Weddings & Wishes

A Holiday Storybook Novella

by

Angelique Jurd

Wedings & Wishes – A Holiday Storybook Novella Copyright © 2021 by Angelique Jurd. All Rights Reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Cover designed by May Dawney Designs - https://covers.maydawney.com/

Edited by Penny Tsallos, Penny Tsallos Editing

www.pennytsallosediting.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Angelique Jurd

Visit my website at www.angeliquejurd.com

Printed in the United States of America

Published by

Small Black Cat Media

©2021

DEDICATION

For my son Josh and my daughter-in-law Samantha, with love.

Their wedding prep went much more smoothly I am happy to report.

Prolog

Lars wipes down the counter with a quick, practiced sweep of his arm. Adjusts a pile of coasters. There, that’s better. Satisfied, he looks around the Inn.

Not bad for a Monday night. Not so busy that they can’t think; not so empty that he needs to worry.

The door from the kitchen swings open and Otto stumbles out carrying a tray of desserts. Heaving a sigh of frustration, Lars takes it and hands it to Agnes. His good mood will disappear if he has to clean tiramisu off the floor. Again.

From the far corner, Rorik signals him. Lars points a finger at his chest. Me? Rorik nods, then points to Otto before making a bottle and glass gesture with his hands.

“We are being summoned by your brother.” He nudges Otto.

“I’m busy.”

Busy it seems is sending text messages to somebody.

“What are you doing?” Not that he can’t guess, but with Otto anything is possible.

“Talking to Beltin.”

“Uh huh. About?”

“Oh, just stuff.”

Lars is not fooled by his husband’s pout. Beltin is Hamish’s family… something. He’s not really sure what exactly and it doesn’t matter. The three of them have been chatting about… stuff… for the past couple of weeks. Stuff that Beltin needs some reassurance about and that Otto is being anything but patient about.

“Leave him alone and come and see what your brother wants.”

“To be a bossy pain in the ass I imagine,” Otto grumbles but shoves his phone back in his pocket.

Together they cross the floor to the group.

“Where’s the champagne?” Rorik frowns. “I asked you for champagne.”

“Oh, is that what that meant?” Lars mimics Rorik’s bottle and glass gesture. “I couldn’t read the label sorry.”

“Smart ass.” Rorik heaves himself to his feet. Boden does the same. “We have an announcement to make.”

“Darlings, we all know you’re screwing each other’s brains out. Hardly an announcement.” Pascal Hare’s grin doesn’t dim when the smooth headed Fae sitting with him leans closer and murmurs something Lars doesn’t hear but is sure amounts to a command to behave.

“Michel, do you think you can keep that brat under control for a moment?” Rorik asks.

“Probably not.” Michel shrugs with a grin. “Perhaps, your news will leave him speechless.”

“Gods, one can but hope.” A glossy black cat is draped over Hamish’s shoulder; he strokes her tail. Simon elbows him in the ribs. “What?”

“Be nice.” Simon points a finger at Pascal. “That goes double for you.”

The Caster and the Fae glare at each other, then offer forced smiles to Simon. One day, Lars is sure, those two will come to blows over something and if Simon isn’t there to smooth things over, Gods help them all. May it please not be in the Inn.

Leif Amias, Senior Cupid, looks as confused as Lars feels.

“So what’s the announcement, boss?” Something about the way Andy, Leif’s boyfriend, grins at Boden - who is in fact Andy’s employer - strikes Lars as odd. As if he knows what is coming. Lars follows his gaze to Boden’s face, then Rorik.

Gods!

They’re going to do it, he realizes. They’re actually going to do it. Who would have believed that his nerdy little cousin would not just enchant and tame Rorik, but actually get him to commit officially?

“We have set a date to get married.” Rorik pulls Boden closer. He kisses the top of Boden’s head. “Now can we get champagne?”

“Praise the Gods,” Otto squeals. He rushes to his brother and throws his arms around him. “You’re getting married! That’s wonderful? Boden is such a sweet little thing and I just know you’re going to have lots of children and dogs and cats and oh Gods have you told Mother? Have you told Serena?”

Lars calls for Astrid and asks her to bring two bottles of champagne and some glasses. He loops his arm through Otto’s and tugs him in the direction of a chair.

“How about we let Rorik and Boden give us the details before we bombard them with questions?”

“He’s okay,” Boden says with a smile. “Thank you, Otto and no, we haven’t told your mother or sister yet, but we will this evening.”

“So don’t you go blabbing.” Rorik shakes his finger at Otto, then turns to Lars. “You’re in charge of him. Keep him under control.”

Astrid arrives with the champagne and while she and Lars fill the glasses, Rorik continues.

“We have set the date and it’s fairly soon, but we really don’t see much reason to wait.”

“Darlings do stop being cryptic and just tell us so we can all make sure we are wearing our Sunday best.” Pascal sips his champagne.

Lars chuckles to himself when he hears Rorik mutter to Boden that he’ll just be happy if Pascal is clothed.

“Well,” Boden says, “we thought we’d have it on the fifth.”

The group falls silent. Even Pascal for once is quiet.

“The fifth?” Michel asks. “Of which month?”

At this, Rorik looks a little shamefaced. Otto’s mouth falls open, Leif makes an odd squeaking sound, and for once Pascal is, in fact, speechless.

“You don’t mean next month?” Michel asks, blood draining from his face.

“Yes,” Rorik replies.

Andy clears his throat. “But isn’t that…”

“Yes.”

“But that’s-” Simon begins but is cut short by Hamish pointing to Pascal. “Is he okay? He looks like he’s going to pass out.”

All eyes turn to Pascal Hare. Even under his careful make-up, his complexion has turned a soft shade of green.

“Special Day? You want to get married on Special Day?”

“Well, no,” Rorik says, “technically, it’s the day after Special Day.”

“My Special Day.” Pascal looks like someone hit him with something very heavy.

Boden kneels in front of him. “Look, I know it’s asking a lot especially after last year, but please, please can you make it work?”

Pascal’s breath comes in short, sharp gasps. “Special Day?” He asks again. “You want to get married the day after Special Day? Of this year? In less than two weeks?”

Michel scoops the hyperventilating Fae into his arms and sits back with him, rubbing his back. “Calm down, Lapinou. It’s going to be okay.”

Wide eyed and trembling, Pascal squeaks something about the world going mad.

“Pascal,” Rorik’s voice is low and firm, “I know we’re asking a lot. But if we leave it any longer-”

“But Special Day?” Pascal cries. “Are you out of your fucking minds?”

“For crying out loud, Hare, it’s the day after Special Day and we’ll have it in the evening so you can sleep all damned day if you need to.” Rorik sits back in his seat with a sigh. “Besides, I don’t understand why you’re getting in a state, it doesn’t matter which month we choose, someone’s Special Day is going to be hit.”

“And it may as well be mine? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Well, yes, but -”

“Rorik!” Boden shakes his head. “Shut the fudge up.”

“But Small One -”

“No, don’t you Small One me. I’ll handle this.” Boden turns back to Pascal. “Look, it will be fine, I promise. All you will do is prepare your part of the ceremony, be there on time, and then you can have lots of champagne after. I promise you won’t have to do anything at all for the actual event except turn up.”

“My part of the what?” Pascal looks like he might cry. For once, Lars notices, Rorik seems to be genuinely contrite.

“I’d like you to be my witness.”

If that was supposed to help, it appears to have failed.

“Witness? You want me to be your witness at your wedding that will take place the day after my Special Day and you’re giving me twelve days’ notice? What about rehearsals? And organizing things?”

“Well, we thought that we could fit the rehearsal around your schedule.” Boden pats Pascal’s hand. “Apart from that, the only thing you really need to worry about is Rorik’s stag night.”

Pascal squints. “I get to organize Rorik’s bachelor party?”

Rorik looks resigned but nods. “All I ask is no orgies.”

“Spoil sport.” Pascal leans back against Michel. “But what about everything else? How are you going to get it all done in time? I mean, I know you’re Rorik the Red but-”

“I’ve hired a Wedding Planner,” Boden says.

“I’ve hired a Wedding Planner,” Rorik says at the same time. His triumphant tone fades when he sees Boden’s face.

“You’ve hired a what?”

“A Wedding Planner. I told you I was going to do that.”

“No, I told you that I was going to hire the planner.” Boden takes a step toward Rorik, and Lars has to cover his laugh with his hand.

It’s Rorik who looks green now.

“But that doesn’t make sense, Small One, I sent you that email telling you that I was hiring one.”

“And I replied that I would do it.”

“I never got an email saying that.”

“Did you lock yourself out of Outlook again?”

“No. Maybe. But that doesn’t matter bec-”

A cough interrupts him. As if one, the group turns.

A tall, elegant Fae in wide legged, gray pants and a pale pink shirt, raises an eyebrow. Hair so black it looks blue under the Inn lights frames his face with curls. He’s not just Fae, Lars thinks. Not looking like that. Possibly Cupid, but unlikely; Cupids are rarely that tall. Nymph? Maybe. Yes. There’s something fluid about him that suggests Nymph.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I am Valentino Aldredge, Wedding Planner. I was hired by…” He takes his phone from his pocket, taps the screen, then looks up again. “Boden?”

Boden hurries forward, hand out. “That would be me. Thank you so much for coming.”

Before Aldredge can reply, the Inn door flies open, letting in a swirl of sleet. The broad-shouldered newcomer - an Elf in a heavy black coat - slams it shut and stomps over to them. He glares at Aldgredge.

“What the hell are you doing here, Aldredge? This is my client! Are you so desperate that you’re poaching now?”

CHAPTER ONE

Frederick

The very last being I want to see talking to my client is Valentino Aldredge. In fact, the very last being I want to see ever… anywhere… is Valentino Aldredge. Yet, here he is. All designer labels and curls and glittering green eyes. If he thinks he is doing the Eskildsen Wedding, he can think again. Rorik the Red approached me. In person. This is my wedding.

To plan.

My wedding to plan.

Not my wedding.

Why the hell is he here? I thought he specialized in Human weddings. Oh, and Nymphs - let’s not forget Nymph weddings.

“What do you mean you were hired?” Valentino looks confused.

Good. He can take his confusion and disappear. He’s good at that.

“I mean that Grand Holder Eskildsen hired me to plan his wedding, as if you didn’t know. Now please leave. I have things to discuss with my client and his intended.”

He tips his head back and laughs. It’s a light, airy sound and even though I’m really pissed at him right now, it sends a little thrill of delight through me. It always did.

“What is so funny?”

He cocks an eyebrow and grins at me. “His intended? I think you need to check a calendar, Freddie; the rest of us are in the twenty-first century.”

“It’s Frederick, not Freddie, you bottom feeding, muck sucking, lotus munching nymph.”

“Oh Freddie, come on now, that’s a bit harsh.” He doesn’t look the least bit offended by my insult. Damn it. “Muck has never been on my list of things to suck, darling, you know that.”

Behind him someone sniggers and I hear a hushed, heavily accented reprimand.

Gods, he is infuriating.

I turn toward Rorik the Red, who watches from the other side of the group. Next to him is a small Elf wearing a button down and suspenders, looking for all the world like some sort of porn-star/nerd mash up. He must be the… intended.

“Grand Holder Eskildsen, I am so sorry about this. I don’t know-”

“Let’s drop the formalities, shall we?” Rorik looks as though he’s bitten into something distasteful. I sympathize; being in a room with Valentino Aldredge will do that to you. “Rorik will do fine, thank you, and I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a mix-up.”

“By which he means, he didn’t check his email. Again.” Porn Nerd laughs and steps forward, hand extended. “Hi, I’m Boden. I didn’t know Rorik had hired you, so I hired Mister Aldredge. I’m sorry for the confusion, but I’m sure we can figure something out.”

Yeah. Something that involves firing Valentino Aldredge’s ass. If I had my way, he’d be exiled from Edelweiss Grove entirely, but since that isn’t going to happen, I’ll settle for him missing out on the Grand Holder’s wedding.

Asshole.

A small Elf with an impressive scattering of freckles on his nose clears his throat.

“Could you not work together?” He smiles and I get the feeling the room gets brighter. Weird. “I mean, given the tight time frame, surely two heads would be better than one?”

Work together? Is he insane? There is not enough money or kudos on the damned planet that would make me work with that arrogant, self-absorbed, cheating piece of… my mind stutters.

What did Freckles say? Tight time frame? What tight time frame?

I frown in his direction. His smile widens and a feeling of warmth washes over me.

“What do you mean so little time? We have plenty of time.” I look toward Rorik. “You said it would be April fifth. So that means we have at least a…”

That distasteful thing Rorik bit into seems to have gotten worse, and an awful thought occurs to me. I’m going to blame the shock of being approached by the Grand Holder for not having clarified this when we first spoke. That and the fact that I’ve never had a client book any less than six months in advance. Generally, I have a full year to prepare, but if my hunch is correct - oh Gods, no!

The only thing that is good about this is Valentino looks as horrified as I do.

“You can’t be serious?” His words, directed at the Porn Nerd, hang in the air. “This April? The day after Special Day? That’s like two weeks away.”

“Twelve days,” someone mutters.

“Yes, well, I was going to discuss that with you today,” Porn Nerd says. I really need to stop calling him that, but for the life of me, I can’t think what he said his name is. Something with a B? Or maybe a P? Whatever.

“So was I,” Rorik adds. “Besides, I never actually said it wasn’t this year.”

I hold my hands up in surrender. “I can’t arrange a garden party, let alone a wedding of this significance in less than two weeks. It’s not possible - even with magic.”

I try to use magic only for the details when I prepare a wedding and remain hands on with the day-to-day organization. Even breaking that rule and throwing magic around like snowflakes, I’d be hard pressed to meet this deadline. I mean, it’s Rorik Eskildsen. Holder of the Sleigh. Grand Holder of Edelweiss Grove. It’s not like I can cut corners anywhere.

Freckles pipes up again.

“What if you,” he points to me, “plan Rorik’s side of things and you,” he points to Aldredge, “plan Boden’s?”

Boden! That’s it!

“That’s a great idea.” Boden beams. “Come and sit down and we can iron out the details.”

I fold my arms. It is not a great idea. It’s anything but a great idea. The only possible result would be a complete mess.

“I am not working with that hunk of goblin turd. Either I am the planner or not.”

Rorik scratches the scruff on his chin. “Actually, I think Boden and Simon are right. I can’t see why it wouldn’t work.” He looks at Boden, then Valentino, and finally back at me. “Freddie is it? We’ll set a theme, you’ll take care of helping me get sorted, Valentino here can look after Boden, and together you can figure out the remaining details.” He looks at Boden. “What do you think Small One?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” the younger Elf agrees. “And it would solve the time issue.”

Solve the time issue? Nothing is going to solve the time issue. It doesn’t matter how many planners there are or how much magic you throw at this thing, it’s a disaster waiting to happen.

“Oh, come on Freddie, it could be fun. Just like old times.” Valentino tilts his head to one side, and I wonder what my chances will be of losing the gig if I punch him right in his smug face.

Just like old times?

Do I look like I want to have my heart mangled again?

CHAPTER TWO

Valentino

Oh Gods. What are the chances of not only running into Frederick Keller in a place like The Laughing Troll, but of us both being hired for the same job? Well… obviously those chances are higher than I would have guessed just an hour ago, but the point remains. What are the chances? Medium height, perfect build - enough muscle to show he works out, not so much muscle that he could crush you. Dark blue eyes, hair that is more strawberry than blond, and of course not a hair out of place.

His black woolen suit looks as though it’s a designer label, as does his coat. Business must be good. A simple purple tie and shoes glossier than the cleanest possible glass. If he didn’t look so much like he wanted to tear me apart and shove me in the waste disposal, there would be the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. Freddie always had the loveliest smile.

It’s the thing I remember most. That smile.

If I had known he’d be here, would I have come? I’d like to think I would have, but who knows? Freddy sure as hell wouldn’t have shown if he’d known. That I am sure of. The last time we spoke - eight years ago - he’d made it very clear he never wanted to see me again.

Yet here we are. Being asked to plan the biggest, most important wedding the Grove has seen in generations. In under two weeks. Together.

What could possibly go wrong?

I mean, aside from Freddie turning on his heel and heading for the exit?

Yikes! I scramble past patrons to catch up with him at the door.

“Freddie, wait.”

“I told you, it’s Frederick. Not Freddie.”

Whatever.

“Okay, fine. Frederick, wait. Surely we can find a way for this to work for both of us.”

“I doubt that.”

Fair enough - but I’m not ready to concede defeat yet.

“Look, it’s less than two weeks until Special Day and neither of us is going to be able to pull it off unless we work together. We could maybe try it if you like.” The look on his face tells me that the only thing he wants to try is turning my insides into my outsides and personally, I’m not really keen on that idea.

“Or I can pull out and you can take it on...” I grin and leave the innuendo hanging in the air, then lean forward to whisper, “you always were good at that.”

“Whoever told you you’re funny should be ashamed of themselves.” He steps out into the street without waiting for me to answer. “Who the hell heard of two planners working together?”

“We used to.”

Freddie’s gaze doesn’t falter. “Well, we don’t anymore.”

Damn it. When did he develop a backbone? Shame pricks at me - I know damned well when that happened. When I behaved like the ignorant, cowardly asshole that I am and chose to follow the family line rather than my heart. He was not so easily cowed, even though at the time I had called him a chickenshit for not doing as I wanted. It had taken me years to realize exactly which one of us had really been the chickenshit. In my defense I had tried to change things, but it had been too little, too late.

“Freddi…” I catch myself in time and correct the word. “Frederick, come on. I mean it, I’ll step out of it if that’s what you want, but honestly, it’s two weeks and it would be easier if we worked together.”

Freddie - I might not be allowed to call him that to his face, but he’ll always be Freddie for me - stops and turns to glare at me.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

He holds up one finger. “Why would you go away and let me have the gig?” A second finger joins the first. “Why would you work with me?” Instead of raising the third finger of his left hand, he lifts his right and raises the middle finger. Offers me a glacial smile. “Why the fuck would I trust you?”

I probably deserve that - okay, I do deserve that. All of it. That doesn’t stop the rush of anger I feel, however.

“You know what? You’re right - why should I walk away? I was hired to do a job. It’s not my fault Eskildsen also hired you. If you want to walk away, knock yourself out. But I’m willing to work together if you are.”

Hands on my hips, I wait for his answer. My breath forms small clouds of white in front of me. I’m painfully aware that my coat still hangs on the peg at the Inn, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him see me shiver.

“You would take care of Eskildsen’s fiancé’s side of things?” Freddie narrows his eyes, the way I remember him doing when he was calculating a quote.

“Boden. Yes. I’ll take care of getting Boden ready.”

