The oak bedframe creaked wildly as Elain gripped the bedposts, the blanket soft underneath her knees as she knelt, heat from the blazing fire warming her skin. And Lucien, made up of sharp, wicked smiles, grinned as she looked down at him between her legs.

But worst of all was the blurry line she walked between reality and prophecy. One moment, she was sipping her tea at the breakfast table, and the next she was standing in a busy marketplace, uncertain which was the illusion until she was vaulted back into her physical body, blinking as her heart settled and her vision returned.

“Elain?”

Feyre leaned over the table, palms pressed into the dark wood, hovering as close to Elain as the barrier would allow. From the thin line forming between Feyre’s brows, Elain had the impression this was not the first time Feyre had called for her.

“Yes?” Elain said, straightening her back and lifting her teacup as if nothing had happened.

Feyre’s shoulders slackened, and she drew back into her seat with a small sigh of relief. But Elain knew that after the concerned sister, came the curious High Lady. She watched, face still ducked into her teacup, as Feyre pressed her lips together, thinking so loudly she might as well have used her magic to project her thoughts. Not that it mattered, not when her questions were obvious, and already evident in the way those blue-grey eyes searched her face.

Tea sloshed against Elain’s lips, uncontrolled, inelegant. Her hand was shaking. Though the vision had been mild, even pleasant, compared to others, that flash of red hair had unnerved her. The way it always did.

She set the teacup down, ignoring how it rattled against the saucer. How Feyre flinched.

“Lucien’s on his way,” Elain said, fighting to keep her voice neutral.

A knock sounded at the door, cutting off Feyre’s response. Elain patted her lip with the napkin, skin tingling from the too-hot liquid, and stood up from her chair. “Before you answer, would you mind taking me to the House of Wind?”

“You’re not even going to say hi?”

There was an accusation in that question. Subtle, even a little gentle, but an accusation nonetheless. Elain crossed her arms, as if doing so could deflect from her sister’s judgment. She knew what Feyre wanted—for Elain to stay, to make nice with Lucien and ask him about his latest trip to the mortal lands. She wanted Elain to get to know the male she was eternally bonded to so that they might one day find the happiness that Feyre and Rhysand found in each other. Even Nesta seemed to be encouraging it these days.

“He doesn’t need to know I was here,” Elain said. “Besides, he’s come to see you.”

Feyre raised a brow. If there was sharpness in those words, Elain hadn’t meant them. Or maybe she had. She was frustrated that her sisters had already made up their minds about what was best for her, and that despite the agency she craved, she couldn’t even flee to the House of Wind without Feyre’s help.

They stared at each other for a long moment, a clash of stubbornness that was sometimes the only thing that connected them.

“Fine,” Feyre said, coming around the table and reaching out her hand. “But you should try talking to him one of these days, Elain. He’s a good male.”

He was a good male. Elain knew that perfectly well. And before the room was swallowed into darkness, she found her eyes drifting towards the entryway, listening to the heartbeat that drifted to her through the wooden door.

It followed her all the way to the House of Wind.

And in her sleep that night, the beating stopped.

Elain sat up in bed, clutching her chest. Beneath her clammy skin, she could feel her own heart thundering beneath her fingers. But its golden echo, the one she felt like a string around her rib, plucked day and night by a tireless musician… It had fallen silent.

A dream, she thought. A vision. Any moment now, she’d blink and find herself sitting in the library, wondering at the Cauldron’s strange meaning. But as she laid on her back and watched a dark cloud slowly creep across the starry sky, she felt the seconds prying for her attention with growing urgency. And suddenly she couldn’t breath as a terrible, gnawing panic seized her throat. The next thing she knew, she was rushing through the corridors of the House of Wind, hair and nightgown flowing behind her.

He answered the door on the first knock. She knew he wouldn’t be sleeping, even at this hour.

“Elain?” Azriel asked, hazel eyes sweeping over her, assessing if her panic was the result of any injury on her person. “What’s wrong?”

Ordinarily, she might have taken the time to be embarrassed by her state of undress. But all she could hear was the silence in her mind. The vast, roaring emptiness that was usually occupied by life and light.

Elain took a moment to compose herself, trying to swallow past the sickening feeling in her gut, but the words all escaped in a rush regardless of her efforts. “Can you take me down?”

“What?”

“Downstairs,” she clarified. “To the Rainbow.”

His gaze darted to the ground. To her bare feet. “Dressed like that?”

“Please,” was all she said.

Azriel didn’t press any further. He simply led her to the nearest balcony and did precisely as she asked, hesitating only once they landed in the empty marketplace, and she shivered when he set her down on the cobblestone. He removed his jacket, and the evening was cold enough that Elain didn’t object when he placed it over her shoulders.

But she did shake her head as he said, “Whatever you’re doing, let me come with you. To make sure you’re safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, pulling the jacket closer when she noticed the way his eyes wandered to her neckline. Maybe he was concerned by the attention her attire would attract, a fear she might have shared if Lucien’s apartment wasn’t just across the street. And she had a feeling that regardless of what she said to Azriel, he’d be lingering to ensure nothing happened to her.

“I’ll stay here, then” Azriel said. “So that I can bring you back up when you’re ready.”

Sensing that was the most she could convince Azriel to stay out of it, and not wanting to waste any more time arguing, Elain nodded and dashed off toward Lucien’s apartment. A place she’d never visited before, though she’d seen it in enough visions to recognize the stepping stones of the front garden as if she’d been the one to arrange them.

Of all the times she’d thought about coming here, of bracing her hand around the iron knocker and letting fall to the front door, she’d never imagined it would be the middle of the night. And that the knocker would bounce once, twice, until it vibrated into stillness. No shuffle on the other side, no footsteps. No answer at all.

In all her imaginings, she’d certainly never thought that she would need to sneak into his back garden and mount the trellis to his balcony, battling against the climbing roses that snagged at her dressing gown. She hissed as more than a few scraped against her legs, as if the garden were fighting back against its intruder.

“Lucien?” She called as she came level with his balcony. Leaning over, she could see no light in his room, and it occurred to her that she could be reading too much into the quiet. He could just be sleeping, and maybe his heartbeat quieted when he slept and she’d simply never noticed. This was her last chance to turn away without looking like a lunatic.

