“Calm down, you’re all invited to my wedding,” Norwood interrupts.
“Oh, thanks. Lina will be pleased.” Mayfair brightens and slaps Norwood on the arm companionably.
I wince and take a small step away. Russians don’t express their friendship physically often, but if they do, it’s borderline violent. I almost want to show Callie to demonstrate how necessary she is here.
But unsolicited slaps aside, they don’t seem upset that I’ve ruined their plan to fix this problem with Essex. Even Norwood, who has become the biggest advocate for it since he fell in love himself, just has his hands in his pockets. He has a costume of some kind of fertility god.
“We’re not married. Yet,” I say.
“Ahhh, I see.” Westminster nods. “Given they shot you during negotiations, perhaps it’s not a bad idea to avoid marrying someone who might want to kill you.”
“It’s not so bad. Worked out well for me,” interjects Edmonton.
“Alright, if marriage is off the table, we’ll have to rethink. Maybe we let them implode on theirown, or negotiate once they figure out who’s in charge,” Mayfair says, as though we’re talking about buying a suit.
“Are we totally sure we can’t simply take it over?” Norwood says. “It seems the quicker way now that Woodford took out Loughton senior.”
“Is that what I was doing?” I say dryly. “It felt like being shot at.”
Edmonton laughs.
Just then, a tiny girl in a pale-pink feather-covered dress and a sparkly tiara pushes through the crowd at a run. “Daddy, Daddy! There’s a fairy lady doing real magic!”
Lambeth’s expression lights up, and he leans down to sweep his daughter into his arms, and looks into her face, asking her seriously, “Is there? What magic did she do?”
“She made a dove appear, just like that.” The little girl tries to snap her fingers, but it’s a bit soft and she scowls at the offending digits before trying again.
“That does sound like real magic.” Lambeth smiles indulgently.
“It is! Come and see!”
Something spasms in my chest, and I think it might be jealousy. I’d like a daughter who ran to me and dragged me away to watch a children’s magic show. Almost as much as I’d like Callie to be mine forever.
Lambeth walks off with his daughter, and Edmonton looks between the men remaining. “Shall we join them?”
Westminster nods. “My kids will be watching the magic, too. Let’s finish here for now.”
And that’s the end of business talk, because apparently fae magic is more important than anything the Essex Cartel might do.
18
CALLIE
It’s an amazing evening. Reid and I dance, and laugh, and I make a dozen new friends of the wives of the “London Maths Club”. There are prizes for the best costumes given out by Willow, one of the London Mafia wives who owns a bookshop specialising in romantasy special editions. Lambeth wins the vote for best dressed man, though Mayfair insists it was rigged, and a woman called Cassie wins the women’s competition in her detailed fantasy dress, complete with elf ears and sparkly tiara.
It’s magical. Truly.
And I know that it can’t last. Reid said when he was healed he’d leave, and that day is—depending on your view—either very soon, or already passed. Acknowledging that is like uncooked cake mix in my stomach.
The next morning, Reid is drinking black coffee and scowling at his computer and I smile wistfully, because that pose is so familiar now.
“Hey.” I take a seat beside him.
“Sweetheart,” he greets me, and begins to remove hisshirt so I can access his arm without comment. Our twice daily routine.
I fuss over removing the dressing, and then looking at the pink scar on his arm.
His dressing doesn’t need changing.