“You won’t interfere with what I’m doing?”

“Well, we’ll need to discuss some stuff so we don’t end up with clashing -” I stop and hold my hand up when I see him take a breath, “as long as we communicate the important stuff and stay out of each other’s way, it should be fine.”

Freddie tugs on the cuff of his glove. “Hmm. We’ll see.” He lets his gaze wander over me, face expressionless, then pushes past. “We’d best go and let them know our decision before you freeze.”

“I’m not that delicate.” I poke my tongue at his back, hurrying to get back inside.

“Says the nymph turning blue because he’s wearing silk in the middle of winter.”

He holds the door open for me to pass. I glare at him. “Fuck you, Freddie.”

“Don’t call me, Freddie.”

***

As much as I’d like to linger in front of the Inn’s fireplace, I’m not going to give Freddie the damned satisfaction. Instead, I stride toward the group in the corner, head held high. My hands will thaw out, eventually.

This might be the most important wedding I’ll ever be involved with, but if I approach it with confidence and style, my client will relax. Will know I can be trusted. Will be less likely to turn into a nightmare at the eleventh hour. Like any wedding planner, I’ve had my share of difficult clients. Throw magic into the mix and bride - or groom - zilla takes on a whole new meaning, trust me.

They all look at me with undisguised curiosity. Boden, huddled next to Rorik the Red, looks as though he’s near tears. Oh Gods, please don’t let him be high-strung - though in fairness he couldn’t be worse than Leif Amias, who seems even more distressed. A man is stroking his back and whispering to him in what appears to be an effort to calm him down. It’s the first time I’ve ever met Leif’s Human boyfriend and I’m amused to see he currently has that look of fond resignation that suggests he’s used to Leif’s nervousness.

Pascal Hare doesn’t look exactly thrilled either, which means we have a room full of disgruntled Holders and I have a sudden urge to take up day-drinking.

Seated on Michel Griotte’s knee, he’s gesturing wildly while talking at the top of his voice. I hear snatches of ‘abuse of position really’ and ‘what about if you’re just watching the orgy’ and decide I don’t want to know. Like almost everyone in the Grove, I’ve seen Pascal’s films - some of them are pretty hot - and we run in many of the same circles. I sat next to his Chief Chocolatier at a party last week, which is how I know his name and that I’m pleased he’s going to be around to keep an eye on that particular Fae.

I’ve never met the final couple in the group, but they’ve been the subject of almost every Grove gathering in the past few weeks. The new Holder of the Spark and his partner. The partner is a Fusion Caster apparently, which nobody thought was a real thing until he rocked along. First Family Caster, he recently passed the role to the cutie grinning up at him from his spot on the floor.

There are three more in the group, seated together next to Rorik. One I recognize as Lars, the inn keeper. Are they still called that? To his left is his husband and Rorik’s twin brother Otto. The third is a tall, slender Fae who seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t think why. Not really my type but not unpleasant on the eye. He reminds me of the Human actor, Daniel Craig.

For a moment I consider telling Boden I’m going to let Freddie have the gig because as soon as my mother hears about it, she’s going to be a pain in my ass. And not the good kind. No, that would be Freddie’s job - if he was still inclined which if the past ten minutes are anything to go by, he is not. His presence however will annoy the crap out of my mother. She in turn will annoy the crap out of me.

I know, I know. I’m too old and too successful and by far too experienced to be letting my mother take up space in my head. None of which stops her doing so. She means well, I think, and I do love her but Gods she drives me insane. A water nymph, she defied her family and married my Fae father, whose magic is centered around calmness and well-being. He’s extremely good at it and has defused more than one potential crisis for Humans. It also means that he’s not at all bothered by things like status or money or security. It’s not so much that my mother is a snob as she wasn’t prepared for the reality of living a life without the elegance and luxury in which she’d been raised. Don’t get me wrong, she loves my father, but she clings to any opportunity to force me into a life she misses.

My own magic is a mixture. I have my mother’s eye for elegance, style, and fluidity - a pun she detests I might add - and my father’s ability to impose peace and serenity. Something tells me I’m going to be using both over the coming days, so I may as well begin now.

“Boden,” I smile at him and give a little push of calm in his direction, “if you and Rorik are still willing to consider hiring us both, we would like to accept your offer. Of course, we will each adjust our fees accordingly.”

Boden’s face lights up. “Really? That’s amazing. I’d love that.” He turns to Rorik the Red. “You don’t mind, do you?”

I don’t even need to hear the Holder say “anything you want Small One” to know who rules that roost! I’d heard Boden has no magic but I’m not sure I believe it. The look on Rorik’s face is syrupy enough to attract an entire beehive.

“I will be taking care of you Gr… Rorik.” Freddie’s tone is, as always, clipped and precise. Professional. “When would you like to commence?”

Oh, dear Gods. Commence? Really? Freddie needs to relax. I wonder when he got laid last, but one look at his face tells me it wouldn’t be wise to voice that particular question. Rorik, thankfully, comes to my rescue.

“I think we should… uh… commence as you put it with some champagne and introductions.” He looks over the table. “We need some more glasses.”

“And champagne,” Pascal adds before swallowing an entire glass in a single gulp.

Shaking his head, Lars does as he’s bid.

Boden, who looks a lot happier, pulls extra chairs over, chattering as he works. “I guess you know Leif, and this is Andy, his boyfriend.”

I shake hands with Andy and step aside to allow Freddie to do the same.

“Do you know Pascal and Michel?”

“Of course we know each other, darling. Just last week, at the Winter Ball, Valentino and Michel were in a long and rather boring discussion about the differences between French and Italian wines.”

“Lapinou,” Michel growls, but without heat. “It is nice to see you again, Valentino.”

“And you, Michel.” I grin at Pascal. “With all due respect, for someone who consumes as much wine as you do Pascal, I am surprised you are not more interested in its creation.”

“Consumption only, darling. As long as it goes down smoothly, I’m a happy boy.” The words are met with a chorus of groans from the group, but he shows no remorse. As much as I like Pascal, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with him on a daily basis.

“Well,” Freddie says dryly, “you and Valentino should get along just fine. He’s not much for being fussy either.”

Oh, so that’s how he’s going to play this?

“I dated you,” I point out. Let’s see how he gets out of that!

“Yes, and as I remember things, left me for a Marsh Naiad. Not exactly a trade up, was it?”

CHAPTER THREE

Frederick

Was I being a dick at the Inn, earlier?

Possibly.

Do I care?

Not one iota.

I sip my tea and stare at my computer screen. Rorik has decreed that we will each be paid our standard fee as quoted since we’re on such a tight timeline and the mistake was not of our doing. It’s very generous of him and I’m grateful even if it does mean I have to put up with Valentino for the next two weeks. No, wait… twelve days. It was a slow wedding season last year with the Human pandemic limiting where folks could go for their honeymoon. The extra money and the PR of working on a Grand Holder’s wedding will help.

I’ll just try to keep contact with Valentino to a minimum.

My screen saver - Tom Holland in his Rihanna lip sync outfit - stares back at me. I really need to get to work and make a list of things to do, create a file for Rorik, and send an email to the florist. Damn it! I’ll need to check with Valentino to see what Boden wants for flowers as well, so we don’t end up with some weird mix of sunflowers and lotuses. I wouldn’t put lotuses past Valentino; he’d do it just to annoy me.

Groaning in frustration, I pick up the mouse, meaning to open my To Do program. Instead, I click on a file folder in the lower left- hand corner of my screen. Rows of photographs appear, and I scroll down.

Down.

Down.

One line from the bottom, I see the thumbnail I’m looking for and click on it. Sip more tea as it opens.

There we are, the two of us. Arm in arm. Laughing. Gods, we look so young. We were so young. In our early twenties, our whole life ahead of us. My hair was longer, his was shorter. I still wore glasses back then; I’ve exchanged them for contacts now. I’m wearing jeans and a plain cotton button down, my sweater knotted around my throat like a cape. He’s wearing woolen slacks and a silk shirt with a bright geometric pattern.

My finger trembles as I reach out and trace the line of his jaw. Eight years and he hasn’t changed much. Still just as willowy, still just as chic, still just as beautiful.

Still just out of reach.

I force myself to look away from him. To look at me. Who is that Elf in the pic? I’ve bulked up a little since then. More muscle, less hair. Contact lenses. A few lines around the eyes. I don’t wear jeans often these days either. I prefer suits. Everyone has to grow up, right?

Back then, I’d thought we’d be together forever. That his love for me would be stronger than his mother’s pressure to marry that slimy little Marsh Naiade, Tybalt. Delphine, Valentino’s mother, didn’t hate me. She just wanted Valentino to be with a Naiade or a Nymph or well anyone from her clan who was financially and socially secure. I’m not even mad at her. Parents are supposed to want the best for their offspring, and she was right, Tybalt brought more to the table than I did.

The very worst part about the whole mess isn’t that Delphine didn’t think I was good enough to be her son’s mate. It isn’t that Valentino married the little piece of pond scum. It isn’t that he swore to me that he was going to call the whole thing off - and didn’t. Or that I’d believed him. It isn’t even that he’d thought an acceptable solution was for him to marry Tybalt, but have me as his… his… do I look like a concubine?

It’s that even after all of that, when I’d first seen him in the Inn earlier, I’d caught my breath and wanted to kiss him.

“No, the worst thing about it,” I grumble to my empty living room, “is that I’m sitting here thinking about him. And that I still have this stupid photo.”

I close the folder and busy myself creating a To Do list. I enjoy this part of the process, creating time lines and setting targets. Sending out meeting reminders. Tonight is no different, even though instead of my usual carefully paced schedule, this one looks like a one way trip to the sanitarium. Aside from the sheer volume of tasks to complete every day, the words ‘check with VA’ appear far too many times.

As I complete an email to my preferred florist begging them to say they can take such a late order, NEW MAIL flashes. Once, twice, three times. I click on the highlighted button and my heart sinks when I see three emails from Valentino. The first is a brief message letting me know that this is his current email, in the event I don’t have it. Of course I don’t have it. Why would I have the email address of someone I’ve not spoken to in years? I add him to my contacts and hit delete. The second is to tell me he forgot to include his cell-phone number. If it wasn’t that this is exactly as I remember him, I’d assume he’s up to something. Again, I add the number to my contacts, delete the email, and open the final one.

Freddie

Was thinking it might be a good idea to go over preliminary ideas sooner rather than later.

Lunch tomorrow?

Val

(do you remember how you used to call me that?)

Before answering I go to the drinks trolley, pour some brandy in a glass and gulp it down. Drink topped up, I return to my seat and click reply.

1 Frederick, not Freddie

2 Fine. I’ll see you at the Troll at twelve thirty.

3 Did I? Don’t remember.

I hit send, switch off my laptop, take my brandy and head to the sliding door. What I need is a long, relaxing soak in the hot tub. As for Val, he and his memories can go slide down a fjord.

See if I care.

CHAPTER FOUR

Valentino

I’m late.

It’s not my fault, though. I’d had to deal with an interminable call from my mother, who had just heard from someone who knows someone about my new gig. If she had said “Grand Holder’s Wedding” in hushed tones once, she had said it a million times. Even learning I’d be working with Freddie didn’t dampen her enthusiasm.

“Oh, Freddie was such a darling. You two made a lovely couple. Of course, he was totally inappropriate.” Her voice had dropped an octave, as if she was conferring some great piece of knowledge on me. “I was always rather surprised you didn’t keep him on the side. Nothing wrong with a little extra-curricular activity, so to speak, as long as everyone knows where they stand in the grand scheme of things.”

I hadn’t bothered responding to that. Arguing with my mother is not an activity I enjoy - besides I had been too busy trying to sidestep her next comment.

“Tybalt must be so happy.”

I wouldn’t know if my husband is happy or not, not having spoken to him in over a month. Six weeks ago, I’d decided I couldn’t stand one more minute with him and had moved out of our house and into the apartment in the Grove. I have yet to figure out how to broach this subject with my mother and since she remains blissfully unaware, clearly Tybalt hasn’t blabbed either. Probably still clinging to the idea that I’ll be going back to him.

Not a chance.

I’d managed to change the subject by asking how my father was. After that there had been a dozen emails to deal with. Boden with answers to questions I had posed about color schemes. Boden with questions about flowers. Pascal to me and Freddie, begging us to convince Rorik and Boden to delay the ceremony until after Special Day and asking if we thought no orgies applied to no strippers. My mother with a link to some article about the wedding. Leif wanting to make a time to discuss vows since Protocols dictate that he perform the ceremony. Pascal again inviting us to The Warren for drinks.

One by one I deal with them until I’m left with only one in the folder.

Freddie’s reply from last night. I’d sent him three. He’d answered one.

Doesn’t remember calling me Val, my ass. That was what he’d called me when he was happy. When we were laughing. Whenever he was about to come. Especially if he had his fingers buried in my hair and his cock in my mouth - and that’s why I’m late.

Apparently, my cock has a better memory than Freddie does.

A box of swatches and samples in my arms and my messenger bag dangling from my fingers, I shoulder open the Inn door. Kick it shut behind me and look around. Lars is behind the counter; he nods toward the corner. Freddie sips a glass of white wine while reading something on his phone. Whatever it is must be good because he smiles and I can’t help feeling relieved that it’s just as beautiful as I remember.

He glances in my direction and the smile fades. Sadness fills his eyes. Shame crawls up my spine and tells me I have no business here. That I should just tell Boden and Rorik that Freddie is the best Planner in the Grove and leave him in peace. Freddie deserves that much at least.

Of course, I ignore that voice and make my way over to him. Dropping the box of samples and my bag on the floor with a sigh of relief, I shrug off my coat and sit down.

“Sorry I’m late.” My words are met with stony silence. “Something… uh… came up.”

“Mmhmm. I’ve already ordered for the two of us. Salmon with lemon risotto.” He takes a sip of his wine. “I take it you still like salmon.”

“Yes, thank you.” I turn and signal a passing waitress. “I’ll have a glass of whatever he’s drinking please.”

“The Alsace Riesling. Make it two.”

I’m impressed. I was the wine nut, Freddie was more into cocktails; the sweeter and more colorful, the better. “Nice choice.”

As if reading my mind, he shrugs. “You’re not the only one who can appreciate wine, Valentino.”

Okay, point taken. There will be no familiarity in this arrangement. Frederick and Valentino, it is.

The waitress brings us our drinks and shortly after Lars appears with our meals. We eat in silence, neither of us seeming to know what sort of small talk to make.

Finally, I put my fork down, take a mouthful of wine, and reach for my bag.

“Do we have any idea if this is going to be a traditional ceremony or something a little less formal?” I pull out my tablet and turn it on. Freddie blanches at my words.

“Oh Gods, wash your mouth out! There is no way on earth we can pull off a full traditional in under two weeks.”

He has a point - I’m just not sure if the Holder in question is aware of it. When I say as much, Freddie’s face tells me he has no idea what’s in Rorik’s mind either.

“He wouldn’t expect something like that, would he? Surely not.”

“The big guy thinks we can do this in…” I check the date, “twelve days, so it’s not unreasonable to assume he might.”

He grips his glass so tight I’m afraid he’ll break it. I ease it from his grip and pat the back of his hand.

“Look, we’ll simply ask him and if he says yes then we’ll tell him it’s impossible.”

Pink rushes into Freddie’s face and his eyes bulge.

“You want to tell the Grand Holder he can’t have the wedding he wants?” The words are little more than a squeak. “Are you insane?”

I chose to obey my mother instead of being happy with you, so yes, I must be, I think but don’t say.

“Calm down. We’ll sort something out.”

A thought occurs to me and I look around the Inn. Lars is on the other side of the room serving drinks. When he’s done, I beckon him over, ignoring Freddie’s spluttering.

“Same again, boys?” Lars picks up our empty glasses. “Dessert?”

“I’ll have another glass of wine, please. Freddi…erick will have chocolate mousse if you have any fresh. But before you go,” I hold one finger up to signal I’m not done, “I was wondering if you know anything about your brother-in-law’s wedding plans?”

Lars frowns. “Like what? Aren’t you two the planners - don’t you know?”

“We are but we have yet to meet with Rorik and Boden formally and we’d like to know if they’re planning to go the traditional route or not.”

Lars’ face clears. “Ah. They’ve not said anything to me as such, but I can’t see Boden wanting all the pomp and circumstance of a traditional ceremony and as you probably figured yesterday, what Boden wants, Boden gets.”

I nod. Good, yesterday’s guess had been correct. I just hope that doesn’t mean he’s a spoiled little diva who is going to shriek and stomp every five minutes. He hadn’t seemed that way, but I’ve been known to be wrong about things before. Lars grins and takes our plates. When he’s gone, Freddie turns on me.

“Who said I wanted mousse? I may have wanted more wine.”

“You never have more than two at lunchtime and you always want mousse. And now we know that it’s unlikely we’ll need to perform a miracle. Say ‘thank you Valentino’.”

“Screw you, Valentino.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Frederick

I am unsure who I want to strangle more. Rorik Eskildsen or Valentino Aldredge.

On the one hand, while Rorik has confirmed that they are not expecting a full traditional state wedding, there will be some formality. He will be wearing his full Holder regalia for a start. He’d like a matching cloak made for Boden. Pascal Hare will stand as his primary witness as tradition dictates. Hamish Sgaile and Rorik’s brother Otto will be secondary witnesses and I can only assume that that line up comes from Boden from the look on Rorik’s face as he tells me. Both Pascal and Leif - Senior Cupids are always the celebrant for Holder weddings - will be in full formal dress.

Damn, that’s going to be a lot of cloaks.

It also means I have to ensure that Hamish and Otto don’t clash with them. Not to mention the other half of the wedding party. Let’s not forget either that Hamish carries that damned cat everywhere.

On the other hand, there’s Valentino who is just a proverbial pain in my ass - a description I intend keeping to myself for obvious reasons.

Even after what he did, and after all this time, my heart races when I see him. It’s not that I’ve been a hermit for eight years. There have been dates. There have been lovers. There were even a few months where I thought there might be something serious until I’d realized that the only real attraction for either of us was physical; we had nothing to talk about when we weren’t in bed.

The only being I’ve ever loved - truly loved - is the one I can’t have. And now, I have to work with him.

“Someone needs to talk to Leif. Little ninny is having a meltdown over this.” Rorik looks me up and down. “You two aren’t related by any chance, are you?”

“Who? Leif Amias and me? Of course not, I’m an Elf.” I’m not sure I like the insinuation that I’m as high strung as our Senior Cupid. I open my mouth to continue but Rorik doesn’t let me.

“He’s so damned high strung. Also, we need to talk about Hare.”

Oh Gods, what now?

“He’s having a fit about something going wrong and not getting back in time for the ceremony, doing the bachelor night, and making rehearsals. He’s not much better than Leif, Gods damn it.”