Lucien? She tried, searching internally for the kernel of light that lived inside her, warm and lovely and achingly absent. There was no response. No stirrings at all on the other side of their muted bond. She grasped, helplessly, for something to pull, for the golden thread he’d once tugged all those years ago. When she found nothing, she pulled herself onto his balcony and yanked on the handle to his bedroom.

Locked.

Through the glass, she could see his red hair against the pillows. His face was turned toward her, eyes shut, expression so soft and unguarded she barely recognized him. Elain stilled for a minute, the ache in her chest growing tenfold as she admired the sight of Lucien polished in moonlight.

She rapped her knuckles against the glass. First, with all of the bashfulness of someone who expected his eyes to snap open, where she would need to explain what she was doing on his balcony, undressed and bloodied. Then, with increasing urgency as his eyes remained shut, oblivious to her panicked fists slamming against the glass door not a meter away.

If she’d let Azriel come with, he would have known what to do. And perhaps he would have come up with a far less destructive solution than Elain, who turned to examine the items Lucien kept on his balcony and found a small potted plant that she immediately hurled towards the door. Any faerie would have woken to the sound of the shattering glass. Even one having a particularly nice dream.

His neighbors might even be awake now, coming to their windows to watch Elain push her arm through the jagged hole and unlock the door from the inside. Maybe tomorrow there’d be news articles about Velaris’s new, sloppy midnight burglar. As long as tomorrow’s news was about her, and not the deceased son of Autumn, she didn’t care.

She didn’t care even as the glass cut into her feet, not as Lucien remained unresponsive to it all. Unaware of his intruder. Unaware that his mate was bleeding and panicked and desperate. It was all wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

“Lucien?” She called, his name strangled in her throat.

In her mortal life, she might have cared about dripping blood onto his sheets, or how she was climbing into a male’s bed in only her night gown. But now she was High Fae and this was her mate—her mate. And all that mattered was getting to him.

Elain cupped his face, nearly sobbing when she felt that it was warm to the touch. Warm. Not claimed by death—not yet. And his lips were parted, expelling air with every rise and fall of his chest. Alive, alive, alive.

Despite the evidence, when Elain pressed her fingers to the pulsepoint on his neck, she was surprised to find a heartbeat as familiar as her own. Steady, healthy, yet still absent from where it once resided in her mind. And he still wasn't awake.

Was it magic? Some kind of spell, or poison? Without thinking, she ripped the bedcovers from his body to see if there was some ailment she was missing. A bite wound, or an arrow puncture, or…. Lucien’s uninjured, perfectly healthy, and obscenely muscular naked body.

Elain yelped, immediately covering him back up. “I’m so sorry,” she said, though he couldn’t hear and was unaware of the violation she’d just committed.

It was then that her eyes wandered toward his bedside table, bearing all the things she would expect from Lucien: a pile of books with loose papers atop them, a leatherbound journal, a dagger with a jeweled hilt, and… a small, empty vial labeled sleeping tonic.

She recalled the vision she’d had that morning, of Lucien navigating his way through the busy marketplace. How he’d paused before a tonic shop, intrigued by their wares. She hadn’t thought anything of it, besides that it meant Lucien had returned to the city. And now she examined the glass shards littering his bedroom floor, the soil spilling out of the broken plant pot, the blood on the floor, the sheets—oh god, it was on his face, too.

“Elain?”

She turned her head, finding Azriel standing on the balcony, looking far more concerned for the state she was in than the unconscious male beneath her.

“Is everything okay?” he prompted.

What did she even say, to answer for all of the reckless, impulsive things she’d done this evening?

All she could do was point to the vial and croak, “The tonic he bought at the shop… will it wear off?”

Azriel squinted through the glass to read the label, then huffed a laugh under his breath, as if he was familiar. “Those tonics will leave you all but dead to the world. The last time I took one, I woke up with a mustache painted on my face.”

That certainly sounded like something his friends would do. Elain couldn’t bring herself to laugh. “So he’ll be okay?”

“He’ll be fine. I can’t say the same for his balcony door, though.”

Elain’s cheeks burned. “Will you take me back? And forget this ever happened?”

The shadowsinger watched her carefully. “Of course. It can be our secret.”

Azriel kept a lot of those. She trusted he would keep this one, at least from Lucien, but even so she couldn’t find it in herself to meet his eyes as he stepped into Lucien’s apartment and lifted Elain from her mate’s bed. They flew back to the house in silence, the stinging in her feet becoming more and more intrusive as her adrenaline wore off.

“Let me take you to the infirmary,” he said once they landed on one of the many verandas.

“No.”

“Elain—”

“No.” She didn’t mean to snap. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d use that tone with anyone. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that Azriel was only trying to help. That he’d been indulging her foolish impulses all evening, expecting nothing in return. “Just take me back to my room, please. I can deal with it.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, but he did as she asked.

Only once he left, and she heard his door shut down the hall, did she release her hold on the tears that she’d been repressing from the moment she realized Lucien was okay. Picking the leftover pieces of glass from her feet was preferable to anguishing over the fool she made of herself tonight, though she managed to do both.

What had gotten into her? She’d always felt a measure of the instincts that came with the bond. The pull, the wanting, the need to claim and protect. But they had always been passive, easily brushed aside. What she’d felt tonight had gripped her with such violence that she’d been blinded to everything else, any sense of reason or reservation. What would Lucien think when he woke in the morning and saw that someone had broken into his home? And how would she be able to look him in the eyes, now that his naked form was imprinted in her mind, lingering no matter how she tried to banish it. It was wrong. It was stolen. It was… making the ache feel raw again.

Worst of all, despite Azriel’s assurance that Lucien was unharmed by the tonic, she found she couldn’t go to sleep while his side of the bond remained a torment of nothingness. She turned over restlessly throughout the night, replaying it all in her head, torturing herself with the anxious thought that maybe Azriel was wrong. Maybe the tonic wouldn’t wear off, and her mate was in danger. She should have stayed, at least until she knew he was okay.

Lucien would have stayed.

That thought, more than anything, kept her awake. Kept her debating all night whether she should face the ten thousand steps just to break into his house again. It was only the cuts on her feet, and her own shame at explaining to Lucien how much she overreacted, that kept her in bed, turning restlessly.

It wasn't until the sun came up that the familiar metronome of his heartbeat returned.

Jurian and Lucien had been playing that game since they’d been paired up as roommates in college.The objective was to head to the local thrift store and find the worst combination of colors and pieces to render the other one utterly unfuckable at the bar and then spend the night hitting on whatever woman struck their fancy. They’d get shit faced watching the other utterly strike out before stumbling home when the bar closed down to laugh until they pitched face first onto the bathroom floor. 

