10. Lurielle

Lurielle

"The hand tie is a classic look. Would you like to see some photos of the stephanotis? Each flower is wired, and we can pick them with rhinestones or pearls. It's a bit labor-intensive, but the effect is di vine. You can supplement with roses or orchids for a beautiful, high-end look. Unless you were thinking of something a bit greener?"

The florist peered over her half-moon glasses at Lurielle, who gulped. Was she looking for something greener? She had no idea. All Silva's binder had provided were more questions, and since delivering it to the break room, Lurielle had seen neither hide nor glossy chestnut hair of her younger coworker.

"Um —"

"Of course, you don't want to use too many greens." Another pointed look over the spectacles. "Some brides get it in their heads to use three different kinds of filler to save money on flowers, and it winds up looking a bit weedy. Telegraphs lack of budget."

There's that all important word again. "I-I really just wanted to get some ideas. Um, I was told that if I don't have anything specific in mind, I could give my budget and color ideas and —"

"Marnie, roses just came in. Twelve dozen, all colors. They need to get in water and they're not going to clean themselves."

Lurielle stood with her mouth still open, completely forgetting what she had been saying as another bustling goblin moved across the flower shop as if Lurielle were not standing there at all, throwing open the doors to the coolers.

"I want all of these baskets pushed up, let's move this entire second row. These things have been sitting here all week, lost on the bottom. Make sure you're pulling out anything that's already wilted."

The goblin she had been speaking to, evidently Marnie, seemed entirely disinterested in the suggested tasks. She cleared her throat pointedly, but the second goblin paid no mind.

"I thought you were going to be moving these lilies? You know the truck is coming in today with the planters, we need this space."

"I already started," Marnie said dryly, rolling her eyes. "But I wasn't in the middle of talking to a customer, or anything, right?"

When the other goblin spun, noticing Lurielle for the first time, Marnie gestured derisively. Instantly, the second goblin's demeanor changed. The manager, Lurielle thought to herself. No, the owner.

"Oh, wonderful, perfect! What can we help you with, dear? Interested in a basket, hmm?"

It took all of her willpower to keep from wrinkling her nose at the week-old offerings in the cooler. "I – I was just asking questions. I'm starting to plan my wedding, and —"

"Oh, a wedding consultation! Marvelous! Did we have you as an appointment today? I just need to make sure it's marked properly in the book. . ."

Lurielle floundered as the first goblin threw up her hands in frustration.

"It's not a consultation, Lou! We haven't even gotten that far! Why don't you go start cleaning your precious roses, since you're so concerned about them?"

She backed out of the store as the two goblins reared on each other, bickering, oblivious to her silent exit.

Lurielle breathed a sigh of relief once she was out on the sidewalk. This is why you don't wander down random alleys. She wasn't a particular fan of the city and didn't know her way around very well. Khash lived in a swanky high-rise on the waterfront and the immediate neighborhood around his apartment featured a bevy of similarly high-end boutiques and restaurants, including a florist whose elaborate displays of orchids and tropical flowers had already intimidated her out of entering one shop that day. That they'd managed it from the sidewalk was even more impressive.

Her hand had been reaching out for the door when she saw the sleek nymph inside, taking orders from a haughty-looking dryad. From the window, Lurielle could see a wall of white orchids and hydrangeas, architectural vases, and nothing at all that said I'm marrying the orc of my dreams. There was an actual tree growing up through the center of the building, blossoming from the roof in an eruption of branches bobbing with autumn-gold leaves, and from the opening, Lurielle could hear the dryad's strident tone, complaining about someone who'd just left. Just think what she'll say about you when you have no idea what you want.

Deciding their flawless presentation and window display were, like the rest of wedding planning, already a bit over her paygrade, she'd let her hand fall away. She had continued walking down the sidewalk, turning up an alley and down another, finding herself instead with the bickering goblins.

You're going to get lost. Just back to the main road and go back to the apartment. There was a luxurious-looking bridal salon just up the road from the Templeton, she thought perhaps she would stop in and peruse the dresses, force some ideas in her head instead of the strange inability to do anything that had gripped her the past several weeks. It was as if the more she knew she needed to start planning some sort of semblance of a wedding, the more inert she became, unable to force herself to do even the most minor, menial task involved. Go to the bridal salon. Look at some of the dresses, get some ideas. That's all. Totally painless.

When she'd reached the shop, its windows filled with frothy confections and sheer, bejeweled-front gowns. Lurielle paused again, her feet fighting her forward trajectory. Seriously? Are you going to be afraid to walk into every single store in the city? Just going to plan your whole wedding from the sidewalk? Swallowing hard, she pulled the door open, finding herself standing before a pristine white desk, manned by a tiny, prune-like woman with miniature iridescent wings.