“What are the chances of something going wrong?”

Rorik gives me a look that can best be described as glacial. “He’s the best damned Holder on earth; he won’t be late. He’s just being a drama queen.”

Well, excuse me for trying to do my job. “Could your brother not be witness and Pascal be secondary witness? That way, if he’s late or something comes up while he’s delivering, it won’t be a problem.”

“Not really. Otto, the big oaf, for all he loves drama probably about as much as Pascal does, doesn’t really like to be in the spotlight. Gets all tongue tied and clumsy. He’s happy with being a secondary, but he would have killed me if I’d asked him to be my witness.” He sighs and studies his fingers for a moment. “Besides, Pascal is a good friend. An infuriating one but a good friend all the same.” He narrows his eyes. “And if you tell him I said that, I will feed you to the thing in Northern Lake.”

Why had this gig seemed like a good idea again?

Something that happened when we met at the Inn comes back to me, and if I’m right, I may have solved more than one problem. “Uh… is the new Holder of the Spark a Light Elf by any chance?”

“Simon?” Rorik frowns, clearly baffled by the question. Then understanding surfaces in his eyes. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll call him later. He’s Pascal’s best friend too so that should help.”

He helps himself to a pastry from the plate his housekeeper Astrid had left, along with mugs of excellent and very strong Irish Coffee. It’s a good thing I hadn’t had any more wine at lunchtime; I’m starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges.

“Can I ask you a question about Mister Aldredge?” Rorik watches me over the top of his mug.

“Of course.” I pray my smile looks less fake than it feels.

“I got the feeling yesterday that you and he aren’t exactly friends. That there’s some bad blood between you. Am I wrong?”

“We used to work together, and we were also a couple, but he dumped me for someone more… acceptable to his family.” Blaming my candor on the Irish coffee induced tipsiness - Rorik the Red does not need to know the details of my private life - I try to change the subject. “Perhaps we could talk about the ceremony?”

Rorik, however, is not so easily deterred. He raises an eyebrow. “Is that going to be a problem?”

I shake my head. “No! Of course not.” If the Holder believes that, he’s a lot more gullible than I would have guessed. “It’s been over for eight years. Yesterday was just…” I search for the words. “His presence caught me off guard, that’s all. We are both professionals and we will behave accordingly.”

He chuckles. “I have no doubt. I apologize again for the mix up and if there is anything we - Boden and me, I mean - can do to make things easier please say so.”

Go to the Grand Holder with my relationship woes? I don’t think so. That would require something much stronger than Irish coffee. Rorik gives me a curious look then seems to decide it’sits time to drop the subject.

“Shall we discuss my wedding ceremony? How many peacocks do you think we should have?”

Whiskey laced coffee squirts out of my nose. Mortified, I grope for a napkin while still coughing and spluttering. Could the Gods just strike me down now? Peacocks? He wants peacocks? At this time of year? In this weather? Has he lost his mind?

Thankfully, before I can give voice to that particular question, Rorik roars with laughter and claps me on the back. “Are you sure you’re not related to Amias? I was kidding.”

“Kidding?” I drop the napkin on the table and stare at him.

“Yes. You really need to lighten up a little. I know we’re asking a lot of you and Mister Aldredge but honestly, neither Boden nor I want nor expect some over the top, pretentious affair.”

“Good.” My hand trembles as I pick up my mug again. “That’s good to know.”

“Obviously some of it will be open to the public because of my position, but for the main part we want to keep things simple.”

“Simple.”

“Yes. No peacocks, I promise.”

“No peacocks.”

I’m never going to survive this nightmare.

***

The rest of the afternoon is a little less nerve-wracking, with no more talk of peacocks or of Valentino or of the state of my nerves.

Rorik will need to be fitted for a suit, and we will need to do something about his hair and beard. Just because we’re not doing a state wedding doesn’t mean we need to do a porn star one.

“Tell it to Hare,” Rorik mutters while I phone the Sparkle and Shine salon.

I ignore him and book the stylist. Colorful expletives are flung down the line at me when I tell Casey the date and remind her that it’s not every day you are booked for a Grand Holder’s wedding.

The appointments added to the schedule, I decline Rorik’s offer of more coffee - I need my head clear - and check my list.

What’s next?

“The cloak you want made for Boden? Is that a gift or do you want him to wear it for the ceremony?”

“Both. It is a gift, but I’d like him to wear it.”

“And I take it you have all the measurements?”

He does, and five minutes later I hang up on a grumbling Milton Jaffers, one half of Jaffers & Marchand Tailors, and scan through my remaining tasks.

“Flowers?” Satisfaction surges through me at Rorik’s blank look. “What flowers would you like? Have you and Boden thought about that?”

“Oh, well, whatever Boden wants, I suppose. Roses?” He pulls his phone from his pocket. “I’ll text and ask him.”

I hold my hand up to stop him. “No, don’t worry. I’ll ask Valentino. We don’t have time for you two to argue about flowers.”

“What makes you think we’d argue?” Rorik scowls.

“Because, it is twelve days from your wedding and apparently neither of you has given thought to any details. I’ll ask Valentino. Rings?”

That question is met with a smile. “We chose those this morning. They’re being engraved as we speak. Would you like to see a photo?”

At least they have one thing under control. He finds a photo on his phone and shows me. Two simple platinum bands - each with a diamond in the center.

“Very nice. Very elegant. Good choices.” I check my list again. “Catering? Have you any preferences?”

Rorik’s face lights up and he rubs his hands together as if he’s about to bestow a wonderful secret upon me. “Actually, we have. Michel Griotte, Pascal’s partner, is going to make us a cake and Astrid is going to be in charge of the general catering.”

Astrid. The housekeeper. In charge of the general catering. Why am I not surprised? Rorik must read some of that in my face because his eyes darken.

“Astrid is the best cook in the Grove, and she has quite a team she calls on for events. You have no reason to worry.”

He only thinks that because he wasn’t at the wedding where the groom’s mother had served jellied eel, pickled herring, and what I think was supposed to be sauerkraut but had smelled suspiciously like day old socks. The bride and groom had ended up ordering pizza for everyone.

I have no intention of letting anything like that happen to this wedding.

“I would like to make an appointment to sit and discuss with Astrid what the menu might be.” Was that tactful enough?

“Well, you’ll need to talk to her about that, but I can assure you, she won’t poison anybody.”

I’ve heard that before.

Deciding there is little more I can do without speaking to Valentino, I close the app.

“Very well, then. I think I have all that I need for now.” I stand and stretch. “Perhaps you could call Astrid in so I can make a time to speak with her?”

I don’t know why he finds this request funny, but Rorik chuckles as he stands.

“Come on then, I’ll take you to the kitchen.”

CHAPTER SIX

Valentino

The shrill sound of my phone ringing drags me from a deep sleep. I peer at my watch. Who the hell is calling me at seven in the morning and can I kill them? Whoever it is gives up and the blasted thing goes silent. Groaning, I fall back on my pillow and hope I can go back to sleep.

The ringing begins again. Why? Who could possibly hate me this much to call this early?

I sit straight up in bed and fumble for the phone. Sure enough, Freddie’s name and number fill the screen.

“Either you want to come over and spoon or you’re a sadistic Elf with no sense of decency,” I growl into the device.

“Still don’t like mornings I see. And don’t flatter yourself.”

I’m unsure if Freddie’s bright tone is because he’s pleased to have woken me or simply because he does like mornings. Weirdo. Either way, I’m going to need coffee before this conversation goes any further.

“I’ll call you back. I need coffee.”

“Meet me at The Melba in half an hour.”

Half an hour? It will take me that long to drink enough coffee to be able to function.

“I need at least an hour.”

“Well, you’ve got half so I suggest you hurry.”

With that he hangs up, leaving me staring at my phone in shock.

What the actual hell?

The past few days have been hectic, and I see no reason for that to change in the remaining days until the wedding. Freddie’s bossy tone doesn’t exactly fill me with hope either. If it had just been a check in, or a simple question, he would have left a message in our What’s App. And Freddie bless his little cotton socks is not really given to fits of melodrama - not when it comes to planning a wedding, at any rate.

That can only mean one thing: I am not going to like what he has to say.

I arrive at The Melba with about a minute to spare. My hair is still damp, I haven’t shaved, have thrown on some moisturizer and a coat of mascara and if someone doesn’t get me coffee soon there will be violence.

Freddie signals me from a booth by the far wall. Steam rises from a cup in front of him and I notice a large teapot to one side. If he thinks I’m drinking tea, he’s in for a shock. Scowling, I slide into the booth.

“Enough with the face,” Freddie says. “Your precious coffee is on the way. Black, one sugar. Bagel with blackcurrant preserves.”

He remembers some things, after all.

Freddie tilts his head to one side as he studies me. “Hairdryer break?”

“Bite me.” I make grabby hands at the waitress who approaches with my coffee. “You’re the one who said I needed to get my ass here.”

“I don’t recall mentioning your ass.” He fills his teacup. The fragrance of Jasmine tea fills the air between us, heady and filled with memories of a life I’ve been trying to pretend never existed.

“Well my ass and I are here now, so what is it that’s so important I had to risk pneumonia by leaving home with wet hair?”

He rolls his eyes. “Spare me. You’re part nymph, being wet is your natural state.”

“Got that right.” I waggle my eyebrows, but Freddie just scowls. Fine, I’ll behave. “Okay, hit me. What’s wrong?”

The waitress is back with a small basket of bagels. She places them between us, adds a small dish of butter and two ramekins of preserves. Blackcurrant in one, apricot in the other.

I watch him slather half a bagel with apricot. He looks so good in his gray suit and crisp pale blue shirt, unbuttoned at the throat. A navy tie peeks out of the top pocket of his suit jacket. Balancing the bagel on the tip of his long fingers, he nibbles the edge with care. Wouldn’t do to get apricot on that shirt, right Freddie? It had always amused me because his square shouldered, broad chested build doesn’t hint at his delicate manner at all. I look elegant, but Freddie is elegant.

A tidal wave of emotion threatens to swamp me. I could have been with him for the last eight years. Should have been with him. Instead, I was running around doing whatever Tybalt and my mother commanded. I was so stupid. What’s that stupid Human saying? Hindsight is twenty-twenty? Fat lot of good that does me.

“You look good Freddie.” The words are soft. I’d swear he hasn’t heard me, but his hand trembles as he picks up his cup. Tea sloshes into the saucer.

“Don’t call me Freddie.”

“Frederick.”

Still refusing to look at me, he mops up the spilled tea. Places his cup back down.

“Rorik has asked me to contact Boden’s mother and arrange for her to come to the wedding.”

The change of subject stings. I know I have to no right to expect anything from him, but it still stings.

Wait. Did he say Boden’s mother? The first thing I’d asked Boden when we were talking about guests was about family. He’d told me it would only be Lars, his cousin. That their friends were his family. I relay this to Frederick. To my annoyance, he doesn’t seem surprised.

“He was born without magic and his father has some issues.” He licks a drop of conserve from his finger. If he’s going to do things like that, I’m going to need more coffee; I signal the waitress. “Human drugs evidently. From what Rorik said, some of the family are more upset about Boden’s lack of magic than his father’s habit.”

“And the mother?”

“Boden and his mother have a good relationship, but Boden is worried that if he invites her, he will have to invite his father as well as other family members. Family members who might not be welcome but who might be interested in being viewed as part of the Grand Holder’s family.”

There it is - I knew there would be drama. Every wedding has it and it was only a matter of time with this one. Swallowing a piece of my own bagel, I consider his words.

“You do realize their relationship is hardly secret, right?”

Apart from Rorik being… well… Rorik, we’d published the banns two days ago.

“Yes, I know. What’s more, given who we are talking about here, if they show up in the public crowd, we can’t exactly stop them.”

I get it now. “They can’t stop them being in the crowd, but they can stop them being in the reception since there wouldn’t be an invitation.” I heave a sigh. “Boden hasn’t said anything, so I take it, this is a surprise?”

Freddie nods and for the first time I notice he looks tired and says as much.

“Seen yourself in the mirror?” he retorts. “What were we thinking? There is no way we can pull this wedding together in time. Especially if we have to also wrangle rabid family members.”

Without thinking, I reach across the table and pat the back of his hand. “Calm down. If Rorik wants to bring the mother, how bad can she be?”

“As bad as yours?” Freddie pulls his hand away, rubs his eyes, and looking down continues. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay.” It was a cheap shot, but I guess he’s earned it. Besides, my mother had been a pain in the ass at my wedding, though now might not be the time to bring that up. “Let’s just worry about Boden’s mother for now. Any ideas?”

“If I had an idea, would I be asking you for help?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Frederick

It’s official.

I’m nuts.

There’s no other explanation for it. Why else would I be knocking on Simon Licht’s door at nine in the morning to ask him to help me carry out this completely ridiculous idea of Valentino’s?

This is what I get for taking on this damned circus in the first place. I should have just said no when they told us the wedding date. But no, of course I didn’t. The thought of planning a Grand Holder’s wedding was too tempting. It would be such a feather in my hat. Such a coup. Such a ‘screw you’ to certain beings who thought I was just ordinary and not worth their son’s time. I’d show them who wasn’t worthwhile.

“Well, Freddie,” I hear my own mother’s voice in my head, “that’s what you get for focusing on the wrong things. You’re just as bad as Delphine Aldredge in your way.”

From within the apartment comes the sound of footsteps, so I invite my mother to go and haunt one of my brothers instead and square my shoulders. The door opens about an inch and all I see is a cat’s tail swishing in the gap. Great - not only do I have to do this stupid thing, but I have to listen to my mother, adorable but annoying woman that she was when she was alive, and deal with Hamish Sgaile’s grumpy ass.

Why didn’t I just turn the gig down? Mom pops back into my mind for a minute to snap “well you didn’t so stop whining and get on with it. You can do this Freddie.”

“What do you want?”

Hamish’s cat might hide his face but it sure as hell doesn’t hide his mood.

“I’m Frederick Keller, I’m the pla-”

“I know who you are. I asked what the fuck you want.”

“Hamish, don’t be a dick,” someone unseen scolds. Hamish steps aside, muttering and cursing. Simon appears in the gap - or at least his bright eyes and freckles do. “Hi, Frederick, come on in.”

He opens the door and steps back.

Feeling awkward and getting the distinct impression I’ve interrupted something; I do as he bids. Hamish drops into a large armchair with a disgruntled sigh. He’s shirtless and the belt of his jeans hangs open. His chest is covered in intricately inked shadows and shapes that seem to move and swirl if you look at them too hard. Aware that I’m doing exactly that, I turn to look at Simon only to find that he’s wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. My gaze flicks from him to the shirtless Caster who’s still glaring at me, and I all but feel the pieces click into place.

“I… I… I am so sorry,” I stutter. “Look I can come … er I mean I can leave and uh we could uh make a time… I did not mean to interrupt your… uh … morning.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re not interrupting.” Simon smiles and I get the same rush of warmth I had got the first time I met him.

“Yes, he fucking is,” Hamish grumbles. “I was about to -”

“How about,” Simon interrupts, “you make some coffee, while I put some clothes on and then we can find out what Frederick wants to talk about?”

“How about you stop fucking zapping me with your magic, brat?” Hamish snarls, but there’s no anger in his voice and it’s impossible to miss the adoration in his eyes. He turns his attention to me and the look in his eyes changes to something that is most definitely not adoration. “Well? Tea or coffee?”

I really don’t want either -I had an entire pot of tea at The Melba - but pissing off a Fusion Caster with blue balls seems like a really bad idea. “Tea, please. Herbal if you have it.”

“Of course we do.” Simon makes a shooing motion to Sgaile, then points to the sofa. “Take a seat. I’ll just be a minute. Don’t mind Hamish. He’s all bark, no bite.”

“I do fucking bite,” Hamish calls from the counter.

Simon rolls his eyes and hurries away.

I take my coat off, perch on the edge of the sofa, and look around the room. It’s very… functional, I guess. Metal framed furniture and shiny chrome. Sort of looks like a factory but there are folks who like that look so what do I care? The small black cat that had been perched on Hamish’s shoulder jumps onto the end of the sofa and stares at me. Its designs lazy arcs in the air and I swear it’s sizing me up. It approaches, sniffs my sleeve, yawns, and turns its back.

“Bubbles, leave him alone.” Hamish puts a tray on the coffee table. Three cups and a plate of what looks like chocolate chip cookies. From one cup comes the strong smell of peppermint tea; the other two have coffee. Bubbles - who the hell calls a cat Bubbles? - leaps to his shoulder and bumps its head to his. A loud purr rises from the animal and Sgaile’s eyes soften. I’ve heard that familiars can help their Caster regulate their emotions and moods, but I’ve never actually seen it. I develop a sudden liking for cats.

“She has more manners than you do, grumpy.” Simon is back. He tosses a shirt at Hamish. “Here, put this on. You’re far too distracting sitting there like that.”

Hamish opens his mouth, no doubt to protest, but shuts it again when Simon points a single finger in his direction. He pulls the long-sleeved t-shirt over his head, waits for the cat to move to his lap, and shoves his arms in the sleeves.

“She’s very pretty. Your cat I mean. Or do you call her a Familiar? Bubbles is an interesting name.”

Gods, Frederick, shut the hell up before you get transformed into something.

“Someone wanted a goldfish and when he didn’t get it, had a tantrum and named her Bubbles to piss his father off,” Simon explains. Laughter dances in his eyes, the room feels warm and happy, and in a flash, I can see why Hamish decided to hand his title to the slight Light Elf. Everything about him screams of happiness and hope. Hamish, not so much.

Ignoring Hamish’s mutters, I sip my tea and try to think of a way to explain Valentino’s plan. Honesty seems the best way to go.

“I need your help. Holder Eskildsen, that is Rorik would like to bring Boden’s mother to the wedding.”

Hamish snorts. “Are you saying two wedding planners can’t get one Elf to a wedding? I thought you two were meant to be good.”

Simon holds up a hand in my direction, takes a deep breath, and turns to Hamish. “If you don’t quit it with that shit, Hamish, I swear I’m going to cage you until the end of the month.”

Bright pink spots appear on Hamish’s cheeks and I don’t think it’s for the same reason my own are currently flaming. He scowls at Simon but says nothing. Simon makes a ‘continue’ motion with his hand to me. I thought Pascal Hare was the one I had to watch out for.

“There are some family… difficulties that we need to overcome in order for it to happen, and then of course there is the question of timing.”

I still don’t think there is any way at all we can pull this off but keep that to myself for now.

Simon helps himself to a cookie, nibbles it, then clears his throat. “I have to admit I think they’re being a bit unrealistic wanting to do this the day after Special Day. Poor Pascal is beside himself.”

