“I know these people,” he explains. “Strangers are different.”
“Judgmental.”
He eyes me with surprise, as if he just noticed I was standing beside him. “Yes. Exactly.”
Eryx studies me for another moment before we reach the entrance.
Stave tugs on the cuffs of his dark suit. “Evening. Mistress, you look spectacular.”
“Thank you.”
Eryx’s hold on my arm tightens. “Are you ready?”
There’s a beat where I realize I’m crossing a threshold. In this moment there are two choices: nod my head meekly and stew in insecurity.
Or raise my head and own this.
With Eryx beside me, dressed so spectacularly, and with the heat wafting off his body, there’s no part of me that wants to deny the truth.
I lift my chin. “I’m ready.”
He leans in and says only loud enough for me to hear, “There’s still time. You can turn back.”
It’s my turn to press my lips tohisear. He shivers, sending a little thrill zinging down my body. “That moment vanished yesterday.”
He swallows and pulls back. “Announce us,” he tells Stave, though he keeps his gaze on me.
Stave throws open the double doors, and I force myself to look away from Eryx and not sink into those crystal blue eyes.
The first thing that strikes me is the candlelight. Eryx has replaced the amethyst magic swirling inside the globes for amber light.
The white marble floor glistens, and a line of mirrors along the back wall make the space feel open.
And nestled on the credenzas and tables are roses—black and gold roses, a hillside of them.
My breath catches and I shoot him a questioning look. He’s not looking at me, but one corner of his mouth ticks up as if he knows what I’m thinking.
He’s showing the world our roses.Even if he didn’t announce that they came from us, he’s displayed them.
Him doing that makes my chest warm.
I bite down on my bottom lip as he escorts me to the top of the stairs. We look out and there’s my family—including ghostNana—and other people I don’t recognize but who must be important to Eryx.
And I kinda want to get to know them.
Eryx lifts my hand. “May I present my wife, Chelsea Thornrose?—”
I clear my throat.
Eryx lifts his brows.
“Nightshade,” I whisper.
His eyes drop sheepishly and he starts again. “Correction—Chelsea Nightshade, the Queen of Nightmares.”
When he says my new name—ourname—his voice catches. Just barely. But I hear it.
And something in his eyes shifts. Relief, maybe. Or pride.