The elderly pixie's name was Rosebud and she told Lurielle that her family had been in the bridal business for six generations. Rosebud seemed so pleased to share her history in the industry that it nearly broke Lurielle's heart to inform the tiny bewinged woman that she was, perhaps, the most unprepared patron who'd ever had the temerity to stroll through the shop's doors in the entirety of those six generations.

No, she did not have an appointment. No, she had not called ahead. No, there was no one else joining her that day. She had no idea what styles she was interested in, wasn't certain of her budget, didn't know her formal dress size, whatever that was, didn't have any ideas at all, actually.

Rosebud had pursed her tiny rosebud lips. "Don't really know much of anything, do you, dearie?"

Lurielle had given the woman her most winsome smile, which she knew wasn't all that winsome and likely resembled a grimace of pain.

Evidently, browsing was not a word in the wedding industrial complexes' limited vernacular. Budget. Upscale. Your big day. She listened to the same few phrases being repeated around her as the nymphs and pixies working in the shop flitted about, waiting on the two actual clients — both, presumably, having called ahead with booked appointments, plenty of ideas, and supportive family and friends there watching. Both of the women trying on dresses were elegant and beautiful, a human and one who appeared to be a selkie, and coupled with the staff, in their identical black pencil skirts and slim-cut blazers, Lurielle began to pre-emptively lecture herself against taking any of this to heart.

Rosebud returned to her desk after alerting one of the sales nymphs to Lurielle's apparent black hole of knowledge, leaving her standing in the salon, waiting. You're going to go in there and feel like a bull in a china shop. You should have at least brought Rourke. Then you wouldn't be alone. Lurielle reminded herself that she didn't need to be a size 2 to have value, that the width of her hips was not as important as the fullness of her heart, and that ultimately, she was marrying the most handsome orc in the entire world who would be happy if she came to the fire before him in a potato sack. Naked. He would be thrilled to get married naked.

There was an idea she'd not considered. They could get married at the resort, where their relationship had first begun. She wouldn't need to worry about not having a supportive circle around her as she tried on dresses, wouldn't need to worry about uplighting or an elaborate venue, not with the scenic backdrop of Greenbridge Glen stretched around them. She wouldn't need to worry about wearing anything at all, and although she would never be able to tell her coworkers about her nuptials, Lurielle wasn't seeing any immediate downside. In lieu of gifts, please bring your own towel to sit on.

She was shown to a fitting salon, a plush, jewel box-like environment swagged with curtains and surrounded in mirrors. "One of the dressers will be in to take your measurements," the young pixie told her, looking as if she ought to have still been in high school.

Lurielle opened her mouth to object. She didn't want her measurements taken. She didn't want to be stripped naked in front of strangers, didn't want to sit in this glorified fitting room and wait for unasked-for dresses to be brought to her. She didn't want to try on anything alone, she didn't want to do any of this alone. She barely wanted to do this at all.

"Oh, I – I'm not sure that's necessary? I really just wanted to look —"

"Ms. Blevin, can we bring you any more champagne?"

The same pixie addressed the woman who stepped out of the curtain area beside Lurielle, dark hair spilling down her back.

"Oh, one more for the road, I suppose." She turned to Lurielle once the pixie had scampered off. "Jokes on them, I just come here for the free champagne."

She choked out a laugh as the woman stepped into the mirror, her nose nearly touching the glass, examining her eye. Lurielle turned to her own mirror, inspecting the elf who stared uncertainly back.

Somewhat unruly blonde hair, her ability to style it just as lacking as it had been when she'd first moved to Cambric Creek. But, she had to admit, the dark honey lowlights she had agreed to at her most recent salon appointment added depth and dimension, and the new cut fell into place a bit more easily, without as much work needed from her. It had been a good move, trying the new salon, and she would be going back to the troll who'd given her the new cut and color.

Her hands were small and chubby, and while her fingers resembled little sausage links, they looked nicer with a fresh manicure. She wouldn't have gone into Skreeva's on Main Street on her own, but Silva had recommended her nail technician to Dynah, and she and Lurielle had gone together.

She had begun to see her pug-like nose as an adorable button, taking her cue from Khash's affirmations, and while the body under her clothes was still rounded and soft, it was strong enough to have marched her into this hoity-toity dress salon. Her long A-line skirt and denim shirt were a bit casual, but she liked the way they looked with her fall boots. She felt put together and pretty, and it didn't matter if the woman in the changing area beside her was slender and petite with toned legs and a curtain of silky hair. You're just as worthy of being here as she is.

She didn't know if any of her friends talked to themselves in the mirror as often as she did, but she couldn't pretend that it didn't help. Better Khash's voice than her ex; better her own voice than her mother.