Hamish mutters something that sounds distinctly like an invitation for Pascal to go ‘fuck all the way off and when he gets there, he should fuck off a bit further’. Simon glares at him.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about him as well.”

In fact, I’d been intending to do it yesterday, but Rorik had sprung his idea on me and I’d completely forgotten.

“Want me to give him a little push?” Simon chuckles, seemingly unperturbed by the idea. “Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Wouldn’t we be better pushing Rorik into moving the date?” Hamish asks. Bubbles has draped herself around his neck like a scarf and he gives her tail a gentle tug as he speaks. “I mean, it seems like this is turning into one gigantic pain in the ass just because nobody will stand up to him.”

Stand up to him? To Rorik the Red? Grand Holder of the Sleigh?

“Grand schmand. He’s making everyone nuts because he wants a grand gesture. Someone just needs to tell him no.” He thinks a moment. “Better yet, push Boden. All that Elf has to do is click his fingers and Santa does as he’s told.”

Simon gives him an indulgent look. “Next you’ll be wanting to Cast something.” Hamish shrugs, non-committal, and Simon squints. “Don’t even think about it. I mean it, Hamish. And stop interrupting. I think you’d better explain the difficulties and how you think I can help.”

Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on my knees.

“I was wondering, Simon, if perhaps you would accompany me to South End so we could assess the situation and perhaps talk to Boden’s mother.”

He thinks it over for a moment. Frowns. “This might be a stupid question - shut up, Hamish - but is that a good idea? I mean, does Boden even want his mother there?”

“Val says that he refused to invite his actual family but that he didn’t think he was happy about it.” Val? Really? I give myself a mental head slap. “If there was a way to get his mother to the wedding, we think he’d be okay with it.”

“Just okay with it?”

“Val…” I catch myself and start again. “Valentino is going to draw him out a little on it today, but he says he thinks Boden’s refusal to invite family is more about not wanting Rorik to be embarrassed by other family members. The father has a drug addiction, but that’s not the problem; its extended family who might want to ride on coattails.”

“When did you want to go?” Simon studies me over his coffee cup. “I take it you have an address.”

“Tomorrow? I could pick you up -”

To my surprise, Hamish interrupts. “We’ll be ready by seven. If we want to do South End and back in one day, we need to leave early.” He stands and stretches. “I’m going to have a bath while you two sort out the details.”

Simon doesn’t answer but gives him a knowing look that makes the two pink spots over Hamish’s high cheekbones reappear. When he’s gone, Simon grins at me.

“I’d tell you he’s not really that grumpy, but it would be a lie. He is. Wouldn’t harm a flea though, and he hates the idea of people taking advantage of others, especially if the others in question can’t necessarily protect themselves. Rorik can fend for himself, but Boden is another story. It probably is a good idea to have him with us if we’re going to do this.”

“In that case, I shall pick you both up tomorrow at seven.” I stand and put my coat on. “To be honest, I don’t know what we’re going to do when we get there, but I guess we’ll find out.”

A loud splash comes from down the hall. Simon shakes his head in obvious exasperation.

“I’d better get in there before he decides to come out here in all his glory just to make a point.” He holds the door open for me. “Oh, and Frederick?”

“Yes?”

“Try to not worry so much. Everything will be okay.”

A feeling of warmth envelopes me. Did he just push me? I’m about to ask when there’s another splash and the thought of finding myself face to face with a naked and wet Caster is more than I can cope with. I give Simon a panicked little wave and hurry toward the elevator.

***

By the time I get home, I’m exhausted. All I want is to pour a glass of something and wallow in the hot tub for as long as possible. Forever seems reasonable at this point. Just me, my balcony, hot bubbly water, icy bubbly alcohol, and nothing else. I won’t think about weddings or Grand Holders or trips to South End. Or elegant Water Nymphs who own far too many silk shirts.

I remove the cover from the tub, flick the switch, and leave it to bubble while I find a robe, a towel, and most importantly a bottle of champagne. One of life’s true pleasures in my opinion is relaxing in steaming water while drinking ice cold bubbly.

I’m about to open the French doors to the balcony when the intercom buzzes. Never fails, does it? Muttering to myself as I tighten the belt around my robe, I stomp across the room. This had better not be another wedding issue because frankly I think it will be the proverbial grain of sand that broke the hourglass. Another thought occurs to me as I slap the button - it had better not be Val.

“Who is it?” I snap.

“Your favorite partner in crime. Well, in weddings.”

Why do the Gods hate me?

I shut my eyes and consider just walking back to the tub. What do I care if he stands out there in the cold?

“Freddie? Are you there? Can I come up?”

“Don’t call me Freddie,” I reply absently. “What do you want, Valentino?”

“Are you busy? I thought we could talk about tomorrow and maybe go over some of the other details.” He sounds somehow chastened, not at all his usual arrogant self. Good. He could use a good dose of humility. “I have chocolate Cointreau truffles from Michel.”

Damned Nymph doesn’t play fair!

He knows chocolate Cointreau truffles are my favorite treat. What’s more, if Michel Griotte made them, they’ll be exquisite.

“Fine.” I press the button to unlock the entrance door and give him the apartment floor and number. The first thing I’d done after our separation was move to a new place.

I open the door and with a longing look at the steaming tub, pour myself a glass of the already opened champagne. I knock back the first glass in one mouthful and am refilling when there’s a soft tap at the door.

“Oh, great minds think alike.” Val brandishes a bottle of champagne in one hand and a tissue wrapped box, no doubt containing the chocolates, in the other.

In his usual whirlwind manner, he kicks the door shut with one foot, tosses the box of chocolates on the coffee table, and goes to the kitchen. Without so much as a ‘do you mind?’ he rummages in the cupboard for a glass.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” I grumble.

Ignoring me, he fills his glass. From my bottle.

“Hey, that’s mine. Drink your own.”

“Yours is already open.” He flashes me a grin that I know is meant to be disarming but which just pisses me off even more.

I snatch the bottle from him before he’s finished, splashing the contents on the counter in front of me. Don’t care; if I have to deal with him, I need more alcohol.

“I don’t like sharing,” I quip, and for the first time since our reunion, I see a glimpse of the Val I remember.

Unguarded, gentle, and vulnerable. His smile wavers and he drops his gaze, but not before I see something that I would swear is shame in his expression.

“I remember,” he says softly.

Well… fuck. Now I feel guilty and he’s the one who married someone else.

“What do you want, Val?”

“Awww, you called me Val.”

“I’m going to call you an ambulance if you don’t tell me what the hell you want.”

Damn, who emptied my glass again? There’s only a half glass left in the bottle. How did that happen?

“I told you. Go over tomorrow and maybe some -” He stops mid- sentence and studies me. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Yes. I was about to get in the hot tub and have some well-earned alone time.”

Some days my brain and my mouth do not have a working relationship, especially if I’m tired and a bit tipsy. Which I’m not. Tipsy, I mean. Tired, I definitely am. But not stipsy. Stipsy? Whatever. I had simply meant that I wanted some peace and quiet, but the glimmer in Val’s eyes tells me that’s not what he heard.

“Tsk, tsk… your wings will fall off. Oh wait, you’re an Elf, you don’t have wings.” The grin he gives me is far too beautiful and full of mischief to punch, but I’m tempted to do so anyway. “Hot tub, you say. Well… don’t mind if I do.”

Before I can wrap my brain around his words, Val - unopened bottle in one hand, his glass in the other - ventures onto the balcony. A wave of warm steamy air rushes in when he opens the door. Speechless, mouth hanging open, I watch as he strips naked and gets in the hot tub.

My hot tub.

Valentino Aldredge is in my hot tub.

And he’s naked.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Valentino

I sink into the steaming bubbles and close my eyes. The water, hot and lightly scented with lavender, is divine. I roll my head back on my shoulders and for just a moment let myself forget everything. Freddie has always had a thing for hot water and cold champagne and as I take a sip, I have to admit, he’s not wrong.

“Get the fuck out of my tub.”

Freddie is in the doorway, hands on his hips, looking far too sexy for someone who is clearly pissed at me. There’s no way I’m going to ignore the challenge I see in his eyes.

“I have a better idea. How about you get in your tub and we can talk.”

“How about no? How about you get out?”

I tap the side of the tub.

“Frederick Keller. You have bags under your eyes that can be seen from Mars and you’re as stiff as those damned arrows Amias waves around, I can tell just by looking at you.” I glance down at his robe and then back up. “It’s not in the good way either.”

He huffs and moves his right hand, so his glass is strategically placed. The fact that the glass is a flute doesn’t really help with the imagery, but I’m fairly sure he wouldn’t appreciate me pointing that out.

“Get your ass in this tub right now.” When he doesn’t move, I roll my eyes. “The sooner you get in and we talk, the sooner I leave.”

I’m disappointed when he turns on his heel and disappears inside; I was sure that would work.

Moments later he’s back with towels and the box of truffles. He sets all of them on the mosaic tiled tabletop next to the tub and then, eyes fixed on me, he drops his robe.

Wow. He really has been working out; his suits clearly hide more than I’d realized.

Every muscle is clearly defined, and I suspect that if I put a finger to any of them, they’ll be as hard as rock to the touch. Okay, maybe not all of them. One muscle is very much not hard right now but is still as beautiful as I remember, the base surrounded by a neatly trimmed thatch of hair just a shade darker than that on his head. A fine line of the dark blond curls stretches up over his belly to his chest. Gods, I had forgotten how beautiful he is.

For reasons I’ve never understood, the Human world always thinks of Elves as being like young Licht. Cute and sweet with freckles and big eyes. They never seem to consider that at least some Elves might be like Rorik the Red or the fabulous Freddie Keller. Their loss.

He steps into the swirling water and sits down, unable to disguise the relief or pleasure on his face. Eyes shut, he gropes for his glass and finishes the contents.

“You might want to slow down,” I suggest.

“You might want to shut up.” He lifts one eyelid. “My balcony, my tub, my rules.”

“Okay, but just remember, you’re going to South End tomorrow with a very truculent Fusion Caster.”

Freddie snorts. “Truculent? Who the fuck says truculent? You were all over my ass for saying intended and you come out with truculent?”

“Oh, you would have known if I’d been all over your ass, darling.” I take a mouthful of champagne and wait for him to tell me to leave again. The red splashes on his cheeks darken but he says nothing. “Just saying you might want to have your wits about you tomorrow when we’re at South End.”

“My wits and I can take care of ourselves, thank you.” He pushes his glass in my direction and looks pointedly at the bottle I’d brought. “And who said you’re coming?”

“I did. I need to be able to reassure Boden.”

Freddie waggles the glass at me again. Fine, he’s a grown ass Elf, so who am I to stop him? I tear off the foil and begin unwinding the wire caging around the cork. Freddie opens the box of truffles and pops one in his mouth. The sound he makes is one I’ve not heard from him in a long time and I’m suddenly grateful for the bubbling water which hides my reaction.

“No wonder Pascal is so besotted.” He takes the glass I hold out to him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I think this is a case of safety in numbers. Just because Boden has no magic doesn’t mean his family doesn’t have any. And if there are drugs, the chances of The Circle being involved are pretty high, so I’m coming with you.”

I help myself to a chocolate and have to admit he’s not wrong; these things are divine.

“And do what exactly?” Freddie asks around another chocolate. “I’m taking a Fusion Caster as a bodyguard, remember?”

“Something tells me that if Hamish has to choose between saving Simon Licht’s ass and yours, he’s going to take Simon every time.” I swirl my champagne in the glass. “But, I did some digging and apparently Boden’s father is currently in some Human rehab center, which should in theory make things easier.” According to my source, it’s the first time Boden’s father has tried to clean up his act. Hopefully that’s a good sign.

“Why only theoretically?” Freddie peers into his already half empty glass. “I think my glass is leaking.”

“Uh huh, straight into your mouth.” I ignore the middle finger he holds up and continue. “Because Papa Elf isn’t the problem. It’s the extended family and my source says they’ve suddenly discovered how fond of young Boden they are in the past week.”

Even tipsy, Freddie is smart. He sighs and repeats what he’d said yesterday. “Since the banns were published.”

I nod.

“Poor kid. Why do families have to be so damned meddlesome?”

There’s not a lot I can say, that won’t end in a fight, so I just sip my drink and watch him. He hiccups. Presses the back of his hand to his mouth and stares into the steam.

“You know,” he says finally, “maybe taking Sgaile isn’t such a bad idea.”

“Because?”

Freddie gives me a look that suggests he thinks I’m the stupidest creature to have ever graced the earth. He could be right - after all, I let him go. I wait for him to keep talking.

“According to Simon, he is always on the side of the underdog, and Boden is definitely the underdog here. He’s also grumpy as all hell -the Caster I mean, not Boden - I interrupted something when I went over and I thought he was going to boil my blood or something until Simon put him in his place.” He holds his glass out but isn’t paying attention, so I only fill it halfway. “I don’t think it would be too difficult to get him to distract the family while we talk to Boden’s mother.”

“Okay, but how do you know he won’t transform them all into snails or mushrooms or something?”

“Would that be so bad?” He rolls his eyes at my raised eyebrow. “Fine. Simon can handle him. He threatened to cage him yesterday if he didn’t behave, and I’m pretty sure he meant the cock variety. If Simon tells him to behave, he’ll behave.”

Huh. The little Light Elf is a Power Bottom. Who would have guessed it?

“Okay, so I’ll sic the Caster on the family, and you talk to Mom. That could actually work.”

A slow, sweet, slightly drunk smile spreads over Freddie’s face. It makes my heart ache with loss and longing. I was such a fool. Am such a fool. Which is probably why instead of simply discussing flowers which I swear had been my plan when I got here, I say, “I left him, you know.”

CHAPTER NINE

Frederick

In an instant I’m sober. Sort of. Left him? What? When? More importantly, why? Not that I’m going to ask that; I have some self-respect.

“When? Why?”

Definitely lacking both sobriety and self-respect.

Val pours himself another drink. Gods, have we drunk nearly two bottles of champagne? Without food? No wonder my head is spinning.

“Well, we never really did hit it off. He refused to give up his… others. I refused to consider children. We’ve had separate rooms for the past five years and I just haven’t done anything about it until now.”

I try to make my brain cooperate and tell me what that means, but the ability to think clearly also seems to have abandoned me.

“Now?”

“I moved out about six weeks ago.”

“Six weeks ago? Wow, you have had a busy month.” I shrug as if I don’t care anymore. I do, but I’m not going to admit that.

His laughter has an edge to it. “And you’ve had enough to drink.”

“Pffft.”

Still laughing, Val slides around the bench we’re both seated on until he’s by my side.

He takes my glass from me and for one heart-stopping, breath-stealing moment everything else ceases to exist. There’s no wedding to organize, no grumpy Caster to manage, no hot tub, no balcony. Just us. Me and Val. My Val. The Val I’ve loved since the day I first met him.

Then his lips are on mine and reality slams back into with such force I gasp against his mouth. I need to stop this right now. Need to push him away. Get out of the tub and get clothes on, send him home, eat something and go to bed. Or do some work. Or watch a movie.

Absolutely anything but what I’m pretty sure I’m about to do.

I wish I could blame the alcohol for the way I open my mouth to him. The way I shiver when his tongue licks over mine. The low moan I make when he pulls me close. It’s not the alcohol though, it’s him. It’s always been him. It always will be. I know I should stop this right now. It can only end in tears - my tears - but damn it, I want this even if it’s a stupid idea.

A really stupid idea.

Without breaking the kiss, without thinking, I straddle him. Drape my arms over his shoulders and tell myself I’ll worry about it tomorrow. Maybe.

Val’s hands settle on my hips. I jerk forward with a quiet grunt and our cocks touch beneath the water. We’re both hard. He lets go of me and tweaks my left nipple. Sensations zings through me, lighting up every nerve like a switchboard.

I break the kiss. “I don’t know if we sh -”

Val stops my words by nipping my lower lip. “No, we probably shouldn’t.”

“I’ve had too much to drink.”

“Yeah, you have.”

“Shut up.” I kiss him again, sucking his tongue into my mouth. Head spinning once more, as much from arousal as from the bubbles, I reach between us and stroke his erection. Val groans and scrapes his fingernail over my nipple. My head tips back when I gasp, and his lips close around the nub of flesh.

“Oh Gods.”

I wrap my hand around both of us and give a gentle squeeze.

“Fuck,” Val breathes against my skin. He always did like a little dirty talk.

I slide my hand up, stroking us together with slow, languorous movements. It’s been a while since I was with anyone and Val’s right, I’m a little drunk. Maybe more than a little. This won’t take long. Especially if he keeps doing that to my nipples. As if reading my mind, he stops sucking and nips at first one and then the other. It doesn’t help.

Frantic with need, I rub against him. Water splashes out of the tub. Over the table and the truffles. On to the floor and the towels. Droplets hit the window and leave long streaks in the condensation as they drip down the pane.

Val moves his mouth to the dip in my throat, then to my shoulder. Nipping. Kissing. Licking at my skin. Finally, he finds his way back to my mouth and plunges his tongue in, matching the rhythm of my hand.

I can’t hold back the whine that leaves me as my balls tighten and lift and I feel him dig his fingers into the flesh of my ass. His cock pulses against mine and that’s all it takes for me to lose what’s left of my control.

Val drops his head to my shoulder. “Fuck.” His voice sounds shaky - broken - and it cuts through the orgasmic euphoria that clouds my mind.

I push myself back as the realization of what we’ve just done hits me. This time I really am sober or close enough to that it counts. What the hell was I thinking?

No longer caring that he can see me, I get out of the hot tub and pick up one of the towels. Without turning around, I hit the switch to the hot tub, silencing the pump.

“You can see yourself out,” I call over my shoulder as I make my way down the hallway.

I slam the door behind me and lock it. Trembling, I lean against it, eyes shut.

There’s a soft knock on the other side.

“Freddie?” He tries the door handle. “Sorry, Frederick? Please let me in. We need to talk. I need to tell you something.”

I’m silent, unmoving until at last I hear him walk away and the outer door click shut.

CHAPTER TEN

Valentino

So help me, if I survive the next week, I swear I am never getting involved with another Holder wedding as long as I live. In fact, I may give up wedding planning entirely, the way things are going.

Frederick has refused to take my calls. I briefly considered simply going to Hamish and Simon’s place as we’d planned but had decided against it. Giving him some breathing space had always been the best way of dealing with Freddie’s bad moods and I can’t imagine that has changed.

After leaving several messages, I’d called Simon and asked him to let Freddie know that I’d been unable to make it because I needed to go over details with Boden. If Simon had suspected anything, there was no sign in his voice.

Returning to my desk with my sandwich and a glass of milk, I study the screen. The Task app is open, and one glance makes me wonder if I should swap the milk for something stronger.