“Ready?” Jurian asked, a grin stretching across his face. They were too old for this game now—Lucien was twenty eight and a lawyer, for chrissakes. Jurian, too, though he did something secretive and probably shady for the American government. Lucien knew better than to ask what. They both looked appropriately nice—either one of them could have easily found someone willing to go home with them after a couple drinks blurred out their faces and erased their sense of shame. 

“Ready,” Lucien said, eyeing the dingy interior filled nearly wall to wall with clothing items someone else had deemed unworthy. Jurian pulled out his phone, revealing a cracked screen and an iPhone Lucien was certain didn’t get made anymore. His friend fumbled through the half black screen before pulling up the stop watch.

“Annnnd…wait, hold on, I fucked it up,” Jurian said with a frown. 

“Oh for fucks sake,” Lucien grumbled, pulling out his own, protected in a case and practically brand new. They couldn’t have been more comically different.

“Go,” Jurian said, shoulder checking Lucien as he darted off.

“Ass!” Lucien yelled like he was nineteen again. Still, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and made his way to pants first. Lucien wanted to get Jurian a pair of shoes if he could manage it, and pants were always the most expensive. 

He liked this place best—they sorted based on sizes. Some thrift stores didn’t bother to sort at all, which was how Lucien once ended up in that daisy patterned sundress that betrayed more chest hair than he was proud of.

He’d still gotten laid though. 

Ten minutes wasn’t a lot of time, but Lucien had an eye for this sort of thing. He was looking for color, and very quickly pulled out a pair of tan joggers cinched at the ankles with the print of two hotdogs over the legs. Lucien checked the tag, cackling when he realized they were in Jurian’s size. 

He tossed them over his shoulder, wheezing with laughter. He almost didn’t need a shirt. Who had bought those, he wondered? They were a steal for only four dollars—Lucien would have blown his whole budget on them. He saw Jurian laughing himself hoarse over by the shirts which didn’t bode well for him, but Lucien figured he deserved whatever his friend was dishing up. They swapped, Jurian racing toward the pants with a quick, “Seven minutes left.”

Lucien went straight to where Jurian had been, noting the empty hanger beside a rather itchy looking maroon vest and a gray polo better suited toward his father. Lucien began flipping, annoyed there wasn’t something as funny as the hotdog pants. 

Come on, he thought, fingers snagging on a casual beige shirt. Lucien nearly skipped it, but the Cracker Barrel logo stopped him. Pulling it forward, he wordlessly read: I got pegged at Cracker Barrel Old Country Store.

The laugh that exploded out of him made several patrons nearby jump into the air. Checking the tag, Lucien saw it was a little oversized, which would do Jurian’s nice physique no favors. The shirt was a measly dollar—he’d only spent five total, not including tax. He could definitely grab a pair of shoes. Lucien swiped a long pair of what he prayed were used, white, gym socks before finding a pair of toeless dad sandals in the ugliest shade of brown. 

Lucien paid a few seconds before Jurian, his total coming to eleven dollars and seventy two cents. He could have gotten a hat if he’d wanted to, but it felt wrong to rob the ladies of Jurian’s handsome face when every other part of him was already so unappealing. 

Jurian met Lucien outside, holding a matching white bag and a grin on his stupid face. “C’mon,” his friend said, gesturing down the sidewalk. Jurian’s bag looked heavy, and Lucien wondered just how much his friend had managed to get. There had been a time when they went in with fifty dollars so they could track down jewelry, too. In the end it felt like trying too hard, rather than just hard enough. 

They made their way back to Lucien’s place, ignoring that Jurian’s was merely a floor beneath his own. It had seemed too pathetic for two grown men to continue living with each other once they hit twenty five. There was simply no need—they made enough money, and people began to wonder if they were deeply co-dependant rather than recognize they were just best friends. So Lucien and Jurian found a nice apartment in the city and rented the exact same unit a floor apart, and spent most of their time bouncing between the two as it suited them. 

“Put it on blind,” Jurian said, eyes bright with amusement. The sun was beginning to set, though Lucien wasn’t a fool—women were exceptionally good at reading terrible lettering printed on shirts, even in dim night clubs. They weren’t planning that, anyway. This was merely a simple night out at their favorite bar that was, tragically, well lit. 

Lucien went to his bedroom, Jurian to the bathroom. Lucien waited, laughing when Jurian’s muffled, “Who fucking buys this shit?!” erupted through the silence. Shaking his head, Lucien dumped out the contents of his own bag, noting the pair of sparkly purple hightops that were somehow a mans size fourteen.

Could be worse, he decided.

The JNCO jeans would hide them, he thought with some disappointment, kicking off his own nice slacks to pull them over his hips. He needed a belt and wasn’t sure that was the vibe. Hadn’t Eris owned a pair of these when they were boys? Did you wear a belt, or did you show off your ass? Somehow, Lucien didn’t think the black pair of Calvin Kline boxer briefs went with the JNCO jeans and pulled a black belt from his closet to cinch them around his waist. 

“Stupid,” he muttered, kicking at the frayed hem. “I look so fucking stupid.”

The shirt was worse. It was just a shade too small, showing off his rather nice body which normally would have pleased him if it hadn’t been for the words emblazoned across the navy blue fabric. In bright red, it screamed, Of course I cum fast, broken up by an open mouth bass staring straight into the soul of whoever read the words. Beneath the fish, it added in glittery blue, I have fish to catch. 

Lucien ran a hand over his face before pulling his shoulder length auburn hair into a half bun. There would be no saving tonight. 

He met Jurian in the hall, shoes on his feet and a grim smile on his face. Jurian looked just as awful, arms crossed over his chest.

“At least I’m honest,” he told Jurian as his friend doubled over with wheezing laughter. “The socks and the sandals tie it all together.”

“You’re a dick,” Jurian informed him without malice, wiping the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. “You look like an asshole.”

Lucien only shrugged. “C’mon. I need a fucking drink.” 

Slinging his arm over Lucien’s shoulder, Jurian headed out with a smile on his face. “Let’s get to it, then.

ELAIN:

It had been easily the stupidest day she’d ever had. Everything was going wrong—she’d messed up three cake orders, had run out of cupcakes before nine am, and one of her front end workers had quit over text to move across the country with a man she’d met a week ago. So when Vassa had texted Elain asking if she wanted to go out and get a drink, Elain had responded without hesitation.

