Arthur rubbed a hand over his face. “You have managed my household. My security. My finances. My life. For three hundred years.”
“Yes.”
“And this,” Arthur said carefully, gesturing at the robe, the snacks, the lipstick, “is whatfinally broke you.”
Caliban hesitated. “She is… formidable."
From inside Eloise’s apartment, her voice drifted out, cheerful and unapologetic. “Did you get the pretzels or not?”
Caliban turned his head. “On my way, sweetums,” he called back, then looked at Arthur again, something almost smug slipping through his composure. “She has opinions.”
Arthur stared at him for a long moment, then a loud laugh burst out of him.
I covered my mouth, shoulders shaking.
Caliban stepped past us toward the vending machine, pausing just long enough to add, “I will return the robe.”
“Please don’t,” Arthur said weakly.
Caliban disappeared around the corner.
Arthur leaned toward me, voice low. “I have never seen him flustered.”
“I feel like I just unlocked a bonus level,” I said.
He laughed again, breath warm against my hair. “Our friends are dangerous.”
“I know,” I said fondly. “They’re perfect.”
When I unlocked the door, the music reached me first. It was familiar, and I realized it was a song I loved but had never admitted it was a favorite.
I stepped inside and stopped cold.
Roses. Everywhere. On the table. Along the counter. Framed around the windows. Candles lit the space in warm pools, flickering like someone had taken their time. My favorite foods from all over the city werespread out on the counter. The good noodles. The bread I liked too much. A bottle of wine already open and chilling.
My heart did something alarming.
Arthur stood just inside the doorway, hands clasped behind his back like he was bracing for judgment.
“I hope this is acceptable,” he said. “I wanted to celebrate you.”
“You broke into my apartment,” I said faintly.
“I used the key you gave me,” he said. “With reverence.”
I laughed, a sound that surprised me with how close it was to tears. “Arthur.”
He stepped in front of me and brushed his thumb over my cheek, eyes bright and soft and so full of pride it almost knocked me over.
“There is more,” he added carefully, like he was negotiating treaty terms instead of my heart.
He reached into his coat pocket and handed me a thick, cream envelope.
I opened it.
Two tickets to Edinburgh. Departure in two weeks.
My vision blurred. “Arthur.”