You are brave. You don't need to have someone here holding your hand. You go to Zumba and therapy and drink eight glasses of water a day. You are not going to start crying in the middle of this dress shop.

"You need to come into places like this with an army at your back or a list of dresses you've already found online." The dark-haired woman was addressing her, she realized. Lurielle shook herself out of her panic as the woman smiled kindly. "Either that or you need to be pushier than them, and that's no small task. Don't get in the way of a bridal salesperson and her commission."

Lurielle laughed weakly. "Oh yeah, I'm no match for them. I already know that. If I was smart I would've looked online before I came in, but just thought since I was here, I'd just pop in and browse. Obviously that was not a well-thought-out plan."

The other woman laughed, accepting the flute of champagne the young pixie carried in. "I'm not sure if you asked my friend here if she was having any."

The girl stammered, wings flitting, racing away, and Lurielle flushed.

"I'm Vanessa, by the way. We've never formally met, but you live in the Templeton too, right?"

Her head jerked up. She didn't recognize the woman at all. You need to start being more observant. She could be a neighbor! Lurielle rationalized to herself that humans tended to be a bit of a blur. There were so many of them in Bridgeton, and besides — they very rarely paid attention to anyone but their own kind. The humans in Cambric Creek were different — those were neighbors. The humans in Bridgeton, by contrast, flooded the streets, crowding the sidewalks, commandeering every inch of every space for their own. But this one seems nice, at least.

"Um, my fiancé does. At least, for now. I live in Cambric Creek, and he's going to be moving in once his lease is up. Oh, and I'm Lurielle. It's nice to meet you."

The pixie returned with her flute of champagne. She didn't usually drink during the day, not unless happy hour with the girls started early, and she almost never drank champagne. Events at the club growing up had always had rivers of bubbly flowing through it, but then once she was off to university, the stuff served at holidays and celebrations was acrid and overly dry. This, on the other hand . . . Lurielle closed her eyes at the slightly sweet effervescence, feeling the bubbles pop the back of her tongue. This she could get used to.

"We have the exact same situation. Well, except for the leaving part. My fiancé is from Cambric Creek. He has a house there, but we keep the apartment in the city for work. I never fancied myself a suburbanite, but I have to say, it is a lovely little town."

"It really is! I'm an engineer with Stratos Automation," Lurielle heard herself disclosing, as if to explain why she, too, wasn't a resident of the tony highrise. You don't need to prove yourself to strangers, you're allowed to take up space. "I moved to the area a few years ago, and I've loved it."

"Oh, I have clients who do business with Stratos!"

Vanessa smiled broadly, and the glint on her sharp canines made Lurielle realize she wasn't actually human at all. Now that she was close enough to see it, the silvery-white sheen of the other woman's eyes when she turned clinched it. A shifter?

"Are you just starting your wedding planning?"

Lurielle laughed uncomfortably. "Planning is, uh . . . a very generous way to say it. I don't even know where to start and I'm completely out of my depth. I'm counting on one of my friends to jump in and save me as a strategy."

The other woman, Vanessa, laughed again. "Oh, I completely understand. The whole over-the-top planning is not really my thing either. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm excited! But some days I think I'd rather just fly somewhere that's meaningful to us with a few friends and family and be done with it . . ."

Her voice trailed off for a moment, and Lurielle felt buoyed by her words. Conventionally beautiful, seemingly successful, and still beaten down by all the planning to be done. See?! It's not just you!

. . .Before she straightened up, re-affixing her bright, white smile as she tossed her curtain of shiny dark hair back. "But we can't do that. I know exactly what I'm signing up for, so on with the circus. But you know, if you really don't want to get your hands dirty, I would just hire a wedding planner. Let them worry about it, right?"

"Is that what you're doing?"

Vanessa smiled grimly, draining her champagne flute. "We do have a wedding planner. But, unfortunately for her, we also have my fiancé, who has apparently decided that because he dislikes his job, planning our wedding is now going to be his entire personality. He didn't have a great personality to start with, so this is not exactly an improvement."

The honk of laughter that came out of her was completely unladylike and thoroughly inappropriate for the surroundings, but Lurielle was unable to hold it in.

Their conversation was interrupted when two attendants returned, one with an armload of sleek black cocktail dresses for the dark-haired woman, the other armed with a tape measure and a clipboard. Lurielle tipped her head back, draining the remainder of her own champagne, wishing she had more of the liquid courage. You can do this. Just go to your happy place.

