins, scooping Piper into a delighted spin that sends her laughing.
Draven stands beside Rhea as though he’s been summoned by destiny or sheer mischief. His smirk is all knowing villainy. “Slade,” Draven drawls.
“Draven.”
Rhea elbows him so hard he doubles over. Draven wheezes. “I was being friendly!”
“It was suspicious,”she snaps.
They bicker their way into the crowd, and I lean down, murmuring into Piper’s ear, “They’ll be mated within three months.”
“Three weeks,” she whispers, eyes sparkling.
Her laughter warms through the bond, curling under my ribcage like a private sunrise.
I rest my hand on her waist—because I can, because she’s mine, because tonight I intend to make that forever. The ring burns in the inner pocket of my coat. Dark green stone. Black diamonds. Forged with ancient Ninth Realm magic. A promise waiting for her hand.
At the stroke of midnight, I’ll ask Piper Bellamy to marry me.
The thought tears through my composure like a blade.
Aunt Petunia materializes out of nowhere—glittering, regal, chaos incarnate. “Children! There you are!” She hugs Piper fiercely, then pats my cheek like I’m her favorite cursed nephew, and Newt practically dives off my shoulderfor Piper’s arms. “Take care of her tonight. And bring her around after midnight so I can brag to the ancestors.”
I choke.
Piper blinks. “Brag about what?”
“Your future!” Petunia chirps, floating off before I can collapse on the spot.
Piper turns, brows arched. “Any idea what she means?”
I lift her hand and kiss it. “Not a clue.”
Lie. I’m sweating under immortal composure. She watches me for a long moment—as though she feels the truth thrumming beneath my skin—and smiles softly.
The night unfolds like a tapestry. Champagne. A dozen dances. Elle’s laughter ringing like bells. Rhea out-drinking Draven. Caelan conjuring indoor snowflakes to impress Elle. Newt staring judgmentally from Piper’s arms like the world’s fluffiest chaperone.