Call Mother is the first thing on the list and the last thing I want to do. I’m going to have to tell her. I doubt that Tybalt is going to stay quiet much longer now that everyone knows I’m working on the Grand Holder’s wedding. With Freddie.

When I had told Tybalt I was leaving, the pompous pond gnat had given me a startled look and asked me how I saw that working out.

“No fucking idea,” I’d replied. Then I’d informed him that he could keep the house, the joint investment account, and the property we’d bought in the south of Italy. I would take my Mercedes and the apartment in Grove Central. I’d gone on to say that I had no interest in pursuing him for any financial recompense, and I expected him to do the same. His surprise had given way to boredom. Tybalt is easily and frequently bored - especially by me. If it’s no secret that I married him to please my mother it’s no secret that he married me for my Mother’s connections and status, so yeah, I’m sure he’ll be eager to have Mother intervene on his behalf now.

“And, Val, old buddy, old pal,” I say as I tap her name on my phone, “it’s your own stupid fault.”

I nibble at the corner of my sandwich and read through the rest of the list while I wait for her to pick up.

Flower orders. Cape and suit fittings. A basket to hang on the collar of that monstrous dog of Boden’s so he can carry the rings.

To my surprise, it’s my father who answers.

“Hello, Val.” His voice, gentle and calm as ever, warms me just as it has done since I was young.

“Is Mother okay?” I can’t remember the last time she didn’t answer a call from me herself. Is she sick?

“Are you?” he counters.

Okay, so not sick. She knows.

“I’m fine.” I drop my sandwich and pinch the bridge of my nose to stop a rush of tears. I am many things tonight, but fine is not one of them. “How angry is she?”

“Not so much angry as confused and a little hurt that she didn’t hear it from you. You’ve had ample opportunity to tell her.”

Guilt kills my appetite and I push the plate with the sandwich away. “I know. I just didn’t know what to say to her. Tybalt was her choice after all, and I knew she wasn’t going to be happy about it -”

“Of course she’s not happy about it. You’re her son; she wants what’s best for you.”

“Oh, so being married to someone I don’t love is what’s best for me?”

“You chose to marry the simpering little twit.”

I snort; he never was too fond of Tybalt. “Like she gave me a choice.”

“Valentino.” Uh-oh. I know that quiet tone. It’s his ‘I’m about to explain something you won’t like,’ tone that he uses when he’s mediating. I hear him take a breath before he continues. “You had a choice. Your mother never forced you to do anything. Might I remind you that her parents thought I was inappropriate and threatened to cut her off if she went through with our marriage? She married me anyway.”

“And yet, she was the one who kept pushing Tybalt on me. And telling me to keep Freddie on the side.”

“I take it you suggested that to Freddie?”

I don’t understand what he’s talking about. Actually, that’s not true, I do understand. I mumble that yes; I had made Freddie that offer.

“And he turned you down. Said that it was all or nothing, right?”

That was exactly what he’d said.

“You made your choice.”

That stings. I’d loved Freddie - I am starting to think I still do. I open my mouth to tell him my secret. The thing I’ve never told anyone. Not Tybalt, not my mother, certainly not Freddie. Hell, I barely admit it to myself.

“You know, I don’t see how this makes me the bad guy. They were both making me choose, so someone was going to be pissed no matter what I did. I would have thought she would understand that.”

The silence stretches for so long that I wonder if we’ve been disconnected.

“Dad?”

“Your mother never offered to set me up as her lover. She simply told her family that she loved me and was marrying me and if they didn’t like it, that was tough shit.”

Shocked into silence, I gape at my phone in disbelief and he takes advantage of my inability to speak. “Did your mother forget all her determinations to not meddle? Yes. Did she go a little overboard at times? Probably. Did you ever actually give any indication that you were going to choose Freddie regardless of what she said or did? No. So, son of my heart, yes, you are indeed responsible for a big chunk of the mess you are in. Perhaps not all of it - I could have intervened I suppose, I could have encouraged you to follow your heart and encouraged your mother to back off, but the final choice was always yours.”

“What am I going to do?” I ask miserably.

“You’re not exactly a lost cause, Val.” The lilt in his voice tells me he’s smiling, and I’m oddly irritated by it. “You’re spoiled but you’re hardly a troll and I know if you apply yourself, you’ll be a pretty good guy. I’m sure you can figure this out if you try.”

“Wow. Thanks.”  My voice is flat and dry. I’m definitely switching to vodka when this call ends.

He laughs. “Time to grow up, kiddo. Take your mother’s call in the morning and say hello to Freddie for me.”

With that he hangs up and I’m left staring at my now cold grilled cheese sandwich and wondering if I’m being totally honest about last night.

I’d told myself - and Freddie - that I’d called in to go over the details for the wedding. That sex had been the last thing on my mind. The champagne and the chocolate had been a peace offering, not a seduction tool. That I just wanted to be friends.

All day I’ve been blaming everything that happened last night on the hot water, the cold champagne, and my complete inability to use brain cells when Freddie is naked. Okay, I’d kissed him first, but he’d straddled me.

“Oh, hell Aldgredge, try being honest with yourself at least,” I snarl to the empty room.

I love Freddie Keller, and I’ve probably just lost him forever.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Frederick

Rorik hands me a glass of scotch and takes his seat. On one side of the large living room, nursing champagne, are Leif and Otto. In the middle of the room stands Hamish Sgaile, one hand holding a glass of gin and the other scratching Bubble’s ears. At his feet kneels Milton Jaffers, pinning the hems of a pair of black trousers. The tailor takes a silver pin from the ones clamped between his teeth and sticks it in the fabric. Turns his sparkling eyes up at me, one eyebrow raised. I nod - yes that’s a good length.

Jaffers has a face like a baked apple - golden brown and wrinkled - and his white hair sticks out in every direction. I’m not entirely sure, but I think he’s at least one hundred.

One hundred or not, he’s nimble and bright eyed. Dressed in a bright blue suit with an electric pink shirt and lime green suspenders, he makes me wish I had sunglasses; next to him, even Leif Amias’ trademark white seems dowdy.

He finishes pinning the hem and taps Hamish’s ankle. Without any obvious embarrassment, Hamish takes the pants off and pulls his jeans on.

“Holder Hare.” Jaffers has a surprisingly rich tenor for someone so small and old.

Pascal, stretched out on the floor balancing his glass on his flat stomach, is using Button, Boden’s over-sized dog, as a headrest. What is it with Holders or their significant others giving pets' ridiculous names? Button, Bubbles. What’s wrong with Spot and Fluffy?

“Master Jaffers,” Pascal trills, without missing a beat. “Are you ready for me?”

His tone is rich with innuendo, mischief glints in his eyes.

“I believe, Holder Hare, that I am more than capable of handling whatever you have to offer.” He holds a pair of black pants out toward Pascal.

Both Rorik and Hamish snigger, and even Leif smiles as I roll my eyes. Honestly, for beings who are in charge of some of the most important magic in the world, these Holders are awfully immature. It’s a wonder we’re all still here.

I take an absent sip of my scotch and check my notes. Rorik’s cape is red, Pascal’s is a deep rich purple, Leif’s is white - because of course it is - and Hamish isn’t a Holder anymore so doesn’t need one.

As if I’d spoken out loud, Rorik picks up a plate of petits fours and offers them to Hamish.

“Did you bring your cloak?”

Hamish looks startled. “No. I’m not a Holder anymore. I don’t have a cape; I gave it to Simon.” Frowning, he scratches Bubbles at the base of her tail. A loud, rumbling purr fills the room. “Why?”

“You were a Holder, so you’re entitled to wear a cloak still.” Rorik studies him. “Don’t tell me you’re shy or something?”

The headache that has been lurking behind my temples gives a massive thump. Yesterday’s hangover seems to have doubled down and I’m about one hour from calling a Healer and demanding they do something before I go mad. Pressing my fingertips to the spot just above my eyes that seems to help the pain, I look up from my tablet.

“Not having one, in my opinion. Because Simon will have a cloak, but the rest of Boden’s party won’t, it makes sense for your party to be the opposite. Or near enough.”

My mind is on too many other things to think about Lars, Otto, and Beltin or how they’ll dress for the wedding, right now. Like having a final fitting in Rorik’s living room instead of in the tailor’s boutique. I guess when you’re Grand Holder, you can do what you like, but there’s dog hair everywhere!

Aside from that, I have spent the past day and a half telling myself that I will under no circumstances think about that jumped up, pond possessing, swamp swilling, marsh dweller of a Nymph. That telling myself is in fact doing exactly what I’ve said I won’t do, is not lost on me either. A sneaking suspicion that if he turned up right now, I’d fall straight into his arms doesn’t help my mood at all.

Clearly, I am a lost cause and have no self-respect. He hasn’t even called me since leaving three messages yesterday morning to say he wasn’t going to South End with us. Not that I want him to. I just want the satisfaction of ignoring him if he does call.

“Where does he get off just sailing back into my life like nothing happened?” I check my phone to see if I’ve had a response from the florist about the availability of the tulips. Still nothing. Nothing from the swamp dweller either. Which is just fine. “He dumps me because I’m not good enough to marry and I didn’t want to be his lump of sugar on the side but then he thinks he can just walk back in, throw chocolates, champagne, and a hand-job in the hot tub at me, then not call me, and that makes everything okay. He has the ego of a -”

“Frederick?” Leif’s voice, high and flute-like, cuts through my daze.

Everyone is staring at me. Rorik and Hamish seem as puzzled as Leif sounds. Jaffers, still on his knees, looks like an escapee from some horror movie; his mouth hangs open with the pins still stuck to his bottom lip. A lascivious smirk hovers on Pascal’s face.

“Is there a… problem, Frederick?” Rorik asks, his tone thoughtful.

Oh Gods, did I just say all that out loud? Did I just tell them I had sex in the hot tub two nights ago?

“No! No problem. I’m so sorry. I… um… I got distracted.” I glance at Rorik who is watching me with a thoughtful expression. “It won’t happen again.”

“Oh darling, don’t say that.” Pascal pouts but his eyes glimmer with mischief. “We’re dying to hear details of Wedding Planners in the Hot Tub.”

“Do you ever just… not?” Hamish grumbles at Pascal. “Leave him alone. If he doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t want to talk.”

Leif leans over and pats my hand. “Come on, you can tell us. Better out than in and all that.”

“That’s what he said.” Pascal adds.

Rorik rounds on him, eyes blazing. “For once in your life will you please just shut the fuck up?” He turns his gaze back to me. “He doesn’t mean to be a dick; he just can’t help it. Now what’s happening?”

Being hit by lightning sounds like a fabulous idea right now. Come on, powers that be, just zap me out of my misery. Of course, not even the universe is going to save me today.

“Everything is fine. I’m fine. It’s all fine.”

“Okay ignoring the fact that you’ve just said fine three times in a row which probably means it’s anything but and that you  told me this wouldn’t be a problem, let me see if I have everything clear.” Rorik picks up a slice of quiche and nibbles the end. “You and Aldredge had a thing and a business. Aldredge left you for someone more appropriate in his family’s eyes, leaving you broken hearted. Small One and I come along and accidentally throw you back together again, which results in champagne and some fairly vanilla sex in the hot tub some time in the not too distant past.”

My cheeks burn. “In a nutshell, yes.”

“I really hate to agree with Pascal, but I’m not seeing the problem here.” He scratches at the stubble on his chin and I remember I need to confirm with the barber that he’ll be here on time on the fifth. “Did he force you?”

I shake my head. “No. He might be an asshole, but he’d never do that.”

“Was it a bad hand-job,” Pascal asks. Hamish makes a disapproving sound in his throat. “What? They happen. A bad hand job is worse than no hand job at all. A bad hand jo -”

“It was perfectly fine,” I bark. “No complaints there.”

“You didn’t want a hand-job? Did you want something else?” Otto asks.

I shake my head again. “No. I had no expectations of anything at all.”

“So it was a nice surprise?” Two bright pink spots show on Leif’s cheekbones. Oh Gods, can we move on from the hand-job? “What else happened?”

“Not a damned th-” My words trail off. That’s not exactly true, is it?

“What happened, Freddie?” Leif asks, and I get the distinct feeling he’s figured it out.

“I… that is he… it doesn’t mean anything.” Everyone seems to be paying attention now. Even Button. “He told me he left his husband.”

A hush falls over the group.

“What did you say?” Leif asks, still watching me.

“I… didn’t say anything.”

Leif waits.

“I got out of the tub, went to my room, and locked the door.” I study my fingernails. “Val went home.”

“You didn’t speak? At all?”

“Well…”

Leif fixes me with a knowing stare - I’ve been caught out.

“I told him he could see himself out.”

At once Otto is on his feet, hand against his chest like some damsel in distress clutching her bosom. “Oh, that poor, poor thing. He ended his marriage, he’s probably still in love with you, and you snubbed him after you’d had your satisfaction. Have you no heart?”

“Otto, sit down and shut up, will you?” Rorik rolls his eyes. “Aldredge is the one who married someone else. Just because he’s changed his mind, doesn’t let him off the hook.”

“No, it doesn’t but,” Hamish interrupts, “he’s probably scared too. He doesn’t want to cause more pain so he’s going to take his cues from Frederick, who slammed the door in his face. I don’t think any of us should be surprised that he hasn’t called.” He looks at Leif. “I take it they’re not bonded or anything like that?”

Leif shakes his head.

“Exactly. Exactly what Hamish said.” Otto, still standing, underlines his agreement by pointing at Hamish. “And he knows what he’s talking about. That’s what happened with him and Simon. Why, Beltin was saying just the other night when we were getting ready for bed that…” His voice trails off, color draining from his face, as he sits back down. “When we were… um… that is….”

“Oh darling, this is delicious. You and Lars and Beltin?” Pascal’s eyes are ablaze with delight at this obviously unexpected tidbit of information. “You would clean up on OnlyFans, you know?”

Rorik rubs his eyes and gives an exasperated groan that I completely sympathize with. Does nobody in this group have any idea what the word discretion means?

Judging by the look of shocked disbelief on his face, Hamish has been as unaware of the situation as everybody else.

“You and Lars and Beltin? My fucking Beltin?” Hamish drains his glass in a single gulp and holds it out to Rorik, who fills it to nearly halfway before doing the same with his own glass. “And he’s talking about me when you’re… you’re…” He gulps down another mouthful of alcohol. “I am not fucking pillow talk material.”

Rorik, without looking, holds a hand up in Pascal’s direction, but for once it seems to be unnecessary. He glares at his brother and for the first time I see him not just as a Holder but as the Grand Holder. This isn’t an ordinary Elf charged with making children smile. This is a being filled with a charismatic power that coupled with his size fills the room. I understand why Pascal has never challenged him for Grand Holder. Pascal might well be, as everyone says, the better Holder - could possibly even be a better leader - but he’s never going to be able to mesmerize a group with his sheer presence. My respect for both Pascal and Rorik increases ten-fold. Maybe there is more to the two of them than I had thought.

“Otto,” Rorik’s low, rough growl is far sexier than it should be, especially right now, “might I suggest you call your husband and tell him that Hamish knows your secret. Hamish, I know my brother might be a little over the top at times, but you can trust both him and Lars. Beltin is quite safe.”

“He’d better fucking be,” Hamish mutters, his eyes still dark and dangerous.

“He is, so tempting though the idea is, please don’t transform him.” Rorik looks at me, sighs, and turns to Pascal. “How do you feel about making tonight my bachelor party?”

Confused, I brace myself for shrieks of ‘oh darling are you insane?’ but instead Pascal gives him a conspiratorial wink and smiles. “Spur of the moment’s my speciality, don’t you know? Are you happy for me to have a little chat to Astrid or would it be safer coming from you?”

“Oh, she’ll definitely kill me. You, she has a soft spot for, especially since you have Special Day in less than four days now. Let me just call Small One and make sure he doesn’t barge in.” He starts tapping his phone screen, then looks up at me. “As for you, take that damned tie off, pour yourself a decent glass of something and relax for a minute. Then we can help you fix this mess.”

Relax? He wants me to relax? I suspect I’m about to be the subject of some very close scrutiny and he wants me to relax? Besides, why should I fix this mess? I didn’t make it. Rorik ignores my protests and makes his call.

There’s nothing more for me to do but obey.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Valentino

“I think you should put the phone down and concentrate before you trip over that basket. Again.” Michel takes Boden’s phone from him and holds out a mug of coffee.

“But I have…”

“Sit. Drink.” Michel turns to Andy who is currently buttoning a shirt I can already see is the wrong size. “Is there somewhere you can get work calls diverted to? Neither of you is available until after the wedding.”

“What?” Boden leaps back up. “No! I need to -”

“You need to sit down and drink your chocolat chaud while Valentino and I find a shirt that actually fits Andy.”

“I’ve already set a forwarding service up. He’s probably talking to Rorik.” Andy studies his reflection. “You’re right. This shirt is too big.”

“Yes, I know. And I am certain that Valentino also knows. Take it off.”

I’m starting to understand why Michel’s relationship with Pascal works. He’s entirely indulgent while at the same time having that ‘do as you’re told’ Daddy thing going on. Even I find it hot, and I really do not get off on someone else being in control.

“Are you sure about that?” a voice in my head whispers. I ignore it; if I want to be reminded of how little control of my life I have taken over the past few years, I’ll call my father.

Mother had finally called as I was having breakfast this morning. As these things tend to be, the conversation had been awkward and made more so when she had asked in a hesitant voice, “Is this because of Freddie?”

“No, Mother,” I’d lied. “It’s because of me needing to not be married to someone who barely likes me, let alone loves me.”

“Oh Val, Tybalt adores you.”

“No. Tybalt adores being connected to the Libell-Aldredge clan. And don’t fuss because I don’t especially like him either.”

“Val, it’s so sad. Such a waste when two beings throw away what they have.”

“Mother, it would be a bigger waste to throw away our lives on something we don’t really have. Now, I’m afraid I have to go. We’re doing the final fittings today before Pascal Hare’s Special Day.”

I’d hung up, grabbed my things, and raced here to Jaffers & Marchand, Tailors to meet everyone. Jaffers is fitting Freddie’s party; Albert Marchand is taking care of my boys.

Right now, the problem is trying to find vests that match the Holder capes. Originally, we were going to go with cummerbunds - but Pascal apparently has the maturity of a twelve-year-old and can’t be trusted to not make an inappropriate comment at the reception. Or to resist the temptation to do something that will make said garment literal.

Vests it is.

Boden has a plain black suit with a crisp white shirt and luxurious red vest and bowtie. Rorik is going to present him with a cape in Holder colors on the wedding day. It won’t have the insignias, but it will still send a clear message about Boden’s status. Michel will need purple to go with Pascal.