Therapy was one hell of a miracle drug, she'd decided. For the next fifteen minutes, she stood on a raised platform within her dressing area wearing nothing but her bra and giant panties as the silent pixie took her measurements, only speaking to instruct her to raise her arms or move her legs apart. Two years ago, it would have been an unthinkable scenario. She would have left first, would have simply opted out of attending whatever event necessitated the formal gown in the first place. Oh, it was her own wedding? Too bad, so sad. Not today, love handle Satan. There would have been no possible combination of factors that would have made her willingly get up on that platform, her arms stretched out in her unmentionables — not while she was conscious, at least.

Now, Lurielle simply reminded herself that this girl probably saw a hundred bodies a week. Not all of them were lithe and toned, not all of them were perfectly proportioned. Her body wasn't any different than any of the other dozens of bodies that had stood in this same spot — and most importantly, her body was fine just the way it was. She didn't need to cut herself into ribbons of mortification . . . she just needed to close her eyes and go to her happy place.

Her happy place was, ironically enough, that green hillside at the resort. Pantsless Time with Bluebell, stretched in that ridiculous hammock, pressed to Khash's broad chest. She didn't need to worry about the number on the tape measure that was wrapped around the widest point of her hips, or her waist, or, for some reason, her head. She was swaying beneath a pink-swirled sky, the tree frogs already chirping their evening song and the smell of someone's outdoor fire carrying the taste of smoke and barbecue on the air.

The girl set her checklist down, her tape measure retracting. And just like that, it was over.

"I might not have much in your size in the showroom," the girl said frankly. It's fine. Just breathe. You just wanted to look in the first place. "Don't worry though. If you see something you like, anything can be ordered in. You can try on a smaller size and leave the back open for now, just to see what it looks like."

When the pixie stepped out of the curtain room to talk to her coworker near the mirrors, Lurielle pulled out her phone, quickly snapping a photo of the clipboard she'd left behind. She hadn't intended on taking any of the girl's time, but she also didn't need to do this whole experience again if she didn't have to. Free champagne and they gave me my measurements. Check and mate.

She was not interested in a frothy white confection like a human bride. Nor did she think she wanted something Orcish in style, or the trendy ruffles the goblins were wearing several years earlier. She didn't need one of these jewel-encrusted corset dresses, and didn't need to peruse the monochromatic showroom, now that she'd gotten a glimpse of what it offered, on her walk to the dressing salon. I just want a simple blue dress. Something traditional. Something that will make me feel beautiful. And they're not going to have that here.

Elves traditionally married in dresses the color of the summer sky. She didn't know why that felt so important to her. It wasn't as if she was marrying an elf in a traditional Elvish ceremony. Despite belonging to a club, none of the elves she'd grown up with were particularly observant of ritual or sabbath days, and she was fairly certain she could count on one hand the amount of times her parents had brought them to the sun temple when she was a child.

Still. It felt important to her, and she wasn't willing to compromise.

She remembered a conversation that she had with a human, of all people. Violet, her neighbor Rourke's human girlfriend. She had been asking Lurielle for tips on the finer points of interspecies relationships.

There were the big things to consider, of course. Biological compatibility. Anatomy. Whether or not your significant other was nocturnal, if they had dietary needs you could not tolerate, if they might be tempted to turn you into a vampire alongside them.

She'd been in a relationship with Tev nearly the entire time she'd been at university, but Lurielle had heard plenty of horror stories from her dorm mates. Sorority hookups that came to a screeching halt when it was discovered the partner in question possessed a dick the size of an athlete's forearm, study session sexytimes that were interrupted by unexpected ovipositor. As an adult, it was too common to know couples who'd not done a thorough enough job of investigating whether or not their biologies were compatible, finding conception an unfortunate impossibility. Life span. Probably should add that to the list.

And then, of course, there were the little things.

Lurielle suspected it was amplified in an Orcish-Elvish relationship. Ris was correct in her assessment — it was like looking into a comically reversed mirror. Both communities were insular, both traditionally kept to themselves. Both had their specific ways of life and each thought their way was superior. Elves with their private clubs and orcs with their clans, each the same in their superiority.

She was willing to cut Khash a wide berth when it came to species specific traditions. Unlike her, he had grown up in a traditional household, in an observant community. She had seen that firsthand when she visited his clan. Their fire oaths, their adherence to a court of elders, their ancestral worship and observance of rituals. She thought it was beautiful and was glad that their children would have a solid foundation outside the common in this human-centric world. Ris and Khash had been right about that as well.

Growing up in an Elvish enclave meant she'd not been exposed to the reality of a human majority for much of her childhood. University had been different, although, by then, Lurielle had already been struggling to fit in for years. Ironically enough, she was able to make human friends at her school easier than she'd ever done with her fellow elves at the club. But then she left school and entered the adult world, and she'd seen how invisible every other species seemed to be, particularly in cities where the human majority was outsized.