Yes, yes, yes.

It was an excuse to drown her sorrows, to get ridiculously dressed up in the sexiest clothes she could muster for the setting, and maybe sit in some man's laps and lick his neck. She picked a white and blue dress with spaghetti straps, low cut enough to show off her breasts—made fuller by a push-up bra—and tight through the waist so it gave the illusion of curves. The dress hit her mid thigh, and with a pair of heeled sandals, it made her five foot frame seem longer and leaner. Elain rubbed a glittery lotion over her tan legs and hung a gold chair around her neck, pulling half her thick, golden brown curls from her face.

A little winged liner smudged at the corner of her eyes and a subtle pink lip made her seem sultry and mysterious. Exactly the kind of woman you’d pull into your lap, she decided. Delighted she could control this once thing, Elain made her way out of her little apartment 

Elain knew the real reason Vassa wanted to meet at this particular bar, which was hardly their kind of place. Three weeks ago, Vassa had sent Elain a blurry picture of what she claimed was the hottest man she’d ever seen in her entire life. Vassa had been going back every Saturday hoping to run into him again.

Elain supposed she could play wing woman. The bar had a back patio, at least, with hanging lights that cast a rather nice glow over the wicker furniture arranged around individual firepits. The bar itself was filled with people, forcing Elain to wedge between people in order to start a tab. 

Vassa was standing close to the open patio doors that would take them outdoors, her red hair immaculate against her made-up face. Vassa was stunning and more than a few people had noticed. Elain drank in her cerulean eyes, the golden brown of her flawless skin, and the cobalt dress she wore—just as short as Elain’s, and just as tight.

“He’s here,” she breathed, gripping Elain’s arm with excitement. Elain took a drink of vodka cranberry through her little straw. “He’s here and he brought a friend.”

“Is his friend hot?”

“I didn’t even look,” Vassa admitted, red lips parted as she glanced over her shoulder. “But men are stupid and he’ll assume you’re into him if you smile once in his general direction.”

“I thought we were going to talk,” Elain chided without any real malice. Vassa’s last boyfriend, DJ K-Death God, had been a supreme loser of the highest order. She deserved this. One night flirting with some lame guy wasn’t the worst thing. 

“Who is he?” Elain asked, curious who Vassa was pining after. Still holding her wrist, Vassa led her into the rapidly cooling September air and pointed at two men settling into chairs at the far end of the patio. Elain paused, because at first glance, the red haired one was easily the hottest man she’d ever seen in her life. His brunette friend wasn’t bad, either.

It was their clothes that gave Elain pause. Hotdog pants and JNCO jeans were one thing…but the shirts…

“Uh…which one?” Elain wondered, watching the red head run a broad hand over a shirt that announced, Of course I cum fast, I have fish to catch. Why would he own that? His friend wasn’t much better. Had Vassa read it? I got pegged at the Cracker Barrel Old Country Store. 

“The brown eyed one,” Vassa murmured, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Elain hadn’t even noticed their eye color, too fixated on their outfits. Had they had a house fire and this was all they could salvage? Were they, perhaps, blind, and unaware of what they were wearing?

Was this some new hipster fashion she didn’t understand? 

“I think they both have brown eyes,” Elain replied. 

“The brunette.”

Small mercies, though just barely. Just to be sure Vassa was still sane, Elain asked, “So I’ll…flirt…with the man who comes fast?”

Vassa frowned. “What?”

“Did you notice his clothes, Vas?” Elain asked, but it was too late. The pair had realized they were staring and with matching, idiotic grins, began beckoning them to join the pair. This could only end in ruin, she thought as Vassa took a step forward, dragging Elain with her. 

“Hi,” Vassa said with a strange, breathy kind of shyness so at odds with her friends. The brown haired man rose to his feet, wiping his hands on those stupid hotdog pants. At least the fish man had the decency not to stand too, legs spread—she thought, anyway. It was impossible to tell given how comically wide his pant legs were. 

“Jurian,” he said, running a hand over the back of his neck. “And this is my best friend Lucien.”

“Vassa—and this is Elain.”

Lucien’s eyes flicked up at Elain, a secretive smile on his face. He knew her role tonight, then. No use pretending, she decided, sitting delicately on the wide arm of the chair he was also in. Was it just her, or was Lucien blushing? He kept his eyes studiously straight ahead, and from close up, Elain could see a trio of scars running from his forehead down to his jaw. His eyes were pretty, she decided—a russet color brown, a match for the crackling embers of the firepit they were centered in. 

Both of them turned their attention to Vassa and Jurian. Vassa, for her part, clearly had no eyes for Jurian’s outfit. Maybe she was already drunk? Elain took a slow drag of her own drink, trying to figure out what to say. She glanced down at Lucien, who was staring at broad, strong hands sitting in his lap. He really was handsome, she decided—a strong jaw, high cheekbones, well-groomed brows and shoulder length auburn hair he’d half tied up. His golden skin was flawless, too, closely shaved. 

He cleared his throat. “So ah…Elain, was it?”

Vassa cut Elain a glance that clearly pleaded, play along. 

This was the DJ all over again. Elain offered Lucien a smile before offering him a well-manicured hand. “That’s right. Elain Archeron.”

“Lucien Vanserra,” he replied.

That was familiar. “Isn’t your brother–”

“A senator. Yeah,” Lucien replied with a grimace. 

“He dresses better than you,” Elain dared to say. She expected a little defensiveness—maybe even irritation. Lucien merely smiled.

“It’s a low bar on that front. You look like a dream, though.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. I’m only here for her,” Elain replied, nodding toward Vassa who was very obviously giving Jurian shit. Lucien’s smile didn’t diminish in the slightest. 

“Oh, my hopes are impossibly high. I think you could do a lot better than me,” he told her with a burning stare. 

“Because you come fast?”

Lucien tipped his head back and laughed, a deep and rich sound she decided she liked quite a bit. “I have fish to catch,” he wheezed, one hand on his chest. Elain couldn’t help her own smile, trying to figure out what she was missing. He laughed for a good minute before he caught his breath, broad shoulders still shaking, face lit up with amusement. 

“What am I missing?”

“You know, just because I come fast doesn’t mean you wouldn’t, too.”

“Oh, Mr. Vanserra. I’ve heard that before,” she replied. Lucien cocked his head, lips pressed together. 

