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But I’m not eating. And it isn't that I don't want it.

Trust me. It's fucking fantastic.

I know because I've already eaten three gnocchi straight from the pan.

The problem is I don't want to eat alone. And that realization makes me set down my fork.

For almost two weeks, I've been furious with Damian.

At first, I had every right to be.

He claimed me without my permission. Whether he'd intended to do it or not, the choice had been taken out of my hands.

And after my mother called expecting me to hand over Aunt Margarita's home and magic to Melida like every other thing I'd ever surrendered to my sister?

Damian's sudden you're mine bullshit had hit every raw nerve I possessed.

So I pushed him away.

Literally.

Blasted him right out the door. I still don’t know how I did that and I feel a little guilty about him ending up stuck in the wish tree.

Although the picture Clarissa showed me of him hanging upside down with a bottle caught on his tail was objectively hilarious.

Afterwards, Damian didn't get angry. He didn't retaliate. He didn't beg me for forgiveness. He didn't even tell me again that I belonged to him.

He just...

Helped.

Cobblestones repaired. Bats relocated. Ghost disco improved. Wards placed around the property.

And those wards—mine, not his—I glance toward my home office. The vellum envelope is still sitting in the top drawer of my desk. I read every word.

Twice.

Then had Clarissa read it too. Everything belongs to the property.

To me.

No strings.

No ownership.

No Damian.

Unless I want him.

That last thought makes my stomach flutter. Because maybe that's the problem.

I think I do want him. Goddess, help me, I know I do.

In fact, I think I’m in love with the jerk.

I look toward the kitchen window. And there he is. Damian stands in his kitchen next door.

His house is close enough that I can see through his enormous windows from mine, especially after dark.