She loved Cambric Creek, loved the inclusiveness, loved the multi-species aspect and the fact that her children with Khash would fit in just as well with their schoolmates as any of her neighbors.

She was willing to cut him a wide berth, but that didn't mean that she was willing to entirely give up her Elvish identity. She had told Violet that the pitfalls tended to be in the little things. Little, inconsequential things that were silly to get upset over, but they had a tendency of piling up, and then they didn't seem quite so little and hardly as inconsequential. Khash had a tendency to steamroll when it came to their cultural differences. He simply assumed Orcish would be the default, and while she was willing to indulge him much of the time, that did not mean all of the time.

Lurielle couldn't explain why it was so important to her to have a pretty blue dress to speak her promise to him before the fire, only that it was. A tiny piece of her independence, visible for everyone to see.

"Ladies, I am so sorry." Her dark-haired neighbor threw open the curtain, handing one of the cocktail dresses to the attendant. "My office just called and I need to jet back. Can we put this one on my account? I'll have it picked up later this afternoon and I'll pop back in sometime this week to try the others." Lurielle had just stepped out of her own room, deciding to use the other woman's exit as her own getaway. Vanessa gave her a bright smile. "Good luck getting started with things. We're on the 18th floor if you ever want to commiserate, not that any of us are probably ever not working. I'm sure I'll see you around the building, and if not the whole damned town squats in that sheep coffee shop."

Lurielle laughed again. "It's true, we really do! Thank you for the tips! And uh, good luck to you and your wedding planner!"

She breathed a sigh of relief when the attendants were too busy to take note as she extricated herself quickly from the salon, not slowing when Rosebud shuffled her papers at reception, saying she would get Lurielle on the books with an official consultation. See? You did it. And look at that, you even made a friend. Sort of.

Finding herself in Bridgeton in the middle of the week was already an anomaly. She typically only joined Khash in the city on the occasional weekend, usually when he was working late or they wanted to do something specific. He was more than happy to come to her, spending time in Cambric Creek, and that suited her just fine. His building was too fancy, too intimidatingly upper-class for her tastes. The apartment itself was better – there were the comforts of his vibrating chair and hair products and the bedding smelled like him, but she had never felt entirely comfortable there. It was his apartment. She was happy to visit, but she only ever felt like a visitor, completely a problem of her own making.

You won't have to deal with it too much longer. It was an orc-sized relief that Khash suffered no similar qualms in her own house. He wasted no time making himself at home, making himself comfortable, slipping into the landscape of her home and her life as if he'd always been there, exactly the way she wanted it.

It was unusual to be in the city in the middle of the week and rarer still for her to have a random Wednesday afternoon out of the office, but there was no way around the mandatory furlough day. Since she was already out of her comfort zone, out of her environment and her element and since she'd already been exceptionally brave that morning, Lurielle decided to add one more first to the afternoon.

Take out from one of his favorite restaurants and a visit to his office. She had never once been that girlfriend, but, she reminded herself as she exited a rideshare, she was a brand-new elf.

What if he's too busy? She frowned at her reflection in the elevator door when the thought occurred to her. You should have called first. This is a mistake. He's probably already had lunch. He's not going to have time to do more than take the bag and kiss you on the cheek and then you're going to feel terrible for the rest of the day and it's not even his fault. When the doors opened on the 14th floor, she had nearly convinced herself to simply step a bit deeper into the car, and return to the lobby.

His eyes widened in surprise when she tapped hesitantly on the door she'd been directed to, her breath catching and tripping, unsure if his shock was conveying displeasure . . . Until his chocolate eyes crinkled with the force of his smile, and her heart beat on tiny wings. She would never get tired of that smile. And, she reminded herself as she crossed the threshold, Khash had never said no to a meal in his life.

"Bluebell, you had best not to be a hallucination. If you have the nerve to be out and about lookin' as pretty as a peach and this is just a mirage, we are going to have some words."

She raised the bag, letting him see the logo and name of the restaurant on its side. "The mirage brought lunch."

Khash threw up his hands and groaned at the sky, as if he were one of those backwater lizard folk preachers. "Close that door all the way, darlin'. It locks automatically. And get that cute little peach over here and give me some sugar."

She had never been that girlfriend. As he spun in his big, upholstered office chair, pulling her across his lap as she stretched up to reach his lips, Lurielle wasn't sure why. Because you never had that boyfriend. Because you weren't wanted around the same way. Because you weren't with someone who made you feel beautiful and appreciated. But you are now. It was the very first time she'd ever visited him at work, but she decided at that moment, it would not be the last. You'll be that wife, instead.

