Chapter 22

Olistaire

Just a few weeks ago, these grounds were a mess of half-built structures and partially tilled earth surrounded by a maze of construction fences. Now, as the sun begins to set and I stand here ready for the first public event at Hearthstone Lodge, I feel a sense of pride for what we've accomplished. Our gardens are a lush, green expanse of grass that stretches all the way to the forest which cradles our land. Cobbled footpaths wind through beautifully built gazebos, which are currently adorned with flowers and gauzy fabric that guests can let down, should they want a touch of privacy. Flame-lit lanterns hang from the gazebo roofs and little candles line the footpaths, magicked by Ismelda to be flameproof and last the night, and the overall feel of the place is simply, well, magical.

In the center of the gardens, we've erected a temporary stage and dance floor, around which dining tables have been set up for the later half of the night. I stand in the middle of the dance floor now as Rhokar and Ella have their pictures taken beside a gigantic flower arrangement placed with a perfect view of the lodge behind it, while the band sets up on the stage.

And I can't stop stealing glances at Grace, who shifts quietly at my side, avoiding eye contact.

I bought her another dress for this evening as a gift, but I don't yet know if she's wearing it, since she has a long overcoat on. Her rich, golden-brown hair is pinned gently behind her ears and cascades over her back in graceful waves, and I find myself feeling uncharacteristically nervous as I throw another glance her way, and fidget with my cufflinks.

Is she wearing my dress? Did she like it? When I'd seen her in the dress I'd chosen for her last time, something had shifted in my chest knowing she was wearing what I'd provided for her, looking beautiful in my gift. Now I'm afraid I've become addicted to that feeling, and the need to see her in my dress again is stronger than ever. Why haven't I asked her about it, or taken her coat, or made any sort of comment at all?

I feel odd. Different. Jittery, even. My usual teasing is stuck in my throat, and she hasn't made an attempt at our banter, either. Something's changed between us, I know it, I feel it. Does she feel it, too? Or am I going to make a complete fool of myself when I tell her that I want… more. That I want to try something with her that I never have before. That I want to be hers.

I open my mouth to try at a conversation—something, anything to fill the awkward silence between us—but she turns to the side at that very moment to watch as the waitstaff begin setting up with drinks, and I clunk my teeth shut.

Gods and above, Olistaire, get your act together.

"Alright, next couple!"

The photographer waves Rho and Ella off the stage, and Grace rushes forward before I can so much as offer her my hand. I follow, and we both climb the stairs and allow the photographer to position us.

"Shall I… take your coat?" I ask her, mentally slapping myself for the stilted way that comes out. "For the pictures?"

"Yes, yes, good idea," the photographer responds for her, checking his watch and waving an assistant over.

"Uh, sure, it's actually strangely warm here anyway." Grace looks down as she unbuttons, still avoiding my gaze.

"Yes, Ismelda set up runes around the perimeter to keep the gardens warm all night."

"Oh, really? That's interesting. Nice idea."

I'm starting to fear our entire night will be filled with this strange new awkwardness between us, if I can't unglue my tongue from where it's lodged on the roof of my mouth and smooth things over.

"Grace," I start, "is everything…?"

But as her coat drops away to reveal what's beneath, what little brain power I had left sputters and dies.

She's wearing my dress. And I've never seen anything more breathtaking.

Gold like her skin, like the highlights of her hair, the dress shimmers in the warm rays of the sunset and sets her alight. The material drapes elegantly over her curves, a simple, sleeveless design with a scooping neckline and one long slit that exposes a thigh whenever she shifts just so. The dress looks soft against her skin and I'm suddenly envious of the way it touches her, while I'm all the way over here, empty without her warmth against me. She isn't just spotlit in her golden beauty, she is the light. I couldn't look away if I wanted to.

I watch as she runs her palms nervously over her hips, and when I realize my jaw is hanging open, I click it shut and look up to her face. My heart stutters when our gazes finally connect.

"Do you like it on me?" she asks nervously, and my hand snakes out to wind against her waist without me telling it to.

"Do I like it? Grace, I don't think I've ever seen anything I like more, not in the entire breadth of my existence." I pull her closer, and she doesn't resist. "You are the definition of stunning."

Her cheeks flush as she looks up at me with wide blue eyes, and when it doesn't seem that she'll respond, I smile and slide my hand slowly up along her spine. Now that we're touching, we feel like the most natural thing in the world. My awkwardness drops away.

"I love it," I whisper, leaning down and catching her light, floral scent. "I love y—" Snapping my mouth shut, I choke on the words that were about to slip out unbidden, and press my lips to her forehead instead. "I love it."

"Gorgeous!" the photographer cries, and a few flashes and whirs of the camera sound out. I try to control the frantic beating of my heart at what I'd nearly said, what I never thought I'd be able to say. Even now, the phrase is lodged in my throat painfully, as if it'll never make it past that point.

I decided before tonight that I wouldn't let Grace know everything, not yet. Not about the Fated Mark that's now fully formed on my wrist, or what it means. When I tell her I want to try for more with her, I need her to choose me on her own terms. Not because she feels obliged by something outside of her control. My father used the word ‘love' too many times as a weapon, and now I'm afraid of doing the same.

"Alright, now let's get some standard shots of the couple smiling at the camera," the photographer directs, and Grace and I move to unwind ourselves. "No, no, keep your arm around her waist. That's it."