“What if I promised?”

“Oh, well, if you promise you’re good in bed, how could I refuse?” Despite herself, Elain was starting to like him. It was clear the outfit he wore was some kind of joke, and Elain couldn’t help but want to be part of it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met a man with a good sense of humor. It seemed like everyone she went out with lately was dark and brooding and took themselves so seriously. 

“What about a bet, Elain Archeron?”

“Oh, I don’t think so—”

“Just an hour of your time,” he interrupted, inching his hand closer to her leg. “And if you don’t like me by the end of it, I’ll drag Jurian out of here with just your friends number and remind him he should play it cool.”

“And if I do like you at the end of the hour?” she asked. 

Lucien considered this before smiling again.

“I want you to sit right here. Right atop the JNCO jeans and the purple hightops.”

Lucien kicked aside his pant legs to show Elain a pair of glittery purple hightops that made her laugh out loud again. That had been all she wanted, wasn’t it? Sit in someone's lap and lick his neck? Lucien was a fashion disaster, but he was still hot and the way he was looking at her clearly betrayed him. He wanted her, too. 

Elain extended her hand which Lucien immediately accepted, grin still plastered across his face. “I guess I can give Vassa some time.”

“Oh, she doesn’t need it. Look at him,” Lucien said, glancing toward his scowling friend. “He’s already in love.”

“He looks furious.”

Lucien shook his head back and forth, causing tendrils of hair to spill over his shoulder. Elain could see that Vassa was verbally sparring with him, eyes defiant and delighted. It was a coin toss if men liked that—sometimes it wounded their egos so egregiously they tried to teach her a lesson and got hit in the throat for their efforts. Other times they enjoyed it…to a point. It was cute, and they thought maybe they could soften her sharp edges only to find Vassa had no interest in being anything but the blade of a knife and then they became the first kind of man, too.

Lucien, though, could hear pieces of what was being said it seemed, which was a miracle given how the loud music from indoors infiltrated even this space far back on the patio. “This is his dream. She just called him stupid—I’ll bet he’s in love.”

“I’ll take your word for it. If he’s unkind to her, I’ll have to leave you here for some poor other woman to find.”

Lucien returned his attention to her, placing his hand against his chest. “I only want your charity, Elain Archeron.”

She laughed without meaning to, hating that Lucien was going to win their bet. Elain could be competitive when she wanted to be, and she hated to lose to a beautiful man that knew he was beautiful. Lucien reclined back, letting his ugly, absurd shirt stretch over what she guessed was a very muscular chest. His biceps practically bulged from the sleeves and yeah. She was getting in his lap tonight. It could be a funny story in the morning she supposed.

Remember that time I made out with the guy in the 90’s JNCO jeans? 

“So,” he began, stretching his arm over the chair so his fingers brushed her wrist. “Tell me about you.”

And Elain did, though she usually loathed that question. It wasn’t specific enough—what did they want to know? Elain always picked the easy piece of her. She told him about her bakery thinking he’d quickly change the subject to himself. Instead, Lucien surprised her like he’d done all night. Maybe he knew he had to work harder because of his clothes or maybe this was just who he was. But Lucien asked more questions than her bank had when she’d gone in looking for a loan.

Which meant he’d be coming through her doors with a smile on that beautiful face of his one day, and she’d be pulling him to the freezer to kiss him before the cold set in. An hour had surely passed before Lucien admitted he was a tax attorney. When Elain asked him to explain what that mean, he blushed furiously and insisted it was far too boring to tell her, and instead told her the most heinously embarrassing story about their state senator that would surely compromise his ability to get re-elected should it ever make its way to the press.

She kept waiting for him to remind her that he’d won their bet. It was obvious she liked him. One hour became two in the blink of an eye. Lucien had gone for a second round of drinks, insisting he could buy one vodka cranberry when Elain told him she had a tab and to put her drink on her own. She was nursing it as the clock ticked toward their third hour, waiting for him to make a move when it occurred to her that Lucien simply wouldn’t.

He’d laid his cards on the table right when they met, but he wasn’t going to push it. Which made sliding into his lap with a sigh far easier when it didn’t come with the added pressure of giving him what he so clearly wanted. Lucien, holding a tall, sweating cider in one hand, moved his hands so they weren’t touching her until she settled. Maybe she wiggled on his lap just a little as a tease. And maybe she adjusted herself so her boobs were right in his line of sight on purpose. Lucien kept his eyes trained on her face and for the first time that evening, he didn’t seem quite as self-assured. 

“I think I lost our bet,” she admitted, using her tongue to find her straw. Lucien watched, lips parted, eyes utterly glazed.

“Oh yeah?”

Elain had lost track of Vassa about an hour ago, though she did have a text on her phone with Jurian’s address and a shrugging emoji. Good for Vassa. Elain could have left—she’d done her job, distracting Lucien so Vassa could sneak off with his friend. Elain could thank Lucien for the drink, close out her tab, and walk home alone.

Instead, she lowered her face so she was breathing in the rich, woodsy scent of his cologne. “Yeah,” she breathed, Lucien’s free hand skimmed over the side of her body before settling against her hip. 

He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly as his mind tried to catch up with whatever he thought was happening. Elain didn’t know how to be more obvious, though she did lick his neck, just for good measure.

Lucien huffed out an exhale. “Do ah…christ,” he breathed when she did it again, her hand running down the length of his chest. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Elain looked up the same moment Lucien looked down. Whatever control he’d been employing snapped because his mouth found hers quickly, lips hot in captured, frantic kiss. Elain leaned into it, thinking the last few men she’d been on dates with had waxed poetic about how distasteful they found public displays of affection.

But she liked it. She liked knowing someone wanted her so badly they couldn’t wait for the privacy of four walls and didn’t care who knew it. Lucien tasted like apples and alcohol, his tongue in her mouth before Elain could catch her breath. The grip on her hip tightened until she was pressed tight to his body.

And then it was over. Lucien took a deep breath, looking beyond her. “I’d like to get out of here.”

“Thank god,” he muttered, letting her rise to shaky feet. “My place is just two blocks down. I swear I’m not a serial killer.”

“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say,” Elain teased as he stood. He was taller than he seemed in those absurd pants. Several people turned to look at him, frowns on their faces.

“Wait. Before we go…explain this to me.”

She gestured up and down his body. Lucien offered her one of those smiles again, tighter than before. “Jurian and I like to pick outfits out for each other before we go to the bar. The more absurd, the better.”

