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“What will you have to drink?”

“Waters,” Clark said before I could say anything. Then he gave me a look, glancing down at my stomach in a way that made me want to yell at him for trying to protect me from my bad impulses when I never drank, except for those times fairly recently.

The waiter left, and I found myself staring into the eyes of the most terrifying person I’d ever met. Because I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know what kind of plans he had. What did a sorcerer want?

I cleared my throat. “You wanted to talk. So talk.” I steepled my hands on the table and waited.

He cleared his throat. “We could wait to talk during dessert.”

I winced. “So you think this conversation will give me indigestion? Now I’ll be too worried to enjoy my dinner unless you spit it out. What’s the issue?”

“Here are your waters. Can I get you anything to start?” the waiter asked, popping up like a poltergeist. Not that I knew. Were ghosts real?

“Toasted raviolis,” Clark said, like we always ordered.

“Also some mozzarella sticks,” I added.

Clark raised a brow. I shrugged, and the waiter scurried off. Clark leaned over the table, eyes intent but not quite glowing, then Barbara, my lawyer, came up, looking between me and Clark with disbelieving eyes.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, sharp, but still mostly professional as she questioned my life choices. Ah, right, because I was dating someone before the divorce went through, and that might call into question the grounds of his cheating.

“Peregrine, this is Barbara, my lawyer,” I said, making introductions like she wanted to know the man with face-tattoos I was with.

She blinked at me. “This is not optimal, Mary. And you know that perfectly well.”

“My cousin isn’t going to contest the divorce,” Clark said shortly.

She looked at him, up and down, at his broad shoulders and obvious musculature. And was that interest in her eyes? She was interested in business! What business did she have with my husband? I wanted to throw my shirt over him so she’d stop looking.

“Your cousin? Do you have any other relatives?”

“He has an evil twin, but his girlfriend is a jealous witch,” I said drily. “Anyway, it was so good to see you.”

Barbara took a minute of frowning at me before she nodded. “Indeed. I’ll see you on Monday with papers to sign.”

“See you then.”

She finally left, but with several backwards glances at my husband.

“You reek of jealousy,” Clark said, studying me with the look of a predator.

“Thank you. You reek of face-tattoos. What did you want to say?”

“I’m not going to contest the divorce. You showed the world that you are entirely capable of defending your home and family. You know Latin, you have an army of undead beasts, and it won’t take you much time to polish up anything else you’d like for the defense of Hoar House. I have no reason to force you to put up with my presence.”

I stared at him. “Oh.” He wasn’t going to contest the divorce. I gripped the table. Wait, now he wanted a divorce after he’d gotten me pregnant? Yes, I’d been the pushy one about wanting him in my bed so fewer undead animals ended up in there with me, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d been there. With me. And now he wanted a divorce? Seriously?

Maybe I should have waited until dessert. How could I eat now?

The waiter put a plate of toasted raviolis on my table, and the smell wafted towards me. I stabbed one with my fork and started nibbling on the edges while I glared at the man across the table from me who was staring back, his eyes filled with something intense, but I wasn’t sure what exactly it was. Relief that he wouldn’t have to be married to a witch who had an affinity with dead animals? What did a sorcerer want? Maybe he wanted to retire like Uncle Claw on an island somewhere with an undead monkey.

“The raviolis good?” he asked.

“Of course,” I answered before I finished it off then stabbed another one the way I wanted to stab him.

“We should talk logistics,” he said, not touching the raviolis.

“Logistics?”