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I made a drunken bet. The Yule was nigh, and Yule’s the time when Frost men drink mulled wine and dare each other to stupid stunts. My brother bet I’d be too scared to send a blood sample to the Temple, so of course, I proved him wrong. And before I sobered up enough to withdraw my application…
Ping!
I got matched.
So now I have to go up there and explain to the hapless woman who’s apparently my perfect mate that I’m in no hurry to get married. I’m only 54, goddammit! Who even marries so young?
Me, as it turns out. I do. Because the bride that fell in my lap like the most perfect Yule present won’t let me leave. She’s a harridan and one hell of a bossy shrew who pummels me with cute, lust-provoking insults, and I…
I think I’m in love.