"You'll be very proud of me," she announced as his hand stroked down her back. "I went into that bridal salon, the one on Temple. Just up the street from the building. It was so fancy."

"I hope you bought yourself something, Bluebell."

Lurielle laughed, shaking her head as she pushed off his lap, back to her feet. "I didn't. I really just wanted to take a look at the dresses they had. It seemed like it was mostly styled for human weddings. But I got my measurements taken and I had some champagne. So that's already 100% more exciting than my Wednesday mornings usually are."

"I don't know your plans for the weekend, but I have my opinion on how we need to spend it." Khash dropped his elbows onto the desk, cradling his forehead as she laughed, opening the takeout containers. "Now wait just a minute . . . Lurielle, you did not go and bring me rabbit food and call it lunch. Do I look like one of your friends' skinny little gutterpups? Darlin', this engine is fully grown. It needs real fuel to keep it humming."

"Your doctor said you need to start eating more greens! Every day! There is an entire 32 ounce sirloin here to put on top of your salad! Half a loaf of bread, with the good salty butter! I do not want to hear it from you, not one bit. The next time you try to get on your high horse about Rourke and his desserts, I'm gonna remind you that —"

She was unprepared for the hand that quickly shot out, gently pinching her lips shut as she giggled against them, once she got over her shock.

"Bluebell, there's no need to go throwin' ole bully boy up in my face. You should've taken the steak out first. Now, do you wanna hear about my plan for the weekend, or do you want to keep kicking my ego like a mule on Sundays?"

"We're going to revisit the fact that I think you just called me a donkey, but I am all ears."

Khash gave her a look from under his eyebrows, then she couldn't help giggling again. She had ordered herself a miniature version of his salad, crunchy kale and crisp Brussels sprouts, tossed in a bed of leafy greens, with dried cranberries and candied walnuts. She was especially fond of the long, salty curls of fresh pecorino cheese decorating the top. Khash may have been dismayed to remember that elves were vegetarians, but they had managed to balance their individual dietary needs together.

Lurielle didn't think she would ever live down her shocked reaction the night she found out that Silva's boyfriend Tate ate red meat, despite claiming he had been raised in an Elvish enclave. It was one of the few topics of conversation upon which he and Khash had managed to find common ground.

"That's all modern affectation, I hate to break it to you." His grin had been wide and sharp, and despite his words, he had seemed delighted to inform her that elves hadn't always been herbivores. "Spring lamb on the solstice, a goat on Saturnalia. You don't actually have to dig very far in the history of Elvish cuisine to find a right river of blood. Sorry," he added with a laugh, not sounding sorry at all.

He had ordered steak tartare, a small plate covered in a mound of raw, red meat, crowned with the yolk of a raw egg. She would have been lying to say the sight of the dish didn't turn her stomach, but she was not unduly surprised — Tate was an orc, after all. What prompted her jaw-dropping gasp of surprise was when he offered Silva a bite and she accepted without a second thought.

She watched as Khash covered his bed of delicious, perfectly dressed greens with 32 ounces of the rare cooked steak and shivered, remembering the way Silva's eyes had fluttered closed.

"Do we have to feed people?" Khash's eyebrows raised as he took his first bite. "For the wedding, I mean. We really need to start talking about what we're going to do."

He took his time chewing, dragged his fork through the walnut vinaigrette, adding a bit of garlic butter to the top of his steak before spearing another mouthful.

"Lurielle, it doesn't make a bit of difference to me what kind of party you want to throw, but if my kin will be there and we're not feedin' people, I won't ever be able to show my face again."

Her head dropped back as she laughed, imagining the gossipy clutch of hens she had met at the bonfire party. They would never let him live it down.

"Darlin', I don't know anything about your Elvish marriage rules. Do we need to have a ceremony up here?"

It was her turn to take her time chewing, managing to spear both a piece of the cheese and cranberry along with her kale, tilting her fork until she was able to scoop one of the walnuts as well. Do we need to have a ceremony up here?

She supposed she didn't need to do anything. Elvish matrimony was typically a small affair. The bride and groom and their respective families. A reception at the club, but that was more for the purposes of showing off. She was marrying an orc and that alone precluded her ability to waltz down to Cevanor? and join the club to host a lavish, flower-trimmed reception. Even if she could, Lurielle already knew she would never subject her own children to the sort of judgment and hysteria that had colored in the lines of her own childhood.

She already knew that an Orcish exchanging of vows was informal, by comparison. It involved the whole clan gathered before the fire, she and Khash making their unbreakable, lifelong oaths to each other, followed by a boisterous, rowdy celebration. She had already experienced the raucousness of his entire clan gathered as one, and that night had been for something as mundane as meeting her. Surely, a wedding would be an even louder, longer party.