Andy however is going to be a problem. Leif’s formal wear, like most of his wardrobe apparently, is white. As celebrant that’s not a problem, but giving Andy a white vest and bowtie looks weird, unless we make his shirt black. That just looks… bizarre.

“What about blue?” Andy asks.

“Blue?” I lift one eyebrow. “I think you’d look great in a soft blue, but we’ll still have the same problem. You won’t match your Holder and you’ll both end up looking out of place.”

“Not if I get him to wear a blue butterfly on his lapel. And blue eyeshadow.”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” I admit. “Does he have one? A blue butterfly I mean?”

Andy grins. “He has about a dozen. Let’s find a vest and bowtie, and if he hasn’t got the exact shade, I’ll buy him a new one. What’s one more butterfly pin, right?”

That obviously makes sense to Boden and Andy because they both laugh.

I shrug and begin sorting through the shirts Albert has brought out for something that will fit Andy better. My heart’s not in it though. I want so desperately to call Freddie, but he made it clear the other night - and with his silence since - that he doesn’t want to talk to me.

It’s not like I can even be mad at him. I know I got myself in this situation and I really don’t deserve a second chance, but couldn’t we at least be on speaking terms? ‘Friends’ seems almost as unlikely as us getting together again, so I’ll take civility if I have to.

“Is everything okay, Valentino?” Michel tilts his head to one side and looks at me like I’m a new type of chocolate he’s encountering for the first time. His accent just adds to his sexiness.

“What do you mean?” I run my fingers through my hair and make a mental note to get a trim before the wedding. Freddie will look perfect. Buttons, hems, hair - everything will be exactly as it should be. I don’t want to let him down in any way; I’ve disappointed him enough already.

The wedding will be good publicity for both of us, but Freddie is aligned with Rorik the Red. If we pull this off, he’ll be booked out for years just so Otherkin can say they had the same planner as the Grand Holder. Don’t get me wrong, I won’t exactly suffer either, but it’s Freddie who will have the main spotlight and I have to admit that that is exactly how it should be.

He’s a better planner than me.

He’s a better everything than me

Michel clicks his fingers in front of my face, and I realize they’re all watching me. Waiting. Andy, Simon, Lars, Beltin, Michel.

“Where did you go?” His tone is not unkind, but I flinch anyway. “You are not yourself today.”

“Just a brain blip,” I tell him. “Nothing to worry about.”

Apparently, I’m a terrible liar because all five of them continue to regard me with disbelief.

“Why don’t you tell us what is going on?” Michel turns to Marchand with a smile. “Monsieur Marchand, could we possibly trouble you to send one of your employees to get some champagne. Charge it to me, bien sur.”

“Champagne? We don’t have time for champagne.” I’m beginning to think Holders and their partners do little more than drink all day long.

“Nonsense. Of course we do.” Lars takes my elbow and steers toward a chair. “Now, talk. Why the pity party for one?”

A comforting warmth fills me, and I don’t think it’s entirely from Simon giving me a push. Some of it is just feeling like someone is on my side. That might be a little melodramatic, but I feel like I’ve earned at least the right to be melodramatic after the past few days.

Marchand returns from ordering the champagne and while we wait for it to arrive, I tell them most of it. That Freddie and I had been a couple, had started a business together, and that I had left him to marry Tybalt because my mother expected it. In the mirror I see Beltin watching me closely.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m just wondering, Sir, if your choice was about expectation or perhaps… it was more convenient.”  He holds his arm out for Marchand to adjust the sleeve.

“Convenient?” This comes from Andy. He’s frowning as though he’s trying to put the pieces of an exceptionally difficult puzzle together.

“Sometimes,” Beltin continues still watching me in the mirror, “when we are scared or unsure of something, telling ourselves that we are simply complying with someone else’s plans, makes it easier.”

“Easier to what?” Andy asks.

“Avoid responsibility.” Beltin, unaware of course that he’s echoing my father’s words, waits for Marchand to adjust the waistcoat he’s just slipped on. He, Lars, and Otto will all be in plain black suits with matching black waistcoats since they aren’t part of a Holder relationship. That, of course, is the official reason; I have a sneaking suspicion those three are a lot closer than anyone realizes.

“Or,” Simon leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, “did you think you were just doing the best thing for everyone without finding out if in fact it was the best thing.”

Before I can answer, the champagne arrives, and I busy myself pouring it. Even Marchand accepts a glass. When I sit back down, Simon has moved to sit next to me. He raises his glass and that feeling of warmth creeps over me again.

“Valentino,” he says, “why don’t you fill us in on what you’ve done recently to Frederick that is giving you brain-blips?”

***

Boden ends his phone call and turns around. I don’t know what’s going on, but Lars has also just had a call from Otto and is as pale as Leif Amias’ hair when he speaks to Beltin. In fact, Beltin is the only one of the three to not look bothered by whatever the news from the other bridal party is.

“It seems that they’ve decided to hold Rorik’s bachelor party tonight. At Poinsettia Place.” Boden adjusts his glasses. Freddie’s description of him - Porn Nerd - was accurate. “Rorik suggests that we hold mine tonight too. Lars, is that okay?”

Lars whips his head around at the sound of his name. “Huh? What?”

“Tonight.” Boden smiles “Bachelor party at the Inn. That work?”

“Oh.” Lars frowns, then shrugs. “I don’t see why not. I’ll just call Agnes and let them know.”

“Why the change in plans?” Andy asks.

“Let’s just say there are blips in both camps.”

Now it’s my turn to frown. Blips? Oh Gods - what has Freddie said? Knowing Freddie, probably nothing too much. Right? Then again… he’s with a Caster and a Cupid… who knows what they’ve got out of him.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it. I can finish up h-”

“Nope, you’re coming with us.” Boden slaps me on the shoulder. “Yeah, I really think we need to talk about what you did.” He smirks at Lars once more. “And I believe you have your own news.”

Lars, still waiting for Agnes to answer, rubs his forehead and mutters something about killing his husband.

What the hell is going on over there?”

Answering this however seems to be a low priority and within minutes we are all on our way to the Laughing Troll. Lars, Beltin, and Simon lead the way. Flanked by Andy, Boden, and Michel, I’m still in the dark as what the news might be that Lars and Beltin are going to be sharing. Or what Freddie has said. Repeated attempts to find out have been met with silence and half smiles and in the case of Boden a muttered “brain blip” as he shook his head.

Ahead of us I can see the inn. The window boxes are filled with brightly colored tulips.

“If the florist can’t deliver, we can raid the Inn’s window boxes.”

“Huh?” Boden looks as though I’ve just spoken in a different language.

I shake my head - never mind. Champagne, no food, and the crisp, cold air have obviously gone to my head.

Michel holds the door and we all file past him. In the far corner where we had met less than two weeks ago, the chairs are surrounded by balloons. A bright banner with the words Boden’s Bachelor Boom is suspended over a large overstuffed armchair. On the table to one side are bottles of champagne and flutes of sparkling crystal. A loud cheer rises from the patrons and scattered applause breaks out.

Boden’s mouth drops open as he stares around the room. His cheeks are scarlet and his eyes glimmer from more than the just the overhead lights.

“Andy’s done most of it - and there would have been more if it hadn’t been for -” Lars is interrupted by Beltin.

“Never mind that. Now that people know, it’s not important. Boden is important.”

Now that people know what exactly?

“This is amazing,” Beltin says.

Andy ducks his head, but not before I see his pleased smile. “Had to do it properly, Boss. Kind of a big deal, getting married.”

“Yeah but you didn’t have to do -”

“I did.” Andy’s no longer laughing, but his tone and expression are warm. “If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have met Leif and I know he’s a crazy little nut but he’s my crazy little nut and that’s because of you. So go take a seat and let us get you drunk.”

“Wait. What? No!”

Simon and Andy ignore him and take one arm each to pull him into the armchair. Michel places his fingertips on my back to press me forward.

“Look, I should go. Usually I don’t attend the bachelor parties and this is a small group. I really nee -”

“What you really need to do is sit down and have a glass of champagne.” Simon hands me a glass and if he thinks I don’t know what else he gives me the little imp, he’s wrong. Those little blasts of warmth are quite disconcerting.

I do as I’m bid though. Crossing my legs, I let my head drop back against the back of my chair. Someone pushes a glass into my hands. I’m not sure I need any more champagne but since the alternative is go home and work while feeling sorry for myself, I really don’t think too hard about it.

Watching them tease Boden, the thing that stands out the most is that despite being such an odd, unruly, mismatched bunch, the affection they all have for each other - not just their partners but every member of the group - is sincere and unmistakable. The missing members, conspicuous by their absence, are no different. Hell, I think deep down even Pascal and Hamish like each other. Or at least they would if they could stop bickering about Simon for five minutes. Freddie was saying that… sadness threatens to overwhelm me at the thought of him.

“Valentino, why are you looking so sad? This is a party.” Michel’s French accent cuts through my melancholy like a blade.

I give him a weak smile and hope he’ll leave me alone. Instead, he simply gives me an odd look as Boden leans forward.

“Brain blips.” His cheeks are redder than usual, his blue eyes behind the nerdy glasses, bright and excited. “You were going to tell us about your brain blips.”

“It’s your bachelor party, not a Dear Abbie convention.” I raise my glass, meaning to toast him.

“Boden’s right,” Simon’s fingers are light against the back of my hand, “we were going to talk about what you did to Freddie.”

I hang my head. Michel clears his throat.

“Whatever it was, I am quite sure it wasn’t as bad as you seem to think. Alors, why not just tell us?”

Fine. Since they want to know, I’ll tell them.

“I left him eight years ago because I was a coward and fucked up.”

A hush falls over the group. Champagne glasses are held midair but unsipped. All eyes are on me.

I tell them everything. All of it. Even the thing I’ve never told anyone else.

When I’m done, I brace myself for their reproaches.

“So,” Andy says, “let’s recap. You and Freddie had a thing, you split up because you were trying to keep your Mom happy, you haven’t seen each other for eight years, the other night you had a…” he glances around, “a moment in the tub and now you’re not speaking to each other?”

“Don’t forget he’s left his husband,” Lars reminds him.

“That’s about it.”

Simon, up until now quiet, looks at Michel and then at me. “Would you like me to push him? Or I could ask Ham-”

“No!” Startled, I cry the word out louder than I meant to. “No. I wouldn’t do that to him. I would rather not have him than have him through some sort of enchantment.”

“What about Leif?” Andy asks. “Couldn’t he do the thing with the arrows? Since it only works on what already exists, it’s not really enchantment, is it?”

Nifty as the loophole is, I still wouldn’t feel right about it.

“Besides, I don’t think he wants me anymore.” Saying the words out loud hurts more than I thought it would. I love him so much it aches and the idea that I’ve waited too long steals the air from the room.

“If he didn’t care,” Beltin says quietly, “he wouldn’t have acted like that after your, what did you call it Andy? A moment? After the moment in the tub.”

“He told me to see myself out!”

“Because he doesn’t trust himself to stay away from you any more than he trusts you to not hurt him.” Simon’s tone suggests he might have first-hand experience.

“If you are serious,” Beltin says quietly, “and you are prepared to find your courage, then you will have to show him what you failed to show him before.”

“Which is?”

“That you are worth the effort.”

“But I -”

“Valentino!” Boden has been silently watching the exchange, but now he leans forward to fill up my glass. “Prove to him that you mean what you say. Grow the fudge up!”

I stare at him. I wish it was that simple.

“Now if that’s sorted, can we get back to celebrating. I’m marrying the Grand Holder in um four days and it’s freaking me the fudge out!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Frederick

“This is supposed to be your bash… your batch…” Damn it! What was in those cocktails Pascal made? My tongue feels thick and I can’t connect the words in my head to those coming out of my mouth. “Your job isn’t to fish… I mean fix me. Or my broplems… no that’s not right… my broplems… no that’s what I said before… whatever it is you’re not meant to fish them.” I sip my drink. “Fix not fish.”

Pascal and Leif both giggle; Leif plucks the glass from my hand and puts it down.

I peer at the pair of Senior Cupids I can see. When did the second one get here? Why won’t it stop moving. “Is it true that you runned Andy over? Ran, I mean. Him over. Would it not have been easier to just ask him out?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Rorik chuckles. “But no Leif here is almost as bad as you when it comes to complications.”

I don’t know what that means, and I say as much.

“It means you need to eat something.” Leif hands me a plate of delicious looking little … things. There are meat things and cheese things and things wrapped in pastry and little puddles of stuff to dunk the things in.

“Can I ask you something?” Sitting in a lotus position on the floor, Bubbles in his lap, Hamish tugs his hair free of the braid it’s currently in. Re-braids it with quick, deft movements. “Do you still want him?”

I help myself to one of the pastries, dunk it in a puddle of fragrant sauce, and pop it in my mouth. Chicken and cranberry flavors explode on my tongue and I take another - this time only partly to avoid answering the question.

“You do know,” Hamish says mildly, “I could just hit you with an honesty cast, don’t you?”

He wouldn’t dare! Would he? Deciding he just might, I give as much consideration to the question as my inebriated state will allow while at the same time trying to ignore the fact that the most important names in the Grove are currently staring at me over the tops of their glasses.

“Yes.” It’s the first time I’ve ever admitted out loud, let alone to another being. “I still want him.”

“It’s simple then.” Rorik beams at Leif and waves his hand in the air. The oversized Elf’s eyes have a glaze to them that suggests I’m not the only one who will be nursing a sore head tomorrow. “Wave the arrow over the two of them and we can all move on.”

Leif coughs. “It doesn’t quite work like that, Rorik.”

“Darling, he knows that.” Pascal taps my knee with his foot. He’s still resting against Button. “He just means do whatever you need to do to -”

“No.” I stand and immediately regret it. The room spins and swirls around me. Oh, I don’t like that. The two tiny pastries I’ve just eaten tumble around in my stomach. When they settle, I try again. “No enchantments. No magic. I refused to cheat last time. I won’t cheat now.”

“It’s not really cheating, though,” Otto says.

“Yes, it is. I don’t want to be someone’s piece on the side, and I don’t want to be someone’s enchantment.” I look around for my coat. “Grand Holder Eskildsen, thank you for allowing me to be a part of your bachelor party, but I really must call for a ride home. We need to get as much finished as possible in the next twenty-four hours before Pascal embarks upon Special Day.”

“Don’t be silly, darling.” Pascal waves his hand in my direction. “Michel and his team have everything already under control. It’s going to be the most organized and well delivered Special Day in the history of Special Days.”

“Wow,” Rorik mutters, “ego much?”

I don’t have the energy or the inclination to listen to them bicker.

“I shall call you tomorrow.” I nod at Rorik.

“Are you s-” Rorik begins but is interrupted by Hamish.

“Freddie is quite right. He needs to think, and we need to prepare for the next few days.” He gives me a brief, lopsided smile and in that moment, I see what made Simon fall for him. “I’ve called you an Uber. I’ll come and wait with you.”

As the door closes, I hear Pascal tell Rorik he knows something fun they can watch when Hamish returns. This may not be the most conventional wedding I’ve ever planned, but it’s by far the most interesting. I’m so engrossed in this idea that I walk into Hamish’s back. An annoyed chirp comes from Bubbles, who glares at me from her spot on his shoulder.

“Sorry.”

The cold air slices through the alcoholic haze making me shiver. My head aches already. Gods I’m a fool; by now I should know better than to try drinking with Holders.

“You know,” Hamish says without looking at me, “if you really do still care about him, it might pay to show him that. I mean if you want another shot at a relationship.”

“I don’t think you were listening earlier. I told him how I felt about him. I told him that I didn’t want to be kept on the side. What more am I supposed to do?”

Hamish lounges against the door jamb, arms folded. Bubbles flicks her tail back and forth across his chest.

“Yes, you keep saying that you told him how you felt. And you expected him to do everything. Walk out on his wedding, possibly give up his family - all because you told him you loved him. Did you ever do anything to show him you loved him?”

“Like what?” My tone is petulant, but I don’t care. I feel petulant, damn him. I’m not the bad guy here. Am I?

“Like offer to go with him to talk to his family. Like turn up at the wedding and ask him to not go through with it.”

No, I didn’t and Hamish damned well knows it.

“Come to think of it,” he continues, “have you done anything to show you want him now. Apart from a drunken jerk off in the hot tub? Have you even hinted to him that you might still have feelings?”

Hinted? I haven’t even taken his calls since the other night. Where the hell is that Uber?

“No.” I admit. Headlights splash across the road of the cul- de- sac.

“Well,” Hamish pushes off from his spot against the door, “take it from someone who is much, much better at fucking up than you are. If you keep not doing any-fucking-thing to show him how you feel, you will lose him. Trust me when I tell you that life is a lot fucking better with them than without them.”

Does he think the word fuck is a comma or something? He throws them around like punctuation.

“What did you do? To not lose him I mean”

He considers me for a moment and then as the Uber turns into the driveway replies. “Let’s just say, I transformed myself from a massive asshole into a slightly smaller one. You’re not that big of an asshole, Freddie. Job should be much easier for you.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“Go home and finish getting this circus ready. Something tells me, you’ll figure out what to do.” He leans in the door and gives the driver directions, then straightens and slams it.

When I turn to look, he’s already gone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Valentino

I’m halfway through my second cup of coffee when my alarm goes off, the sound loud enough in the empty apartment to make me jump. The email app on my tablet is open - or to be correct, an email from Michel sent at only an hour ago to both Freddie and me is open. It says simply, “Lapinou has landed - we will see you at eleven.”

It’s already six so that means that by eleven Pascal will have had at least five hours sleep - and I suspect it will be more like three or four - after having returned from delivery. Michel probably won’t have had too much more. Thank the Gods for magic and concealer is all I can say.

Freddie is at least speaking to me now, but I almost wish he wasn’t. The day after the bachelor parties he’d called me and said in clipped, cool tones that if we can just keep things together for three more days we would be able to go our separate ways. I’m not going to lie - that had stung. Still stings.

Despite everything Boden and the others had said the other night, it’s not like I had really thought we could get back together. I had hoped, however, that we might be friends; I would accept acquaintances. Freddie seems to have no inclination that way.

“Once the day is over, that will be that,” he’d said.

I’d agreed - what was there to disagree over? - and any concern or confusion I thought I saw in Freddie’s eyes was most likely wishful thinking on my part.

My mother calls every day but her gushing gossip about who is with whom and who has betrayed whom and what the latest fashion has stopped. Now she asks how I am. Have I heard from Freddie? Would I like to come for supper on Sunday? I’m both relieved and saddened and feel more than a little guilty for making her feel bad. All these years this has been what I’ve been avoiding. If she’d been pissed and we’d argued, it would have been easier to take, I think.

