“And then?”
His fingers intertwine with mine. “And then I’m free. And you’ll have to decide if you want me to stay anyway.”
“That’s not?—”
“It’s the truth.” His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. “The contract brought us together. But once it’s fulfilled, there’s no magical binding keeping me here. Just... choice.”
“Your choice?”
“Yours.” He lifts our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “Always yours.”
I think about that. About what it would mean to choose him without magic or contracts or supernatural compulsion. Just two people, deciding to be together. It should terrify me. Instead, it feels like the first honest thing I’ve wanted in years.
“The floor is going to take a week to repair,” I say, because apparently that’s what comes out of my mouth when I’m overwhelmed with emotion. “I’ll need to reschedule three classes and move two others to Studio B.”
Mal’s lips twitch. “Very romantic.”
“I’m being practical.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“Same thing.”
He gives that warm, genuine laugh I’ve come to love and pulls me into his arms.
“Deflect all you want,” he murmurs against my hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I close my eyes and let myself believe him. Just for now. Just for this moment.
Tomorrow there will be contractors and insurance claims and a dozen other problems to solve. But right now, standing in my damaged studio with a chaos demon’s arms around me, I feel something I haven’t felt in a very long time. Contentment.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ifinally lock the doors at 6:47 PM. The restoration equipment hums quietly in the background—fans and dehumidifiers creating a constant white noise that should be irritating but somehow isn’t. The damaged bathroom has been sealed off with plastic sheeting. The hallway floor gleams wetly under the lights, still drying but no longer actively flooded. It’s over.
For now, my brain helpfully supplies. There’s still the repairs. The insurance. The rescheduled classes. The?—
“Stop.”
Mal’s voice cuts through my spiral. He’s standing near the front desk, watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Stop what?”
“Whatever disaster you’re catastrophizing about.” He pushes off from where he’s been leaning and walks toward me. “I can hear you thinking from across the room.”
“That’s not possible.”
“The crisis is handled, Isadora.” He stops a few feet away, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “The studio is safe. The children are home. Everything that needed to be done today has been done.”
“For now.”
“Yes. For now.” His voice softens. “That’s how life works. One ‘for now’ at a time.”
I want to argue with him. I want to point out all the problems that will be waiting for me tomorrow and all the reasons I should be worried and planning and preparing instead of standing here in my empty studio with my heart beating too fast. But I don’t.
Because standing here, in the aftermath of everything, with the soft hum of machinery and the last rays of sunset filtering through the windows, I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I want to think about now. About him.
“You stayed,” I say quietly.