"I – I would like to have something I can invite my grandmother to." The words came out in a rush, fast and blurted and nearly without her conscious approval. The thought had been there, shuffling from the forefront of her mind to the background, but still there, ever present. "And my great-grandmother."

"But not your mother?" Khash's voice was sardonic, and he chuckled, shaking his head. "It's not our way, but I wouldn't blame you a bit, Lurielle. She's a real piece of work. I'm not going to tell you what to do, darlin', but I won't stand for anyone bringing you down on your day. Just putting that out there now."

All at once, an emotion she didn't even realize she'd been harboring rushed to the surface, heating her face until her eyes pricked with tears. "Yeah, that makes two of us."

She had spent the last few years of her life setting boundaries and asserting herself, going low contact with her mother, the result of which had led to the unwanted consequence of losing contact with everyone else. She didn't want her mother to come dress shopping with her, picking apart and criticizing everything about her — her body, her life choices, Khash. She wasn't interested in hearing any of it, and Lurielle knew in her heart that her mother was incapable of doing anything but exactly that.

But that didn't mean the absence didn't hurt. She didn't want to do this alone, and it hurt deeply that she didn't have her family around her. She was supposed to be picking out her wedding dress with her mother, was meant to be showing her grandmother floral arrangements and oohing and ahhing with her great grandmother over beautiful, elaborate Elvish dessert confections. She wasn't meant to be doing any of this alone, and the fact that she had to was like a barbed thorn within her, twisting every time she considered getting on with it.

And Despina is going to have a field day with that one.

In the absence of her family, she needed her friends. She needed her and Khash to sit down and actually have a conversation about their expectations. Do we need to have a ceremony up here? Yes! she wanted to scream.

She realized that was why her blue dress felt so important — because the possibility of having an exclusively Orcish ceremony was a real one. None of her own traditions, none of her own kin. She didn't know how to plan a wedding and certainly did not want to have to plan two, but the thought of looking back in a hundred years time to remember her wedding, surrounded by only strangers, standing before fire that didn't mean anything specific to her, was not one she could swallow down.

"It's . . . it's important to me to have something I can invite my nana to. I don't mean I'm not willing to fly down south, I am, but—"

"Here's what I think we need to do Lurielle," he interrupted, his fork dancing before her as he chewed. "I think we need to pack up the dogs and your little wedding book and go to the cabin for the weekend. Couples massage. Boil ourselves in the steam tubs and then do a nice cold dip. Maybe another massage for good measure. Then, once our bellies are full and our bodies are tenderized, we can pick some dates that work for our schedules. We can have our fire oath up here, darlin'. I don't have any sort of rule hanging over my head telling me I have to go home to the clan to have it done. They're perfectly capable of gettin' on a plane. I am going to warn you, though— if we don't go home for it, we'll have to make a trip down eventually for the celebration. That's outta my hands. And I don't think you should be responsible for doin' this alone, Bluebell. I am a model of a modern orc; I'm capable of visiting florists with you. Ain't no daisy bouquet going to make this big dragon insecure."

She laughed, feeling tears pick her eyes again as she came around the desk, a tidal wave of relief seeming to wash over her, leaving her sopping wet and somewhat at ease. They would — could —figure this out together.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, babe. The resort is closed already for the season. We can grease you up and Ordo and I can try walking on your back, but that's the best we can do." When he folded her in his arms, pulling her across his lap once more, Lurielle sighed. You need to stop doing this to yourself. You're supposed to be partners, you gotta tell him what's going on in your head once in a while.

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, Khash gripped her chin, tilting her face up to him. "Bluebell, you got nothing to worry over. I'm not. I'm marrying the most beautiful elf in the world. The only thing I'm concerned over is buying a new bed, because I intend to break ours on our wedding night."

She almost fell off his lap laughing, hooking her arms around his neck to hold on. "Our wedding night?! We practically lived together as it is!"

He clucked his tongue, hand dropping to knead at her hip, cupping a handful of her ass as he did so. "Do you really think that makes a difference? Maybe you're going to find out I've been holding out on you. Did you ever think that, darlin'? An Orcish wedding night is a marathon. If we're not spending the whole night feasting and fucking, we're doin' something wrong."

She shifted on his lap as she laughed, biting her lip as he groaned when she did so. Another twisted her hips, another press into his groin, another rumble from his throat.

"Bluebell, this peach of yours is writing checks I hope you're able to cash."

He bucked upward into her, and she was able to feel the shape of him, thick in his bespoke trousers. She had never been that girl . . . but maybe it was time she started. When she dropped her hand to rest against the bulge at the front of his pants, Khash groaned again. She was able to trace the outline of his cock, stiff beneath her palm, but not yet straining. There was still time for her to get off his lap and straighten her skirt and go on her merry way, allowing him to restore some professionalism to his office.