On my desk is an unopened letter. A heavy cream envelope bearing only my name in Tybalt’s elegant handwriting. I have no desire to see what it says; whatever he wants, he can have. I won’t fight with him.

I rinse my cup and go to the bedroom. Drying my still damp hair, I study my reflection. Pascal and Michel might not be the only ones in need of a little touch up today. Blow dryer in one hand, I hunt through the drawer of the vanity unit for a stick of concealer. It’s going to be doing overtime today.

Concealer. Foundation. Neutral eyeshadow. Just enough eyeliner. Apricot flavored lip-gloss that used to be Freddie’s favorite.

Finally, I dress in the new black woolen suit I’d ordered two weeks ago. As always, thanks to Albert Marchand, the fit is perfect. Silk tie of blues and greens that seem to swirl and twist together against the blinding white of my shirt, also silk. Gold watch chain. Black boots polished to perfection. Single white tulip in the lapel of my jacket.

For once, looking in the mirror, instead of seeing sexy, near perfect grooming, I just see fatigue.

Instead of success, I see loneliness.

My phone dings, snapping me out of my melancholy. I pick it up and read the text message.

Boden’s mother is on her way. I’m heading to the square. Don’t be late. F

No Freddie. Not even Frederick. Just F. Clearly, he wasn’t kidding about that being that. This time tomorrow it will be over. Again. We’ll be apart. Again. My heart will break. Again.

And it will be my own stupid fault.

Again.

***

Comms piece snuggly fitted, tablet in hand, I survey the room. Andy was right about choosing a blue vest and tie - the pastel shade suits him. Lars looks uncomfortable in his suit and keeps tugging at the hem of the vest as if he expects it to roll up like a window blind at any moment. From time to time, Beltin places his hand over Lars’s, gives a little shake of his head and Lars stops. Within minutes he starts again. Michel will turn heads when he appears. He carries his black suit with the elegance of a seasoned runway model. When he and Pascal pair up later at the reception, they are going to be a striking couple.

Standing at the large bay window of the hotel are Simon and Boden. Simon’s cloak, a shimmering flame gold, swirls around him and it’s clear he’s enjoying his first public appearance as Holder of the Spark. His smile seems to grow with every second - and with it so does the mood in the room. I’m not sure if he’s pushing light or if it’s simply impossible to not be touched by his excitement.

My gaze settles on Boden. For the last ten minutes he’s been watching the square below fill, pale but calm. His suit is a simple, classic cut and if it wasn’t for the cloak of ruby velvet, caught at the throat by a gold chain, he would look like he was going to an office job somewhere.

Earlier he’d paced the room in endless circles, each time walking into the coffee table. He’d rub his shin and mutter a string of bizarre expletives involving fudge and Christmas cakes and the slightly disconcerting ‘sweet sugar donuts with sprinkles and cream’. A that point, Michel had taken him by the shoulders and walked him to the window.

“Stay there, mon ‘tit. If we deliver you to Rorik covered in bruises, he will have us all exiled.”

“Fudge, that’s a lot of people,” he mutters.

The temperature goes up a notch and that one I know is Simon. I cross the room and pat Boden on the back.

“It will be fine, Boden. They’ll be staying there, remember. They won’t be in the hall.”

“I know.” He sighs. “What if they don’t like that I don’t have magic?”

“They don’t care,” Simon says with a kind smile. “They don’t care that I’m not born to my role, they won’t care that you’re not magic.”

“Yeah,” Andy agrees. “I’m Human and nobody cares about me and Leif, so they’re not going to worry about you, Boss, because you’re Otherkin.”

“You are adored by Rorik,” Michel offers. “That is all anyone cares about.”

Arm in arm, Lars and Beltin join us. That’s the first time I’ve seen any open display between them and feel a touch of sadness that Otto isn’t with them. Lars smirks. “Bet you’re glad I gave him your number now, aren’t you?”

“You told him not to touch me,” Boden protests.

“And he ignored me.” Lars leans forward. “You’re welcome.”

I have no clue what all of that is about, and a glance at my watch tells me that now is not the time to ask. Boden’s right about the crowd; it’s huge. They’re pressing against the barriers, looking up and down for glimpses of the grooms. I’ve planned a couple of celebrity Human weddings and this reminds me of those. All we need is a sobbing fan to throw themselves on the ground and we’ll make front page.

“Valentino, are you there?” Freddie’s voice, tinny and distant, fills my earpiece.

“I’m here.” I ignore the pointed look I’m getting from Michel as I wait for Freddie to continue.

“Boden’s mother has arrived, and Millicent is bringing her up now.”

“Okay, I’ll meet them at the door.”

Boden still unaware his mother is joining us continues to look out the window, but the others are all in on the secret. Seeming to have all guessed what I’m talking about, they watch me with unconcealed delight.

Down the hall, I see the lights over the elevator door begin to turn over. When it stops, an Elf with bright red ringlets steps out. Dressed in a simple emerald green shift and high heels, russet curls tumbling over her shoulders, she has the confident stride of the Guardians. Her face lights up when she sees me, but she steps aside to reveal her charge.

Lisette Anvers, like her son, is small and slim. Her hair is silver-gray and as they approach, I see it is caught in a simple twist at the nape of her neck. Eyes, the same bright shade of blue as her son’s, glitter behind small gold framed spectacles. The suit she wears is made of expensive burgundy linen with matching pumps and I know without having to ask that Freddie will have arranged for her to have them. Probably paid for them too.

“Madame.” I bow a little - she is after all the mother-in-law to be of the Grand Holder. “I am Valentino Aldredge, and I am very honored to make your acquaintance.”

She covers her mouth with a gloved hand that mutes her giggle. Pink colors her cheeks. Obviously, Boden got his blushing from her as well.

“This is all so kind of everyone,” she says. “I can’t thank you enough, you and Mister Keller and Grand Holder Eskildsen and -”

“Would you like to see your son?” I ask gently, cutting off her thanks. We have some time yet, but I’d rather she spent it with Boden than standing in the hall talking to someone of no importance.

She takes my offered arm, and with Millicent trailing behind, we rejoin the others.

His back to the room, Boden is still rambling about the size of the crowd. Andy nudges him and he turns.

Whatever else happens today - even if Freddie tells me to never speak to him ever again - it’s worth it for the look on the young Elf’s face.

“Mom? What are you doing here? How did you get here?” He rushes over to throw his arms around her, cloak billowing behind him like a scarlet cloud.

Millicent clears her throat and in a low voice says, “Grand Holder Eskildsen charged me with wishing you a happy wedding day,” she hesitates before continuing, “er… small one.”

The group erupts in laughter and I join them. After a moment, I drift away and send Freddie a quick text to tell him that all is going to plan. I could talk directly to him via the comms piece, but I’d rather not. It’s too intimate and I feel too raw to cope with it for now.

“So, Valentino, have you decided what you are going to do about your little blips?” Michel has a very quiet step for one so big.

“Not really.” I’ve had several ideas but have rejected them all one after the other.

“You’re not considering running away, are you?”

That had been my first idea. And my third. And my fifth. It’s the one I keep coming back to.

“It’s what I should do.”

Michel looks surprised. “Should do? Why?”

“Because Freddie would be better off if I did. All I ever seem to do where he’s concerned is fuck up and hurt him. I should just leave The Grove and let him get on with life.”

He studies me, frowning. “But you’re not going to.”

“No. I’m done running. I’ll stay, unless Freddie wants me to leave.”

“Unless Freddie wants you to leave.” Michel leans closer. “And you, Monsieur Aldredge, what do you want?”

I straighten my shoulders and look him in the eye. “What I want doesn’t matter. I had my chance — twice - and I blew it. I don’t deserve someone like Freddie.”

Michel shuts his eyes and heaves a sigh. Shakes his head. “I would not be so sure of that.” He looks back over his shoulder at Boden and his mother. “You have helped make young Boden very happy indeed. That was a kind thing you have done - all of you.” His penetrating gaze returns to me. “But I think, as they say, it is time to get this show on the road, yes?”

I look at my watch. Oh Gods, how did we lose nearly fifteen minutes? I clap my hands and silence fills the room.

“Boden. Let’s get you married!”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Frederick

To my surprise, my entire group is calm today. In fact, Leif is so calm I’m in half a mind to ask someone if he’s been drugged. Even Pascal, currently pouring champagne, is behaving. Of course, in his case it might be because he’s exhausted, but I’ll take the wins where I can.

This has been the longest twelve days of my life. I cannot believe we’ve actually done it without anything going wrong. Hot tub hand jobs, not withstanding.

My phone buzzes.

Mother and son reunited. Waterworks and hugs all round. Down in ten. V

I stare at the words, heart aching.

It’s all very well for Hamish to spout about knowing what to do and things being better with them than without. He wasn’t the one who was left last time; left to pick up the pieces of his life. I am in no hurry to go through all of that again.

I accept the glass that Pascal offers me.

Hamish’s words keep echoing in my mind about how I’ve not done anything to show Val how I feel. Is it possible I made him think I didn’t care? I’d told him I wasn’t interested in being the consolation prize and that if I couldn’t have him completely, I wouldn’t have him at all. I’d felt justified then, and I feel justified now. Val was the one who had driven away that day. Not me. It was Val who had got married.

What was I supposed to do? Go bursting into some wedding and scream that he was marrying the wrong guy? Romantic as that notion may be, life doesn’t work that way. I was quite humiliated enough without adding to it. I’d done what any self-respecting being would do - I’d packed my bags, fled to my brother’s in the South of Italy, and wallowed in self-pity for a month. Maybe two. Who’s counting? When I’d finally returned to the Grove, Val was married and living with his husband in some big fancy mansion. Life went on - and it will go on again - just as soon as these two are married.

Pascal sidles up to me and raises his glass. His floor length purple cloak has to be enchanted I decide. It seems to move with him, fitting itself to his every gesture. Despite being heavy brocade, rather than hiding the Holder it accentuates everything about him. Definitely enchanted.

“How are things with you, Freddie, my love?”

Things? With me? What things?

“Made any decisions about certain nymphs?” He leers at me from behind his glass.

“There are no decisions to be made,” I snap. “Decisions were already made years ago.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Things are not always what they seem, you know.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I like Pascal, I do, but I am really not in the mood for him today.

“Far be it from me to agree with bunnykins here,” Hamish says in my ear, making me jump, “but… he has a point. Don’t take things at face value, sometimes you need to dig a little deeper.”

Face value? Dig? It’s the alcohol; it’s the only explanation. How in the hell do they survive with all the drinking they do? Once today is over, I’m not touching alcohol for a month - a vow that would have served me well a few nights ago!

Gods, why can’t I let go of that? Why is Val the first thing I think of when I open my eyes and the last thing I think of when I go to bed? The way he’d kissed me - it was as if we’d never been apart. It had felt right.

It had felt like coming home.

I sigh and try to think of some subject that will distract the two of them, but Otto beats me to it by clapping his hands and demanding silence.

“It’s getting close to party time, so I would just like to say a few words.” His serious tone catches us all by surprise. Rorik cocks an eyebrow, clearly nervous about what might be coming. “I am sure I was not the only one surprised to see my brother succumb to the charms of young Boden. Rorik has always been more love and leave than wander around making puppy eyes every time a twink takes a breath.”

“I don’t make puppy eyes,” Rorik grumbles.

“Oh darling,” Pascal chortles, “you do. You so do. It’s adorable.”

“Fuck off, Hare.” Rorik turns to his brother. “Get on with it.”

“However, I for one love seeing how happy Boden makes you. I am very honored to be a part of today’s celebration, and I wish you a long and happy life with your Small One.” He shoots a sly glance at the rest of us. “Tho’ I’m inclined to think that perhaps he’s not that small, and that’s why you are besotted.”

“Hey!” Rorik glares at Otto. “I’ll make Hamish transform you into a poodle if you keep that up.”

Not looking sorry in the least, Otto smiles and sits down.

“Why a poodle?” Hamish asks. He stands out from the others in his plain black suit with a gold vest and tie. His long hair is in a simple braid and on his shoulder, as always, sits Bubbles. I’d managed to make her a collar to match his vest, and she looks as though she’s wearing a ring of fire around her neck.

“Fussy little things that yap a lot,” Rorik says dryly. “Wouldn’t be much of a change but at least we’d be able to muzzle him.”

Pascal laughs and gulps down the last of his champagne and checks his reflection in the mirror.

“Well, I hate to break up the party,” he says, “but I think we need to go.”

Oh Gods! Yes, we need to be in the hall before Boden comes down and they’ll be coming down - I check the time on my phone - in about two minutes.

“Forget sipping,” I tap Leif’s hand, “gulp. Gulp!”

I tap the comms piece and when the light goes green, tell Val we are taking our places.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Valentino

By the time we get to the square, the crowd has doubled in size and the noise is deafening. Cameras flash and microphones are pushed in front of Boden as we make our way across the cobblestones.

“Is this your mother, Boden?”

“You’re wearing a cloak? Is it symbolic or is Grand Holder Eskildsen conferring duties?”

“Where’s the rest of your family, Boden?”

“Is it true you have no magic?”

Before I can step in, Michel breaks from behind Boden and approaches the reporter. I can’t catch what he says, but all the blood rushes from the reporter’s face., Hhe nods, and doesn’t repeat his question. When he takes his place again, I fall into step alongside.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” Without breaking stride or looking in any direction but straight ahead, he continues. “Have you decided what you are going to do?”

Since the last time he asked that question, ten minutes ago? “Not yet.”

Simon appears on my left and elbows me in the ribs. “You know, you should talk to Freddie. You might be surprised.”

I narrow my eyes. What is this? Some sort of Holder intervention. Freddie has made himself clear on the subject of the two of us. Very clear.

Michel repeats his earlier words, but he’s looking at Simon, not me. “I would not be so sure of that.”

I open my mouth to ask what he’s talking about but am interrupted by a volley of loud barks. Looking between Beltin and Lars, I see Button at the doorway to the hall and smile.

I had left very clear instructions with Astrid about how to decorate the walking carpet’s collar and coat and she has followed them beautifully. The enormous Bernese has two white tulip buds tucked into the back of his collar. Under his throat, in the style of the famous Saint Bernard barrels, is a red velvet sack designed to look exactly like the Santa Sack. In it, I know, are the rings.

The crowd cheers at the sight of Button. He rewards them by wagging his tail and standing on his hind legs.

“Sit.” I hear Boden say. Button obeys at once, large pink tongue hanging from his mouth and a small puddle of drool forming on the ground beneath it.

Both Boden and Hamish have assured us that Button and Bubbles will be fine together, but all the same I’m nervous. We’ve actually got this far without anything going wrong, so I’m picking that the chances of having a massive dog lumbering down the aisle in pursuit of a Caster’s familiar are pretty high. High enough for cold sweat to trickle down my back.

The comms piece buzzes, then Freddie’s voice in my ear tells me everyone is ready.

I break from the group and hurry down to Boden and his mother.

“This is it.” I pat his arm. “Ready?”

“Ready.” He grins, but it does little to hide the nervousness in his eyes. “Here’s hoping I don’t trip over my stupid fudging feet.”

“You won’t,” his mother says.

“Who cares if you do?” I add, feeling a little sorry for him. This is a big day for anyone but Boden’s marrying Rorik the Red in front of almost the entire Grove; I’d be more surprised if he wasn’t overwhelmed. “The world won’t end.”

We make our way through the foyer. Enamel buckets, with Rorik’s insignia stamped on them and containing bunches of red and white tulips, line the aisle. At the other end, waiting hands clasped in front of him, is Leif, resplendent in full regalia. His suit and cloak are a blinding white; at his throat is a large, glossy, blue enamel butterfly. A ribbon of the exact same shade is woven into the intricate braids of silver hair.

To his left stands Rorik.

So much for Freddie’s desire to make Rorik look less like a porn star. That is one big Elf - wow. His suit is as black as night, yet when he moves, the light sends little beams of red and blue bouncing around the walls. His cloak, the same red as Boden’s, is full length and the back is covered with the massive gold insignia of his role. Beneath it is his family crest.

Next to him, Pascal, Hamish, and Otto all wait. Cloaks, vests, ties - everything works together; it’s going to make one hell of a photograph later.

Upon seeing Rorik, Button barks again and pulls at his lead. For a second I think Boden’s fear is going to be realized, but he tightens his grip on the leash and Button calms.

I let my group pull away from me and take my place to the side of the door, aware of Freddie’s presence but too scared to look at him for fear of doing something that will embarrass us both.

“You look very nice,” he says in a hushed voice.

“So do you.” I keep my eyes on the procession. Rorik looks like he might cry - Gods, wouldn’t that make the press happy?

“You haven’t even looked at me, how would you know?”

It’s not like Freddie to fish for compliments. I grin and refuse to turn, even though I very much want to.

“I don’t need to look,” I tell him. “You always look good. Frederick.”

Lisette takes a seat and Leif clears his throat.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Frederick

Val looks incredible.

Sophisticated and sure of himself. I can accept that I am good-looking, but I will never have that extra something that Val has. It wouldn’t matter if he was dragging himself out of a battle with the thing from the bottom of the Northern Lake, he’d look like this.

Damned nymph.

A hush settles over the guests as Rorik and Boden take their places in front of Leif. They make a stunning couple and looking around the hall I can’t help but be proud. Twelve days to pull off a Grand Holder’s wedding and we’ve done it.

“We didn’t do too badly, did we?” Val echoes my thoughts.

“All things considered, no we didn’t.”

“Greetings and blessings to all - I bid you welcome to the Grand Hall of Edelweiss Grove, this fifth day of April.” Leif’s voice, clear and crisp fills the chamber and when I turn to Val, I can see he’s as surprised as I am. “Today we shall celebrate the joining in soul and in heart of Grand Holder Rorik Eskildsen and the one who holds him in thrall, Boden Anvers. These beings shall be joined within the tradition of the Protocols. It has been affirmed that the joining is permitted within the lines of Legacy and such shall be noted as such within our Legacies. Does anyone here have reason to contest this affirmation?”

“Who the fuck would have thought he had that in him?” Val whispers. I can hear laughter in his voice and elbow him in the ribs. “He must be a spitfire in bed.”

“Val!” Gods, the last thing I need is to burst into laughter in the middle of this or worse yet be imagining the Senior Cupid having sex.

“Ha! You do remember.”

Someone in the row in front of us turns and holds a finger to their lips. I nod and hiss at Val to shut up.

With no contest from the crowd - thank the Gods for small mercies - Leif continues. I can afford to relax a bit. There’s nothing for me to do, unless someone faints or Boden’s dog chases Hamish’s cat.

Beside me, Val shuffles his feet. He does that, I remember, when he's nervous. I look at him, worried he’s spotted something we’ve missed. Our gazes meet.

