“Good job, you two.” Miss Michelle glides close, as graceful as ever. “Now remember, if you’re not feeling the lift on the big day, it’s okay to go with a smaller move. It’s better to do something simpler and succeed.”
“We got it, babe,” Luke chucks me under the chin. “Gonna do the lift on Valentine’s Day. You’ll see.”
I giggle and offer him a flurry of eyelash semaphores. Blink. Blink. Flutter. Blink. Flutter. I no longer need to wonder what secret code I’m sending, because I know exactly what I’m trying to say.
Dance with me forever, Luke.
I love you.
Hours later, I lie in my bed in the castle and stare at the ceiling overhead. The ever-burning fire throws leaping light across the room, making the ivy carved onto the stone of the ceiling seem to move.
No wait. I sit up in bed, squinting to see better. It’s not ivy—it’s the magical vines that grow in Luke’s library.
“Hold still,” Princess Buttercup whines from where she lies pressed against my legs. “I didn’t give you permission tomove.”
I flop back down and pick up my ereader, scrolling through my digital library. God, the number of books I have on here isobscene. I stuffed the heck out of my TBR during one of those big freebie days authors do.
But I can’t tell which book to read, which one will best fit my mood.
There’s only one place with an even bigger romance collection. One place that will tell me which book I should read… My eyes drift back up to the vines.
Slipping one leg out from under the covers, I scootch my butt toward the side of the bed, then ease my other leg away from Princess Buttercup, who gives a sleepy noise of complaint and covers her eyes with her paw.
I wrap my cozy robe over my baby doll nightie, slide my feet into slippers, and sneak through the castle. When I reach the portal window in the reading room, I stroke the frame and whisper, “Please take me to the perfect book I need.”
It deposits me in the romance collection, exactly as expected—I mean, have you met me? Romance is totally my thing. But it doesn’t set me in front of a bookcase.
I stand frozen, barely daring to breathe, in front of the reading nook.
Luke sprawls backward across the chaise lounge, one arm dangling off the side, the other cradling an open book to his stomach. His head’s tipped back in sleep, his face wiped of all worry. This isn’t even resting grumpy face number one. This is an expression I’ve never seen, one of ease and relaxation. The only other time I’ve seen him without his prickly armorwas with the dragon babies.
His unguarded expression makes it really clear just how much he normally hides his heart as he moves through the world. No wonder he’s so hard for me to read.
My chest pinches in pain as I remember exactly why Luke’s so guarded. I could barely deal with the catty snubs from a few of the popular girls during my high school senior year. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live for three fudgingcenturiesbeing rejected by every single person you know.
Visiting with the babies helped, and I think being here on Earth with people who accept him is good for Luke. But a few months won’t instantly fix centuries of being an outcast. I want to help, to do anything to make it all better. But how?
My eyes trace his relaxed features, remembering the smile he gave his nephew. That’s what I’ll do—I’ll ask Naomi to talk to the dragons again, to make the visits with the younglings a regular occurrence.
I turn to find a transportation crystal, not wanting to wake him, especially since I’m not even supposed to know this collection exists. But before I can leave, something niggles at my subconscious.
I swivel back around, scanning the reading nook more carefully. The spine of the book peaks from between his fingers, showing enough letters that I can fill in the rest of the familiar title by heart:The Princess Bride, my favorite book of all time.
Then I notice a packet of cinnamon hearts open on the little table beside Luke, a few of them spilling across the surface.
I know without a shred of doubt he’s reading that book because of me, the same way he’s eating that candy. I have no idea what they mean to him. Are they more fudging research? Am I still nothing more than a witch with unusual magic for him to study?
But seeing him here with them certainly means something tome.
That book and those candy hearts jab a knife into mine.
They make me imagine a million impossible things: curling up with Luke on this chaise lounge, my feet tucked under one of his thighs as he reads me a romance book. His clawed fingers pressing candy to my lips. Long, slow cinnamon kisses that turn into books shoved aside and his hands peeling off my robe to slip beneath my tiny lingerie as his tail slides up my leg. Me sinking to my knees to take him in my mouth as he growls filthy praise of how good it feels…
Dreams of a magical life full of books and shared passion.
A life with him.
A life I won’t have.