But you met at a nudist resort. You had sex in a public bath an hour or two after saying hello. Has professionalism ever been a part of this relationship? She grinned impishly.

"Why do I have a feeling that I'm either going to hate that look or it's going to be my new favorite expression of yours?"

She wasn't wearing anything fancy or designer, but she liked the way she looked that day. She liked the way she felt. She didn't especially want to muss her clothing or run the risk of ruining her skirt . . . But she could take care of him another way.

"Are you sure that door is locked?"

"Bluebell —"

She never found out what Khash was about to say to her, for as she massaged his bulge, pausing only to unbuckle his belt and draw down zipper, his words fell away, being replaced with another low rumble.

"Darlin', you're going to need to do that again."

Lurielle grinned, more than happy to oblige. His cock was a fat outline against his thigh, and she squeezed him again, slowly, from root to tip, cupping the area she knew in which his balls were nestled, drawing him out slowly. Never in her life had she been the sort to drop to her knees in a place of business and suck a cock, but as she ran her tongue over the edge of his puckered foreskin, she reminded herself that this was not her place of business.

"I hope you enjoyed me coming to visit you for lunch today."

Khash's response was choked as she licked a stripe over his domed head, gently pulling his foreskin down until she was able to suck the whole thing in her mouth. It's no different than visiting the scoop truck, she thought, flattening her tongue as she laved his silky-hot skin, pausing to slurp at the tip once it began to bead with pre-cum. No different at all.

"What was that you said about writing checks my mouth needed to cash?" she asked, pulling back to take a few good breaths, before sinking her mouth down his shaft as far as she was able.

"For the record, I didn't say anything about your mouth, darling. But I sure am glad she brought her pocketbook. You're going to have me creaming all over this chair."

She needed to go back to the apartment and get her things before she headed back to Cambric Creek. She would call the local florist, she decided, using her hand to grip his shaft. No sense in dealing with strangers from the city, not when her little town provided everything she needed. She would go through Silva's helpful binder again, this time with a serious eye, looking at colors, making up her mind. She and Khash could visit the flower shop on a Saturday for a consultation, pick things out together. He was right. She didn't need to worry about all of this alone. They were partners now, and they would be for the rest of their days.

She paused her ministrations, pulling out his heavy sack to hang over the front of his fly, using her hand to pump the bottom of his shaft as her mouth got back to work sucking from the top. Her other hand cupped his scrotum, rolling his heavy balls, tugging them gently until he groaned above her.

"Bluebell, I hope you have a plan for this big load, because it's got your name written all over."

She did. She had never been that elf before, but she never had a partner that had made her want to be. She needed to get home and start tackling all of these problems that had been swirling in her mind endlessly, one at a time, use her engineering brain to handle this as efficiently and effectively as she would if it were a problem at work.

. . .But first, she was going to make him come for her in the middle of the afternoon; a big, sloppy orc-sized load that did, indeed, have her name all over it. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

When she slipped her hand beneath his sac to drive her knuckle into the soft skin behind it, Khash grunted, leaning forward in his seat as if she'd punched him in the gut. She knew the fastest way to make his cock erupt was to hit him right in the sweet spot.

He'd told her as much that very first night they met.

Her mouth caught the first burst, hitting the back of her throat, closing her lips around his head just in time to catch the second rope. For the rest, she had one of the takeout containers handy, empty now that they had eaten the bread. Thick fingers sunk into her hair, gripping her skull, his hip thrusting lightly against the ring of her hands as he emptied. Lurielle was glad his office was big enough and far enough down the hallway that there was unlikely to be anyone lurking outside the locked door. Khash began to methodically squeeze her scalp, in time with the pulsations of his orgasm. Her hair was going to be a mess.

"Lurielle, I don't know what tick's gotten into your britches, but I'm gonna send it a thank you note."

He was boneless in his chair when they were done, his deflated cock tucked away, clothing righted. His head lolled against the backrest, and she had a feeling he'd not be brokering anything else for the rest of the afternoon.

"I'll see you tomorrow night," she reminded him, leaning over to press her mouth to his, feeling her cheeks heat as he deepened the kiss. "I love you. Don't work too hard."

When she caught sight of her reflection striding through the brokerage firm's lobby, much more confident than she had upon her arrival, Lurielle smiled. Her hair was, in fact, a bit disheveled. But, she considered as she swung the restaurant takeout back into the trashcan near the door, hoping that the two styrofoam containers she had used to encase the sloshing breadbasket would be enough, it wasn't as if she was very good at styling her hair in the first place. If it was going up like a bird's nest, she couldn't think of a better reason why.