“So this isn’t your usual wardrobe?”

Lucien chuckled, one hand on her lower back as he took her to the bar. “You can rifle through my closet if you like. Or I could show you—”

“I don’t want to see you in clothes, Lucien.” Better to be straightforward, right? Just tell him what she wanted? 

He nearly barrelled into a table in front of him. “Right,” he seemed to say—it was impossible to tell given how loud the music was. What Elain did know was somehow Lucien managed to pay both his tab and hers, which was generous of him, and had them back out on the dark street quicker than should have been possible. The bartender clearly knew him, and she’d seen them laughing about his shirt, which meant he probably wasn’t a murderer.

Just an idiot.

She could work with that. 

LUCIEN: 

“So,” he began, closing the door behind him. Would she panic if he locked it? Lucien chose not to, assuming no one was going to just barrel right in. Elain was peering at his tasteful decor with clear curiosity when all he could think about was how to get her to his bedroom. “Are you hungry?”

She glanced over at him with those sultry brown eyes and he thought he might die. “Not really,” she admitted, slipping her shoes off beside the door. She lost about four inches of height that way. Lucien swallowed. Elain was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Was sleeping with her a mistake? Would it be better to take her out a couple times first, let her see his interest in her was genuine? 

“Water?” he offered instead, the word hoarse. 

She shrugged. “Sure.”

Lucien turned his back to fill two glasses with water, and when he turned back, Elain had vanished. 

“Elain?” he called, heart hammering in his chest. She didn’t respond, though Lucien could guess where she’d gone. Abandoning his cups, he found her in his bedroom, standing in his closet with a frown on her lips.

“I thought you didn’t care about my clothes,” he teased, arms crossed over his chest as he lounged in the doorway.

“I suppose I should be glad you didn’t wear any of this,” she admitted, turning off the light as she faced him. “I couldn’t handle the competition.”

“Trust me,” he began, watching as she came closer and closer. “There is no competition when you’re in the room.”

Licking her lips, Elain stopped mere inches in front of him. “Is that so?”

“I ah…” she had her hand on his chest again and something about the way she touched him made him so, so stupid. “I want to take you on a date.”

Elain smiled. “You don’t have to. This is happening, Lucien. You can relax.”

“No, I mean after,” he breathed. Elain was undoing his belt and forming coherent sentences was becoming more and more difficult. “I want to take you out.”

“Are you sure that isn’t your erection talking?”

“I’ll take you home,” he lied, because Lucien didn’t think he could walk to the door given how aroused he was. “We can go somewhere nice tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she said in a tone that betrayed how little she believed him. Lucien had so many questions about the men she’d been with before—how many made the same stupid promises only to disappoint her? He wouldn’t, though. Lucien had plans for her, if she’d let him. Stupid plans, like a trip to Paris and introducing her to his mother.

Elain tossed the belt to the floor laughing when his jeans slipped to his ankles. “They didn’t have your size?”

“I think you hold them up all night,” he admitted, terrified to move when Elain slid a finger under the elastic band of his boxer briefs. “I uh…you don’t have to—”

“Oh, will you stop,” she said sweetly, finger almost brushing his cock. “I’ll tell you if I don’t want to do something.”

“I—-” he froze, because those pretty hands, with the perfect, shimmery pink nails, had vanished entirely and were now gripping the base of his cock. This wasn’t real—there was no way this was happening and yet Elain was pulling out his cock and laughing when she saw it.

“Good for you, Lucien,” she told him, sinking to her knees.

“Elain…” he whispered. Was he going to tell her she didn’t have to? When all he wanted was to see her swallow him? When they’d been kissing on the patio, Lucien had envisioned sliding his hand beneath her dress. He’d imagined she wore nothing beneath it and he’d be able to touch her pussy to find it was already wet.

But now he had new daydreams and all of them centered around her looking up at him through those thick, dark lashes with that wicked smile curved over her perfect face. 

“Are you going to tell me no?” she asked.

“Put my cock in your mouth, Elain,” he replied, gathering up the strands of her hair. Elain smiled, licking the vein running the underside of his erection. A sharp exhale of air left him, legs rigid beneath him. 

“Is this what you like?”

Lucien didn’t know anymore. He might have had preference once upon a time. Now his preference was whatever she was doing. The teasing was, at the very least, going to make his shirt exceptionally and embarrassingly true. He was far too excited and she hadn’t even put him wholly in her throat—she was merely teasing the head of his cock, lightly stroking him with that mischievous smile. 

He’d have to stop her at some point, which he thought would be an excellent opportunity to calm himself down and even the score between them. And if he could bring her to climax before he ever entered her body, that was even better. Lucien was so caught up imagining what he might do to her, he was only barely paying attention to what she was doing to him.

He groaned, his attention returning to the woman at his feet, when she swallowed a good third of him. Lucien didn’t like the sound of gagging, and when Elain widened her jaw in an attempt to take more, he stopped her.

“That’s good, that’s good,” he managed, sweeping his thumbs over her cheeks. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

Elain rolled her eyes, sassy as ever. Lucien liked the sight of her on her knees way too much. He’d also underestimated just how excited he was, because the erotic imagery of Elain taking him with enthusiasm, kneeling between his legs, was unraveling him faster than he liked.

And Lucien would be damned if he proved Jurian’s stupid shirt true. He let her continue for another minute, mostly because he was selfish, before he reached for her elbows and pulled him off me.

“Why did you stop me?”

“The night is young,” he lied, hoping she didn’t look down and see the way his cock was twitching in time with his pulse. “And there are a lot of things I want to do to you.”

Lucien kissed her, somehow managing not to trip over the ugly shoes and pants still tangled around his ankles. Half naked, Lucien got Elain to his large bed blanketed in red before pulling his shirt up off over his head.

“I’ll burn it—”

“Don’t,” she breathed, eyes bright with amusement. “It’s starting to grow on me.”

Laying on her back, Lucien truly didn’t know where to start with her. Elain felt like a dream he’d made up, a hallucination mere moments from evaporating into nothing as a doctor brought him back from the dead. There was no way this woman was in his bed. Smiling at him. Lucien flopped beside her, deciding he’d start with kissing and see where that took them. He was naked and she was still very clothed, but he could work with that. As long as she didn’t think he was trying to entice her into only paying attention to him, Lucien figured he was golden. 

