Heidi:Marry her???
Archie:He said, and I quote, “Marry her, you idiot.”
Heidi:Huh. Well… I guess marriage would be more convenient than paying someone to stalk her? You’d save money, for one, and she’d be close enough to stalk her yourself, for two. Personal stalking is way better than stalking via someone else. When Stryker had me stalking Millie, I was always missing stuff he wanted to know. I got yelled at, like, every other day, until I made him do it himself. Think of all you could learn about her when you’ve got your own eyes on her!
Heidi:Not to mention, if she’s here, she’s safe, and if you’re married, then Stryker won’t put up a big fuss about her being here. It’s a win-win-win-win!
That… does sound rather convenient, actually. I hum, contemplating.
Archie:You’re suggesting a marriage of convenience?
Heidi:I am suggesting a marriage and pointing out the convenience, yes, but don’t you go blaming me for any tropes you stumble into all on your own.
I consider this. Then, I consider Sarelia, who covers herself in her enticing pink blush under my eyes.
How tantalizing, this plan.
I marry her.
How…
Absolutely perfect.
Archie:You’re a genius, my friend.
Chapter Five
?
Sarelia
“Married? Like…marriedmarried?”
“Yes,” Archie confirms. “Likemarriedmarried. It’s rather convenient, I hear.”
Um. Is it, though? Is it really? “You want to get married? To me? Sarelia?”
“Correct,” he affirms. “Sarelia Elowen Prim: my future wife, if you please.”
Oh. My.Gosh.
“You don’t even know me,” I wheeze, fanning myself with my hands. “Why would you want to marryme?”
His nose scrunches. “Of course I know you. I know how you take your tea and your favorite foods and the places you like to shop. I know what time you go to bed and what time you wake up. I know about your parents and your brother. I know how much time you used to spend on your job but now spend writing recreationally, though I haven’t been able to figure outwhatyou’re concocting since you’ve stopped publishing. I also know how much time you spend on your fan video edits and on watching me—or wishing you were watching me.” He smiles, a dreadfully heart-stealing thing. “Sometimes when you were feeling especially down about not having new content from me to watch, I’d even do a special livestream just to make you smile.”
“You do not,” I breathe. “You do not know all of that about me.”
He straightens in his seat, chest puffing as he recites, “Sugarandmilk in your tea, but not too much of either. Ramen, cereal, and roasted broccoli are your favored foods. Bed by midnight, wake by nine. Your parents are Scott and Andi Prim. Your brother is Fred. You lived with them in Pepero, Kentucky. Your parents love you, but they’re overprotective. You love them a great deal anyway. You spent seven hours a day on your job every day except Saturday, and that time bumped to eight hours a few months ago, after you stopped putting books out to the public. Your edits and watchings depend on the day, but steal anywhere from three to five hours from you.” His eyes sparkle. “And, to mention, you loved those livestreams I did. They always cheered you right up.”
“Oh,” I whisper. “I guess you do know all of that about me.”
“And you know lots about me, too,” he says. “Not everything, like I nearly do you, but quite a lot more than anyone else knows, I would bargain. At the very least, you know everything there is to know about the me that is online, and every little habit you’ve deduced by watching me in person and in my faced videos.”
Shock rocks me, followed swiftly by anxiety. “I’m not insane,” I assure him. “I promise. I’m not like, scary. I just…” Love you—uncontrollably and unconditionally in whatever the least creepy way is. “I just really like you.”
He hums, then taps my nose with a long, calloused finger. “That’s okay, love. We can take care of that.”
My eyes widen. “Take care of… me liking you?”