His expression is so serious. So… sad.

I frown, about to ask what's going on when I he opens his mouth.

"I'm sorry." The words are so quiet I would have missed them had I not been looking at him.

“Sorry?” What on earth is apologizing for? The crack about Leif? Sure, it was a little over the top, but I’ve heard worse. Hell, Leif has probably heard worse for that matter. “For?”

He turns and leans against the wall, hands in his pockets. He shrugs and seems so dejected, a lump forms in my throat.

“Everything?” He sweeps the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. “For being a coward. For hurting you. Asking you to be my lover when I should have asked you to be my husband.”

I don’t know what to say to that. All the things I want to say, that I’ve wanted to say for the past eight years, churn inside me but this isn’t the place or the time.

“Yes. Well. What’s done is done.” I look away. If I don’t look at him, I’ll be able to retain some control of the rising tide of emotions.

“Freddie, I -”

“Do you know what hurt the most that day?” I keep my voice lowered, aware I’m trembling with the effort to not turn and yell the words in his face. “It wasn’t the offer. It wasn’t even that you chose Tybalt. It’s that it was so easy for you.”

“Easy for me? Frederick, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Then I do spin on my heel to face him. “Hardest thing you’ve ever done?” I growl. “You just walked away. And that was it. You left.”

Val’s mouth works, but nothing comes out. He takes a breath, seems to reconsider, and shuts his eyes. Opens them again.

“I came back for you.”

For a minute it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room and I’m going to suffocate. I gape at him, unable to form words.

“The next morning.” His expression is so open, so unguarded, I know he’s telling the truth. “I left letters for my parents and for Tybalt, grabbed my honeymoon bag and came back.”

Sweat trickles down my back; I feel it soak into my shirt. I know what he’s going to say next and want to cover my ears with hands.

“You were gone.”

“I went to Italy to see Marcus and his family.” Who cares? It was eight years ago. “What did you do?”

Really, Freddie? Really? You know what he did. He married someone else.

Val nods. “I went home to face the proverbial music. Only when I got there, everyone was still just waking, and nobody had found my letters. I burned them and acted like nothing had happened.” He offers me a weak smile. “I’d made my bed and now there was no other choice but to lie in it. You were gone.”

“You came back?” If I had just waited one more day. Hell, even just a few more hours. “You came back for me?”

“Yes.” Tears fill his eyes. “But it was clear you’d made your decision.”

“And you gave up?” I want to be mad at him. I want to throw myself on the ground and scream like Marcus’ son Luca when he’s not allowed a new toy. Val looks bewildered.

“What did you want me to do, Freddie? Follow you to Italy? I got your message loud and clear, I saw no reason to humiliate myself any further.”

“My message? What message is it you think you got?” I can’t get past the idea that if I had just waited a few more hours, the past eight years would have been quite different.

“You didn’t love me anymore.” He touches my arm. “It’s okay, I get it. It was my fault, not yours. I broke what we had.”

“Didn’t love you? That’s what you think? That I went to Italy because I didn’t love you?”

Val looks around, eyes wide with panic. “Fre-”

“Didn’t love you?” Even I can hear the edge of hysteria in my voice. “Of course, I loved you. I still fucking love you, damn it.”

Why is everybody looking at us? Guests. Guardians. Ushers. The entire wedding party - most of whom look like this is the funniest thing they’ve seen in years. I play back the last few moments in my head and groan. Yelling. Oh Gods, I’m yelling.

“I… that is… uh…” I stutter, looking around in a panic.

Rorik pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath.

“Mister Keller, have you finished declaring your love for Mister Aldredge?” he asks.

“I… uh…”

“Because if you have, do you think I might be allowed to get married now?”

“Yes,” I manage to squeak.

“Yes, you love him or yes, I can get married?” Rorik asks.

There is no way I can get myself out of this now. Pascal and Simon high five each other, and I’m pretty sure I do not want to know what that means.

“Both,” Val chirps, sounding far too pleased with himself.

I’m going to leave town.

Forget Italy and my brothers.

I’m going to the most southern part of New Zealand. Surely news of my utter humiliation won’t reach that far.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Valentino

I should be listening to Rorik and Boden giving their vows. I should be checking the photographers are set up. That the drivers are ready for the departure. I should be doing any and all of these things but instead I’m staring at Freddie and doing my best to not throw my arms around him.

He loves me.

He loves me.

After all I did to him, he fucking loves me. What? That’s what he said. Pascal would get it.

Freddie, being Freddie, is ignoring me. He’s staring straight ahead, mouth set in a line, unblinking. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’d been enchanted, but Freddie is the king of freeze out.

Biting my lip to ensure I don’t blurt out the million things racing through my head at the moment, I’m amused to see that Freddie isn’t quite as unmoved as he’s making out to be. Crimson creeps up his cheeks as I watch him until he’s so red I wonder if I should find him a chair.

“Will you stop me staring at me?” He still refuses to look at me, the words mumbled from the side of his mouth.

“Nope.”

Why would I stop? I’ve spent eight long years wishing I could see his face, thinking I’d lost him forever. Now, I’m getting a second chance. Right?

“Valentino, knock it off.”

Okay, I’d hoped we were back at Val and Freddie but maybe not yet. Baby steps.

The chamber falls silent again, and at the front Leif steps forward, taking Rorik and Boden’s hands. “Under the Protocols entrusted to me, I present you with your Grand Holder Rorik Eskildsen and his consort and spouse Boden Anvers-Eskildsen.”

I am still having trouble accepting that the clear, confident speaking Holder is the same neurotic, squeaky little Leif I have come to know. How does that even work?

For now, though, Freddie and I need to get the newlyweds to the photography locale and then back for the reception.

We wait for the procession to leave the Hall, then spring into action. Freddie goes to the left, calling directions and orders to helpers. What would be pandemonium in any other wedding takes place without problem. Freddie’s magic is based in order and logic, but most of the time he doesn’t need to even call on it - he just is ordered and logical.

I move to the right and with a deft movement take Button’s lead from Boden’s hand. Simon catches my eye and grins as he gives me a double thumbs up.

“Nicely done, mon ami.” Michel’s eyes sparkle. “You must be happy, yes?”

As much as I want to say yes, I force myself to be realistic. “It’s not a done deal yet, Michel. He won’t even look at me.”

Michel claps me on the shoulder, uncaring of the crowd pressing against us. “Val, the stage has been set for you. Now all you need is a little courage. Things that are worth having, are worth fighting for, non?”

The stage has been set for me? Why do I get the feeling that there’s been some meddling happening?

I don’t have time to pursue the issue though because Freddie is hustling people into cars, sweeping up cloaks with a flourish so they don’t get caught in doors, and rapping on the roof that the driver is “good to go”.

Within minutes the cavalcade is headed toward the photo locale while I, with Button in tow, make my way to Poinsettia Place to ensure everything is ready for the reception. Technically I should be with the photography team and Freddie overseeing the reception but not only does Button refuse to take commands from him, but Astrid has threatened him with a ladle twice already. Mister Organized made the mistake of suggesting to her that her method for recipe filing was illogical and that pairing Beef Wellington with champagne was just wrong. I wonder if he’s suggested that last piece of heresy to Pascal or Leif both of whom I am fairly sure, clean their teeth with the stuff.

As expected, Astrid has everything under control. She offers me a plate of petits fours and a cup of heavily laced coffee before shooing me off to wait for the others in the main foyer. I’ve been to Poinsettia Place a couple of times over the past couple of weeks but always in Rorik and Boden’s private quarters. This part of the mansion is much grander and far more formal. Garlands are pinned around the oak-paneled walls and bunches of bright tulips decorate every surface. There’s enough room to hold a ball in here but the area opens into two rooms. One small one with a desk on one wall and a small sofa against another and a much larger one that must be an actual ball room.

The ball room has also been decorated. Just inside the door is an easel with a seating chart. A long table at one end and a sea of round tables, each with seating for six. An area to one side appears to be a dance floor. Seeing it now it occurs to me that the topic of dancing never came up. Can the Holder of the Sleigh dance? Can Boden?

Deciding that dancing can be someone else’s problem for now I return to the foyer and finish my pastries and coffee. I’m brushing crumbs from my slacks when the door flies open, and Freddie enters. Behind him come a wave of guests, then the varying Holders and their partners. Finally, Rorik and Boden appear, arm in arm. They’ve removed their cloaks and stand a moment hand in hand, gazing into each other’s eyes as everyone applauds.

I can’t believe we’ve pulled this off and look around for Freddie with a frown. On the other side of the room, he’s fussing with a bunch of tulips that seem to be a little droopy. I hurry over.

“Frederick, I -”

“These don’t have enough water.”

“They’re fine.”

“I beg your pardon? Do you know how hard it was to get these on such short notice? They most certainly are not fine.”

“Messieurs, Mesdames,” Michel’s voice silences the babble, “the grooms have asked me to tell you that we are now able to take our seats in the ball room. Please find your name on the seating chart and make your way to your table. Thank you.”

Little by little, the group moves toward the chart.

“Frederick, can -”

“Is Astrid’s team ready for this?”

“Yes, and I suggest you don’t let her hear you asking questions like that.”

“Right, what’s next? Has -”

Damned Elf is going to be the death of me. I grab his hand and drag him toward the second door.

“What are you doing?” he snaps. “I need to go and -”

I close the door behind us, shutting out the babble of the group. “What you need to do is stop fussing.”

“Fussing? What do you mean fussing? The job isn’t finished yet.”

“They’ll be fine for a few minutes. We need to talk.”

He pales and sags against the edge of the desk.

“All these years, I’ve hated you for what you did and now you tell me that I’m the one to blame?” He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, eyes cloudy with pain. “I don’t know what to say to you. How can you even look at me?”

Of all the things I had thought he might say, I’d never imagined that.

“I don’t blame you, Freddie. I never blamed you. I did this to us. If I hadn’t been such a… a… “

“Chickenshit?” he supplies with a wry smile.

“Yeah, a chickenshit. This wouldn’t have happened. I’m the one to blame.”

“Why didn’t you say something the other night?”

I frown. “The other night?”

“In the tub. When you said you’d left Tybalt. Why didn’t you tell me then?”

Oh. Yeah that might have been a good idea.

“That ones on you.”

“Me? How is it on me?”

“You distracted me. You know, with hands and kisses and orgasms.” Freddie looks like he’s getting ready to protest, so I grab his hands and pull him around so he’s standing between my legs. “And then you wouldn’t talk to me.”

Groaning, he presses his forehead to mine. “So, my fault again. Fuck.”

“Stop talking about fault. Let’s just agree we both fucked up and move on.”

He lifts his gaze to meet mine. Licks his lips and takes in a shuddery breath. “When you say move on -”

“Together. Move on together.”

“How? I mean, what do you want to do?”

My senses are on overload. I can smell his cologne. See the way his pupils are dilated. Hear the uncertain longing in his voice. Feel his solid body beneath my touch. I want to taste him.

“Kisses.”

“Kisses?” Freddie’s expression suggests I’ve lost my mind.

“Kisses,” I confirm. “Let’s start with kisses.”

I make my point by covering his mouth with my own. Slide my hand around his waist, slipping it under his jacket so there’s only his shirt between it and his skin. I tug at the silk until it comes free and I can feel warm skin. Freddie’s tongue meets mine. Someone moans. Me. Him. I don’t know and don’t care.

Lost in the kiss, I pull at his shirt again, impatient, and needy. With trembling fingers, I unbutton it and drag my fingers up over his belly and chest to his nipples.

Freddie presses me back onto the desk. I can feel the hard length of his cock against my own and buck against him. Sounds from the neighboring room fade; all I can focus on is Freddie’s ragged breathing. He fumbles with my belt buckle, dances his fingers down my belly and frees my cock from my briefs. Rubs his thumb over the head, making me moan.

He breaks the kiss and without warning, spins me around so I’m leaning forward on my hands, head hanging down. Panting, he shoves my pants down and then I feel him drop to his knees.

“I’m not…” Forming a sentence becomes impossible when he parts my cheeks and runs his tongue over my hole. “Fuck. I -”

“Will you, for once, just shut the fuck up?”

He drags his tongue over my taint and back up to my hole. I’m torn between giving myself over to the sensations and pulling away. I’m not prepped for sex; hell, I don’t even think I have a condom. Oh, and there’s the little matter of a wedding reception happening through the - oh fuck, that’s good.

On the point of begging him to do more than tease, I’m disappointed when he stands. He drapes himself over me but makes no effort to press into me.

“Damn it, Freddie, f -”

He nips the back of my neck and reaches around, curling his fingers around my length.

“Not this time,” he pants in my ear as he rubs against me.

Each movement drags his cock maddeningly over my hole; he matches the rhythm with his hand around my cock.

“I’m never letting you go again.” He thrusts against me and I can feel his pre-cum smearing on my lower back. “I’m never letting you out of my sight.”

Fine by me, as long as he lets me come. I don’t know what it is - if it’s the tension of the past weeks, the wonder that Freddie still loves me, the way I can feel the smooth head of his cock slide over my hole but not enter, or the soft sound of his palm on mine as he jerks me off - but I’m already close.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Noise from the ball room swells and ebbs, but I barely hear it.

Each thrust over my skin is accompanied by a small grunt of desperation. Gods, he feels amazing. What will it be like when we’re finally alone and he can finally fuck me properly? That thought is too much.

“Oh, Gods!” I slam my eyes shut as my orgasm explodes from me, striping the desk beneath me.

Freddie thrusts two more times then shudders with a groan and I feel his release on my ass, hot and thick.

Unable to help myself, I turn and pull him into my arms.

“If I promise I’ll never let anyone tell me how to live my life again, will you promise to not run away again?”

Instead of answering, he kisses me. When he pulls away, I make a small squeak of disappointment and he chuckles.

“I think we’d better get back to the party, don’t you?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Frederick

With my handkerchief I make short work of the mess on the desk and my hand, then turn Val around so I can clean him up. I decide it’s probably better he doesn’t know that most of it has already soaked into his shirt.

The Gods only know what we must smell like.

“You’re not going to put that in your pocket, are you?” His eyes glimmer with mischief at the idea, but to be honest, I don’t see any alternative. I can’t just leave it in here. He points to a small basket, obviously intended for wastepaper. I drop it in there for now and make a mental note to come back and dispose of it later.

“Ready?” Val asks.

No. Not at all. I nod - we can’t stay in here all day.

“They probably haven’t even noticed we’re missing,” he says as he pushes the door open.

Silence falls over the ballroom and once again everyone is looking at us. The sooner this day is over, the better.

“Then again,” he mutters, “maybe they did.”

From the wedding table, Rorik beckons us over. He’s discarded both his jacket and tie and looks more like a porn star than ever.

“Have you two worked things out?” he asks, eyes dancing.

Pascal sniggers and I hear Michel tell him, yet again, to hush.

“Frederick and I sti -”

“Frederick?” Hamish says, running one hand down Bubble’s sleek coat. “Sounded more like his name was Oh Gods.”

The only thing that stops me from exploding in a fit of horror is that Val has gone white with shock. Ha! Now he knows how it feels for me whenever he drops one of his stupid innuendos. I tap my finger under his chin, and he shuts his mouth with an audible snap.

“I’ve told him to just call me Freddie, but what can I say?”

Val turns wide eyes in my direction and tilts his head to one side. A slow, sweet smile surfaces.

“Really? I can call you Freddie again?”

“Like I can stop you.” Another thought occurs to me and frown at Pascal. “What were you high-fiving Simon for at the ceremony?”

The brat has the decency to look a little embarrassed. “Oh, you know… just happy to see you two kissing and making up.”

Uh huh - if he thinks I believe that and am going to let it go, he’s mistaken, but for now I’ll let him have it.

I survey the group. “It’s been an honor to plan your wedding Grand Holder but if any of you are feeling the urge to follow suit, I feel I need to point out that from now on both Val and I need at least a six-month warning.”

“At least,” Val echoes.

I turn to him with a smile and clink our glasses together.

“To love and all its magic.”

FIN

Thanks

I started writing Weddings & Wishes in 2020 with the intent of releasing it for Valentine’s Day. The idea was that poor Leif would have a meltdown and then surprise everyone. I didn’t count on falling ill, spending some time in hospital, and missing the deadline. At that point, I decided to make it an Easter story and have Pascal be the Holder who has a meltdown at the wedding date. This appeared to be working well until about the 20,000 word mark when Freddie, Val, and everyone else from the Grove just stopped talking. I had no clue where the story was going or what was happening. Easter came and went – and they were still sitting there. In silence. Around April 15 I began tinkering with very little success and finally threw what I had at Drea Roman and Penny Tsallos, begging them to tell me if the book worked or not. While I was waiting for them to reply, I had an idea and in a little under three days finished it. So… they’re a little delayed but they finally made it.

This is where I offer up my eternal thanks to the people who have helped me get this across the line:

-                      Drea Roman for beta reading – and refusing to let me just toss it out;

-                      Penny Tsallos who is incredibly patient and who, each time I changed the deadline, simply accepted it with a smile and who remains my dear friend despite multiple emails that begin with ‘so that deadline we set…’;

-                      May Dawney – there’s the cover design thing, yes, but there’s also the calm, quiet ‘mmmmhmmmm’ at the other end of What’s App when I, for the millionth time in a week, screamed about how much these were driving me insane;

-                      My family – in particular Josh and Samantha who, whilst preparing their own wedding, had to put up with my usual mid-project distractedness and then my editing grumpiness.

As always though, the most important thank you goes to you. The Holiday Storybooks started off as a way for me to unwind at the end of a stressful year and have grown into something more. I’m amazed by how many of you love the misfits that make up Edelweiss Grove and who accept their ridiculous antics with good humor and encouragement. Thank you for breathing the final spark of life into them.

ARJ

April 2021

About Angelique Jurd

Writer, researcher, acafan, Buddhist. Angelique is owned by four cats, three adult children, two temperamental computers, and a very patient boyfriend (not a partridge in a pear tree). She’s tattooed, pierced, pansexual, and proud. She’s probably too noisy but she doesn’t really care.

She likes cold champagne, hot coffee, neat whiskey, loud Springsteen, and the Winchester brothers kicking butt.

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Also by Angelique Jurd:

Jesse's Smile

Il sorriso di Jesse (Italian Edition)

The Mason Jar

Recovery

Daisy, Yellow

Belkin Lake

Joey

Holiday Storybook Novellas

Naughty & Nice

Blossoms & Bows

Truffles & Tramps

Hexes & Hugs

The San Capistrano Series

The Beach House

Tides of Love

Winds of Change

Stormy Seas

Scattered Shells

Haunted Seas – A Short Story

Safe Haven

Blazing Sands