He cocks his head. Even though my glare warns him not to ask, he opens his mouth anyway.
Thankfully, I’m given the perfect distraction.
“Oh, look, we’re here,” I rush to say. We’ve reached the corner opposite a street lined with brick row houses. “My apartment is just across the way, so you’ve done your duty as my escort. Thank you for walking me home. I should really get to bed?—”
“Not so fast.” Monty’s words halt me in place just as I’m about to take a step. “What about our arrangement? Shall we seal our bargain?”
“A bargain?” My breath catches. Fae bargains are not something to enter lightly and breaking them leads to serious consequences for both parties, often death. I’m already suffering the ramifications of the last binding ritual I participated in. Do I dare partake in another? Consequently, as the fae party between us, our bargain will be fueled bymymagic. That’s a big responsibility, if only mentally. “You want our arrangement to be magically binding?”
“Of course. This is a matter of both our careers. Without stakes, why put in effort?” He says this with an easy wink, yet there’s a hint of desperation at the corners of his eyes. Or perhaps it’s my inner hunter alerting me of prey. Whatever the case, Monty needs this for reasons that might be deeper than he’s stated aloud.
Yet the same goes for me, doesn’t it?
I need a model, and I could benefit from his courtship lessons, particularly if they work.
If they can land me a husband.
If they can help me sever my permanent ties to my home village.
“Here are my proposed terms,” Monty says. “For every courtship lesson you successfully complete using my advice, I will pose as your model for one session. Each lesson or session will last for up to a full day. Our bargain will be deemed fulfilled upon whichever of the following conditions is first met: we exchange a total of four courtship lessons for four painting sessions; we conclude my case study with you demonstrating all of my most important principles; you enter a committed partnership; we reach the thirty-first of July.”
I assess each of his conditions, surprised by how thorough he’s being. And that our arrangement will only last for three months—until the end of July. That works perfectly with my need for a husband by Lughnasadh on August 1st.
My shoulders tense as I stare down at his hand. I’m still wary about making a formal bargain. But as my gaze wanders up the length of his forearm, taking in its chiseled shape, the veins that rope it, I’m reminded all over again how badly I need to draw this man. Steeling my resolve, I take a deep breath and place my palm fully in his. Just before he can shake my hand, I pull mine back and say, “Only if we reverse the order. For every sessionyoumodel forme, I’ll perform one of your courtship principles. And we’ll start this weekend.”
“I didn’t know you were such a fierce negotiator.”
He also doesn’t know I was only granted an extension on my sketch until Monday. I need him to model for me as soon as possible.
“Fine then,” he says with a shrug. “I agree toyourterms and enter this bargain. And you?”
I take a deep breath and place my palm fully against his. “I agree to it as well.”
He squeezes my hand in a firm shake. Just like that, it’s done. There’s no spark of magic. No rush of awe. I sealed a binding bargain without any effort but a few words. It was as easy as buying meat from the butcher.
As we separate our hands, I notice a surprising warmth in my palm, tingling from where our skin touched. It has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the fact that I touch very few people. And yet, where I normally recoil at unwarranted touch, I don’t find Monty’s at all unpleasant.
His lips pull into a sly smirk. “Tell me, Daffy Dear, where would you like to paint my half-naked body this weekend?”
PART II
COURTSHIP AND THE ART OF AN UNEXPECTED ATTRACTION
CHAPTER TEN
MONTY
Holding still is not a skill I possess. Perhaps I should have thought of that before I made a binding bargain to pose as a model. Though I suppose I expected a little more time to prepare. I certainly didn’t anticipate being told to freeze the moment I stepped into the parlor of Daphne’s apartment. Furthermore, I’m fully clothed. This is probably the most surprising, considering the weasel-man on the sketch she showed me was bare-chested.
My muscles twitch with restless energy, even though it’s only been five minutes.“Can I?—”
“Don’t even open your mouth,” Daphne says, standing on her settee with a sketchbook in hand, a look of pure madness in her eyes. She’s dressed in loose gray slacks with a white blouse and suspenders, her short black hair tucked behind her pointed ears. I didn’t know what to expect of her living space, but as my eyes wander the interior, I can’t imagine any dwelling suiting her better.
Her apartment is located on the third floor in one of many identical row houses on her street. Though there is one marked difference between her apartment and all the rest—the tree growing through the center of it. From the outside, it simply looked like a large tree was growing directly behind the house. But now I find it’s growing straight through Daphne’s apartment. Its trunk serves as a central pillar, the roof composed of tightly knit branches hung with an eclectic array of lamps. Though the outer walls are brick like I imagine the rest of the apartments are, boasting large windows that let in the morning sunlight, the interior walls are more like partitions. A wall of loosely knit vines here, a drape of ivy there. From where I stand, I can see her kitchen off to one side of the parlor and what I assume is her bedroom on the other.
I drag my gaze back from her bedroom, not daring to stare at her most private quarters.
“There!” She grins down at her sketchbook. “It’s finished.”
