“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Just…tired. Probably.”
Helpingnothing, he hums seriously and murmurs, “We’ll get to bed earlier tonight.”
Aurelia blurts, “When did you two get married?Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding?” She gasps, heartbroken. “Isthatwhat you did in the city? Youeloped? Who proposed? Who has a marriage circlet? Can Ipleasesee it? What gemstones did you pick? And also why did you pick them? Tell meeverything!”
Still overflowing disgust, Austin grimaces in his sister’s general direction. “Sorry…she doesn’t get out much.” His gaze shifts to Samson, narrowing. “And neither doyou. You know it’s barely been a season, right? You’re not supposed to marry someone unless you’ve known them at least a year.Twelveseasons, Sammy. Twelve.”
After assuring I’m stable on my own feet, Samson folds his arms. “Barely a season…” Samson’s voice trails, then, viciously, he nods. “That’s longer than a week, isn’t it?”
Red taints Austin’s cheeks, and I am once again at risk of collapse. Darn astigmatism.
“Will you two never let me live that down?” Austin snaps.
“I don’t know. Have you apologized for it yet?” Samson’s head angles as a brow lifts. “Have you said you werewrong?”
Austin’s nose scrunches as he glares at us dully. “This feels like bullying.”
Samson’s arched brow remains high. “That’s not bullying. This is bullying.” He turns squarely to Aurelia. “Lunch is made, Lia. There’s plenty. You’re invited.” His finger points. “He’s not.”
An ocean of emotions floods across poor Aurelia’s face, torment launching her gaze between me and her brother, me, her brother. I watch her soul die, bit by bit, as she wrestles withneedingto know how in the worldSamson and I are “married”and needing to be an angelic sister. It’s painful. Guilt eats me up.
But Austin just rolls his eyes, grabs Aurelia’s hand, and turns toward Samson’s farm. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Sammy. What’s for lunch?”
Lips quirked, Samson takes my hand. “Roasted vegetables, boiled eggs, and fresh bread…with fresh butter and fresh cheese. Just the way my wife likes it.”
My heart soars, fumbling about in the sky—an utter mess.
He dips to kiss my forehead. “Spoiled.”
I whisper, “So spoiled.”
Looking over his shoulder, Samson whistles, and our happy playing babies leap across a cloud road to our sides, bumping into our legs, tongues lolling.
“I made extra boiled eggs for them,” Samson notes.
Their tails wag, and Samson’s smile softens.
Ahead of us, Aurelia whispers to her brother, “They’re the cutest family I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t make me gag, Lia.”
It is in this exact moment that I decide what my goal for this afternoon will be.
~ ~
Samson strokes my hair, as though it’s perfectly natural for me to be cuddled against him while we eat lunch. I’m shocked myself by how normal it feels, but I have the darnedest feeling that if Austin weren’t turning more and more green by the moment, I would simply not have the gall. “—and so,” I continue my winded story about how Samson and I eloped—including the part where he punched a guy, “—Samson said he couldn’t imagine a life without me, so we got married while the night market stalls crowded the streets. It was beautiful. Some poor onlooker cried.”
Samson, bless, nods. “I saw that. Very moving.”
“You are so full of—”
“That’ssoromantic!” Aurelia butters her fourth slice of bread and scoots to the edge of her chair, fixing her glowing eyes on Samson. “How did youknowyou were in love with Citrus?”
My stomach takes a turn, but Samson drops his hand to my hip and hums, providing an astonishingly convincing, “She makes me feel safe.”
“Ew.”