When we finish up, Malachite takes our places and stands stiffly to have his photos shot alone, and not long after that, the guests finally begin to arrive.

Primly dressed waiters stream out of the catering tent set up to the side and walk around with trays of champagne and canapes. Grace refuses a drink, so I go without as well, and I take her hand in mine and pull us forward to mingle.

"So, did you want me to stay by your side all night?" she murmurs quietly, as I walk us slowly along a candle-lit path.

"Only if you want to." I move towards a small group of young humans and fae gathered under a gazebo. There are several such groups scattered throughout the garden, all with phones in hand taking pictures and selfies in the set up. I assume they're influencers.

"Oh, but…" Grace fidgets the hand held in mine nervously. "Don't you have a certain image you want to portray for the reporters? Isn't that why you gave me this?" She plucks at her dress, and her eyes dart away from mine quickly, despite her smile.

I stop walking with a frown, and though she takes a few more steps before she realizes I've paused, I don't let her hand slip from mine.

"Grace," I say as I pull her back towards me. "I bought you this dress because I wanted to buy you this dress."

"But…"

"I wanted to see you wearing something from me." My frown remains as her chest bumps into mine. "I wanted to give you a gift worthy of your beauty. I haven't got any other motives."

Her lips part as she stares up at me, surprised, and I shake my head. What does she think of me? Why does she think I act the way I do around her? Is she really convinced I'm so unfeeling and calculated? That this is all a result of nothing but lust?

A dull thud of pain hits my chest at the idea. I don't think it was ever simple lust with Grace. Now that my labyrinth sits fully formed on my wrist, clear as daylight, I look back on every interaction with her and realize how stupid I was for not understanding how different it's been with her, right from the very first moment I met her at my best friend's wedding.

I lift my hand to her cheek, running my thumb over her smooth skin, and suddenly the whole world is narrowed down to her blue eyes gazing into mine. "Grace, I—"

"What a couple you two make!"

Grace startles in my arms and pulls away as Sera approaches us, and I purse my lips at the interruption.

"Look at you making gooey eyes at each other in the sunset," Sera continues as she comes to a stop before us. "It'd be revolting if it wasn't so… cute?" She chuckles, a low, unpleasant sound, and lifts a camera in her hand. A sudden flash bathes us, and I blink at the intrusion of what must be the world's most awkward photo, but Sera only grins. "Perfect! This can go on our blog tomorrow morning."

"On your blog?" Grace says, looking both annoyed and startled. "You're a blogger?"

"No," Sera snaps, "I'm not a blogger,

human. I head the PR team that handles the marketing and online presence for this establishment."

Not for much longer, I think, disliking the way she looks Grace up and down as if she finds her lacking. As if she could ever compare to Grace.

"Sera," I say with some warning. "Her name is Grace. If you can't be polite to my lady…"

"What?" Suddenly she's all sweet tones and painted smiles. "We were just talking about work."

"It's alright, pookie-bear," Grace says with her own fake sweet voice. "You didn't tell me she was the hired help. I wouldn't want to be rude to the staff." When she loops her arm around my hips and tilts up onto her toes, trying to reach my cheek for a kiss, I oblige and lean down.

Although I do try to hide my smile at her immediate lash-back as she holds her own against Sera's poor attitude, the warning is still in my voice when I say her name. "Grace…" Play nice, kitten.

"Yes, dinkie-winky snuggle-pot-pie?"

I bite the inside of my cheeks, unable to reply for fear of snorting out loud. Sera splutters angrily beside us, and this only makes Grace snuggle more firmly into my side and lay her head against me, which I can't say I dislike.

"Just… go and talk to those influencers," Sera grits at me through a sudden, fake smile, and then she swoops past us and storms off.

Grace doesn't move away. In fact, her arms tighten around me, and I finally let my smile break free as warmth rushes through my chest.

"I have to admit," I say, squeezing my hand against her hip, "I secretly like it when you lash out in jealousy."

"What?" Grace stiffens and pulls back to send me a glare. "I'm not—that's not what I—"

But my smile only stretches, and I shift her so that she's once more pressed against my chest. "Let's make a deal."

"Oh, yeah?" she huffs. "What kind of deal."

"That tonight, we'll leave all our preconceptions at the door."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Our exes don't exist." I lift my thumb to her cheek once more. "Our past doesn't exist, and neither does the future. We're just two stunningly attractive people enjoying an excellent party."

"Oli…" she chuckles with a roll of her eyes.

"I mean it," I say, and her gaze connects with mine once more. "I want to enjoy my time with you, without any other motives."

"But the world still exists," she says with a scrunch of her brows. "What's the point of pretending it doesn't?"

"Tonight, you'll be my world," I murmur, before leaning down and touching my lips to hers. "I just want to be here with you. Nothing more, nothing less."

"But, Oli…"

"Please."

Her fingers slide down along my chest, and suddenly all I want to do is scoop her into my arms and take her away with me. Find somewhere private so I can run my hands and my lips along every inch of her skin, feel the warmth of her body pressed beneath mine, hear her breathy moans as I coax every last drip of pleasure out until she can't take a moment longer, and then do it all over again… But I refrain. And I wait for her to choose.

She finally blows out a breath and nods, a small smile on her lips. "Alright, Olistaire. For as long as we're here, it's just us. We can deal with reality again tomorrow."