Kissing Elain was almost better than her sucking his cock. She made the sweetest little noises—just like she’d done in the bar. Lucien had been in danger there, because all he’d meant to do was kiss her once so she knew he was interested in her. But she’d sighed into his mouth, fingers curling in his hair and he’d deepened it like an idiot. Maybe some part of him wanted everyone else to see him, to know that they didn’t have a snowball's chance in hell because he’d gotten her first.

Never mind it had been pure luck. 

Elain had moaned when his tongue found hers and Lucien knew if he didn’t get her out of there right then and there, he wouldn’t make it further than the bathroom. They’d be rushed, and then she’d be embarrassed and he’d lose his shot with her. Now he had the time he wanted, and Lucien was going to drag it out until they were both breathless and on the edge of orgasm.

Even if it killed him.

Elain tasted like sunshine. There was no other explanation for it. There was no lingering vodka, no hint of sweetness from the cranberry. Kissing her was like standing outside in June and Lucien was addicted to it. Pinning her to the bed, their fingers interlaced, Lucien kissed her like a man in love. 

He wasn’t chaste about it. Lucien was trying to figure out her dress at the same time. It was tight enough he was certain there must be buttons or a zipper, and when Elain arched up into him, rubbing herself against the thigh wedged between her legs, Lucien found it and pulled it down quickly. 

She didn’t stop him, nor did Elain protest when he pushed the straps over her tanned shoulders, bunching the pretty dress around her waist. A pretty white, lacy bra was another obstacle Lucien quickly divested her of, tossing it to the floor with the monstrosity of items he’d been wearing the day before. There was no logical explanation for Elain’s interest, not reason he had her in his bed at all.

He ought to be alone, hand grasping his cock in the bathroom. Lucien grasped her breast, delighted when the entirety of it fit in the palm of his hand. Elain moaned again, neck arched so he could repay the favor from the bar and lick the smooth column of flesh. He was going to taste every inch of her before the night was through. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against her collabone. “You’re a dream, do you know that?” Elain merely squirmed, pulling out the ponytail in his hair so it tumbled around his face. He’d tell her again in the morning, he decided. For not, it was enough to draw that pebbled nipple into his mouth, teasing it with the flat of his tongue. She was so responsive and Lucien was desperate to get his mouth between her legs, too. 

Slow the fuck down, asshole. 

It was hell. Lucien wondered if there was a future in which he knew her so well that he could spend hours touching and kissing every little place that drove her wild. If a future version of him didn’t have to worry that she might wake up in the morning, thank him for a nice time, and never see him again.

She was panting his name. “Lucien,” she breathed, carding her fingers through his hair. Lucien had to grind his bare cock against the duvet, unable to stand the tingling arousal that shot through him. Elain didn’t notice, eyes half-lidded which was for the best.

He wasn’t beating the charges that he came fast anytime soon.

Dragging his mouth lower and lower, Lucien finally settled himself between her parted legs, delighted when she shimmied the dress to her knees. He helped her, tossing it behind him, leaving only a matching pair of white panties in their wake.

“Oh, come on,” he grumbled as Elain giggled sweetly. 

“In a hurry to see me out?”

“Definitely in a hurry,” he agreed as she slid the panties from her body torturously slow. “I come fast, remember?”

She giggled again, leaning up on her elbows to look at him. “Have you—”

“No, I haven’t,” he said quickly, not bothering to add that he was probably five strokes away, condom or not. “But the sight of you feels like enough.”

“Stop it,” she whispered, a deep pink flush crawling up her neck. Lucien grinned, lowering himself so he was practically eye level with her pussy.

“Someone should say it. You’re beautiful.”

Elain shivered and Lucien wondered if people weren’t saying so. He had a million questions he wanted to ask her, a million things he wanted to know. But right then, hovering between her legs, Lucien truly only wanted to know one thing.

“What do you taste like?” he murmured, holding her gaze.

Elain’s smile was wicked. “Find out.”

ELAIN:

Lucien’s smile was a thing of beauty. He offered it up so easily, in contrast with so many men she’d been with in the past. Elain wanted to revel in it, to drown entirely between his lips. And she would, she realized, when Lucien lowered his mouth and took a taste of her. This was its own little treat—her last boyfriend had refused more often than he hadn’t, deriding the act as emasculating and boring. The fact that Lucien was there, tongue sliding over her clit as his fingers spread her apart…that was a good sign, right? And it felt good, like everything else. Lucien seemed determined to wring every last inch of pleasure from her and Elain was starting to believe that he wanted to see her again. 

She’d let him, if he asked. She’d stay the night and make him breakfast in the morning, even. She’d have dinner with him at night and she’d suck his cock for dessert. Hell, Elain would introduce him to her sisters, her friends, the people she worked with. This is Lucien Vanserra, my—

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips rolling against the mattress. “Holy fucking shit.” Elain laughed, because what else could she do? He looked so wrecked for a moment, auburn hair curtained around his handsome, flushed face. Lucien looked up at her, unable to smile though his eyes were bright, and pushed a finger into her body.

That shut her up. 

“Kill me,” Lucien whispered, sliding that finger back out of her only to bring it to his mouth. Lucien sucked it clean while Elain watched, breathing between parted lips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Are you always so dramatic?” she tried to tease. 

“Only with you,” he admitted, sliding that same finger, plus another, back in her body. Elain moaned, arching off the bed because it felt good. He curled them just right, sucking her clit between plush lips to heighten the pleasure she felt. Elains toes curled, knees draped over his shoulders though she couldn’t remember putting them there. He had her obscenely spread, mouth licking every inch of her pussy. 

There was no elegance here, no room for shame. Elain’s thighs tightened around his face, holding him closer while her fingers tangled in his hair. 

“Don’t stop,” she begged him. Truthfully, she didn’t think he could. Lucien was a man possessed and part of her wanted to stop him and demand he fuck her, just to see what he was like when he was sharing her body. The anticipation was enough to drive Elain higher, arousal burning brightly just beneath the electric hum of her skin. 

She needed just a little more. More of his pumping fingers, of his sucking lips. “Lucien,” she breathed, grinding into him. “Lucien, please—”

She didn’t know what he did. The sensations melded together until Elain was flying off the bed, pinned by his one free hand. She had to bite her palm to keep from screaming, a sound she’d never once made in her life. Lucien didn’t stop licking as Elain lost herself for a moment to the wildest orgasm she’d ever had in her life. One became two, ricocheting through her before she’d caught her breath. 

