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Vivi had gotten married back in the summer, a small wedding in Graves Glen in the same meadow where she’d met Rhys years ago.
BRB SOBBING
“The other day, I was organizing grimoires in the back room at Something Wicked, and then I was, like, ‘You know, “grimoire”
is a weird name, where did that even come from?’ and the next thing I knew, I had, like, twelve Wikipedia tabs open, and it was dark outside.”
Big fucking mood
To catch someone’s eye and know what they were thinking. To be in a room full of people and know that that person was yours. To not just enjoy someone, but enjoy the person she was with them.
“Is this where we begin snapping our fingers and launch into a dance battle?” Dammit, that’s actually kind of a good joke.
And when her eyes briefly met his, her cheek dimpling with a Go fuck yourself smile, Wells realized he had never been attracted to any woman more in his life. Well, that was bloody inconvenient.
“Until I win,” she told Rhys now, reaching for more salt. Rhys groaned, tipping his head back. “Fuck me running.” “What?” Vivi asked, and her husband sighed, sitting up straight again. “That’s exactly what Wells said when I asked him the same question.”
Wells Penhallow was a pain in her ass, but she couldn’t deny that competing with him had been good for business.
As if to prove her point, Sir Purrcival sauntered up just then. “Halloweeeeeen happy happy halloweeeeeen treatstreats dickbag?”
A stupid love spell that had rained down on them because they’d been arguing, which is all they ever did, so it was clearly the most powerful love spell in existence, and Rhiannon’s tits, she was climbing all over a man she didn’t even like because of a shower of cotton candy sex dust.
“Sorry, girl. The books don’t lie, and the spell didn’t make you do anything. You kissed Wells Penhallow because you wanted to kiss Wells Penhallow.”
“I want you to put it in writing later. How you needed my help.”
“The two of you are the worst, and I will not be shamed for kissing my gorgeous wife in my own home,” Rhys said,
“I don’t know. The best magic is always a little risky, right?”
“Okay, you know what? Just for that, when these weirdos pick someone to ritually sacrifice tonight, I am absolutely volunteering you.”
“I hate when you make me like you, Esquire.” “I’ll endeavor to be more unlikable in the future,” he promised, and Gwyn snorted. “Sentences like that help.”
“Jones and Esquire, Magical Detectives,” she mused, and he threw her a dark look over his shoulder. “Penhallow and Jones.” “Jones and Penhallow.” “Penhallow, full stop.” “Jones and Son.”
Gwyn wasn’t sure she’d ever been so happy to leave a party, and given that she’d once had to go to a wedding reception where both the bride and the groom were her exes, that was saying something.
“I’m pretty sure Wales does okay for itself in terms of natural beauty,” she said, and he huffed out a soft laugh.
“What I want,” Wells said, his voice low, “you infuriating.” His lips brushed hers, the barest hint of a kiss, and Gwyn shivered. “Completely terrifying.” Another brush, slightly firmer this time.
“Bloody gorgeous madwoman, is to watch you come.”
he knew that he was nowhere close to having had enough of her.
“You bring out this side of me,”
“Ah, but you count for at least five women all on your own, my Gwynnevere,”
And part of it was probably the fact that he was, he suspected, falling quite desperately in love with her and would do whatever she wanted him to.
“Still, maybe a phone call?” Bowen suggested. “Text message? ‘Hi, really sorry my family’s so fucked up, I’ll be back as soon as I’ve unfucked things’?”
My magic is not something anyone can take from me, she thought, her mind clear. It is mine. And it’s still there.
“What the hell are you doing here? Wait, is this some kind of intervention? Are we doing an intervention on Wells for being a sad bastard, and no one told me?”
“And if I wanted to call you mine?” she asked, her voice low, and Wells’s grip tightened on her hand. “I’ll be that until I die.”
Wherever the two of them were together, that was home.