Elain kicked him in the jaw by accident, flailing to escape the overwhelming pleasure. He rolled to his side, dazed for only a moment before he was reaching for her again, dragging her down the sheets for a messy, desperate kiss. They rolled around for a moment, trying so hard to find a position in which one of their legs wasn't dangling off the bed. The obvious choice would have been to just scoot back up to the pillows and Elain thought she’d die if he stopped kissing her for even a minute.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Lucien moaned, rubbing the head of his cock against her pussy. “And I’m probably going to come fast.”

“At least you warned me at the bar,” she replied through rough kisses. Lucien huffed a laugh that quickly melted into a loud moan when he thrust himself into her. It was all she could do to dig her nails into his shoulders, gasping for breath because that big, thick cock punched the air from her lungs. 

“Spend the night,” Lucien babbled, holding himself still as he brushed strands of hair from her face. “Let me buy you breakfast in the morning.”

Elain pressed her lips to his. “How about I cook breakfast, you buy dinner.”

Lucien groaned, sliding his cock from his body only to slam it back in. “Deal,” he managed. For a moment there was nothing else but their shared breathing as Lucien worked himself into a rhythm that worked for them both. Elain could practically taste him—he still tasted like cider, sweet and masculine all at once, mingled with the taste of her own arousal. 

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple and she wondered how much restraint he was employing. The veins in his neck seemed to strain, the muscles in his stomach and back pulled taut. If he’d come, she wouldn’t have begrudge him that—she’d come twice already. Surely he deserved to, too. Any man would have done exactly what he liked with her, and Elain was quickly learning Lucien was not just any man.

She was starting to think he was better. 

Bracing his body against an elbow, Lucien used the other to slide between their sweat slicked bodies for her still aching, clit. “I need to feel you come on my cock,” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. 

“I don’t think I can,” she replied, though that wasn’t entirely true. She’d managed to give herself multiple orgasms. Why shouldn’t he, too? Elain concentrated on the pad of his thumb rubbing tight circles over her clit and the way his cock felt stroking in and out of her body.

But it was his mouth, kissing relentlessly, his tongue stroking her own, that drove Elain back into the fire.

“You’re so tight,” he panted. “Fuck, Elain—baby, come for me. Please come, baby, please—”

He was babbling, whimpering with each new stroke. Elain clamped around him tight, pussy pulsating as Lucien got what he wanted. Just in time, because he gasped, his thrusting erratic, before he came with a loud, desperate moan of pleasure. 

They were kissing before she ever caught her breath, his arms tight around her body to roll her over. Elain didn’t complain, his legs wrapped around her waist to keep himself from slipping out of her. She thought, foolishly, he meant to go again.

But Lucien’s arms flopped to his sides once he was flat on his back, eyes locked on her face and cheeks bright red from exertion. “I’ll take that water now,” he gasped while Elain laughed, palms pressed to the defined pectorals of his chest.

“And something to eat?”

“If it's delivered,” he managed, a smile on his face. “I’m not getting out of this bed and I’m sure as shit not putting on pants.”

“Should I get an Ub—”

“Under the blankets? Yes,” he said, yanking her back when she tried to get up. “Don’t you dare get out of this bed.”

There was a pause as Lucien considered what he’d said. Elain waited, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

“Unless you want to leave?”

“Nope,” she replied. “But there will be no fishing in the morning, Lucien.”

His smile returned. “That won’t keep me from coming fast, you know.”

Elain smiled too. “I know.”

THREE YEARS LATER:

“You can’t be back here, moron,” Vassa hissed, looking Lucien up and down. “Go back downstairs.”

“I’ll close my eyes. I just want to give something to my wife—”

“Not yet,” Vassa interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. “She could still change her mind.”

Gently, Lucien moved Vassa from the front of the door and squeezed his eyes shut tight before entering. There was a soft squeal from Elain, and the whisper of satin and lace as she moved across the room.

“This is such bad luck, Lucien,” Elain complained. She smelled floral and he bet she looked beautiful. He wanted to open his eyes and look, and knew he wouldn’t—this mattered to her, and Lucien wouldn’t take that away from her.

“I’m not looking at you. Just imagining,” he replied as he reached into the pocket of his suit pants. “I have a gift for you.”

“Your penis is not a gift—”

“You shush,” he said with a laugh. “It is a gift, first of all. I’m saving that for later. My gift is something old and something blue.”

“Nesta gave me…Lucien…is that a garter?” 

He’d had it made weeks ago, and had been daydreaming the reveal. He wished he could see her face as she saw the now stretchy piece of blue t-shirt fabric he was offering her. Petal soft fingers brushed his palm and it was like touching her for the first time all over again. Swallowing, he waited a beat.

“Is this—”

“It’s from the fish shirt. From the night we met. I had them cut a strip from the bottom of…for luck, too. So whatever bad luck it is to talk to you before the wedding is canceled by this shirt.”

“Lucien…” but he heard the rustling of her dress and the shift in her breathing while she shimmied it up her thigh. 

“Do you like it?”

“I feel like I shouldn’t…but I do,” she admitted. A moment later he felt her press her lips to his jaw, laughing at whatever she saw. “Don’t wipe that off.”

“Why would I?” he replied with what he hoped was a charming grin. “Let it be known I’m in love with my wife.”

“Debatable, given the cursed fish garter wrapped around my leg.”

“I’m going to take it off with my teeth,” he promised, excited at the prospect of climbing beneath her skirts. “Take your underwear off and give me a little show.”

“You’re terrible, Lucien.”

He was making his way back to the door, still laughing. “Just because you don’t want anything smashed in your face doesn’t mean I feel the same.” Elain’s small hands pushed against his back, shoving him back into the hallway. Still, Lucien heard her peals of laughter trailing behind him like bells. Lucien didn’t have it in him to feel an ounce of regret. After all, this was exactly what he’d wanted the moment he’d seen Elain standing across that crowded bar patio, frown on her perfect face as she read his shirt. 

The fact that he’d somehow managed to bring her back to his place, nevermind that she’d agreed to marry him a year and half later, was a miracle in and of itself. He still walked around in a daze, marveling at his good luck. 

Lucien made his way through the little house they’d rented, toward the garden where he’d see Elain for the first time in three days. Where she’d swear, in front of their friends, their family, and the very gods themselves, that she wanted to be with him until she died. 

Lucien smiled broadly.