“I was under the impression we wanted the same things.” He chuckles, amused at my state ofdistress.
“We do!”
“So what, may I ask, is theproblem?”
“I don’t know!” I yell. Would I like to marry Moth? Yes, obviously, of course. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner and more, but it’s just that after the last few days… “It feels like there’s so much we don’t know about each other.”
“Because of my past? My flame, I barely know of it…”
“And the future I guess too, right?” I look around at the ornate walls of the castle and think back to our shabby little cabin inthe woods.
Holly was right. Our house is a shoebox compared to this place, and I don’t know what that means for our future. How is he possibly going to go back? I don’t know why I’m overthinking. I have my prince, a four-poster bed, and I just helped make arrangements for a freaking grand ball.
This could be home.
This life is the one he was born into. It’s perfect, glamorous, and has a 24-hour staff. There’s no sneaking around, no hiding in the shadows. After a lifetime of hiding, he deserves this.
It just doesn’t feel right yet, but maybe it could? It took a while to adjust to living in the middle of the woods, and now I can’t picture myself anywhere else. Maybe that’s part of the problem: I’ve gotten too comfortable. I’m losing my sense ofadventure.
“Do you ever feel like we skipped the big conversations?” I ask, flopping onto the giant bed with a thud. He follows my lead, turning so we’re looking into each other’s eyes.
“My favorite color is that of your eyes, my favorite sound is your laughter. You are my flame, my heart. What more do you wishto know?”
“Do you want kids?” I blurt out. If we’re going to get married someday, that’s probably something we should talk about. Even after my mom hounded us over the holidays, we haven’t had a conversationabout it.
There’s a thoughtful pause before he answers.“Do you?”
“I don’t want my answer to influence yours,” I say honestly. The truth is, despite how strange my relationship can be with my mom, I always pictured raising a familyeventually.
“I … never thought it would bepossible.”
“Oh?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter.
“Not in the physical sense. It is just… who in the human world would look at me and think, ‘Yes, that forest monster would make an excellent father’?” He laughs, but there’s an edge to his tone; I think it might be the pain of thinking there was a future he wanted that he could never have. Except, now I’m here, and everything is different. As I’ve seen in the last few days, he’s great with kids, but that doesn’t mean he wants them.
We fall back into the bed, laying in silence for a long time. It’s an effort to keep myself from blurting out every single passing thought I have. I’m not super great at patience or quiet, but I want to hear what he really thinks about this.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “I would—at the right time—very much consider it.”
“Me too,” I answer, feeling a little relieved. “Not now, I mean. But yeah, I want to be a mom someday. I don’t know if that means trying to get pregnant or adopting; there are so many kids who need a safe place, you know? But I’m not like … in that headspace orwhatever.”
“We are in agreement then.” He nods, his fingers lazily trailing down the line of my jaw. “I am also in no rush. Now, what else do you want to ask me?”
Where do you want to raise this hypothetical family?
I push the question down, forcing a smile. We just got here a few days ago. He’s still recovering his memories and settling into everything. I don’t want to put more pressure on the situation. Maybe just knowing that we both align with that small slice of the futureis enough.
“Are there any special dances I need to know for the ball?” I ask. “I feel like I’ve stepped into some historical fantasy world—like if Jane Austen wroteLord of The Ringsor something.”
His eyes crinkle into half-moons when he laughs, and I savor the relief onhis face.
“Perhaps you can teach everyone the Cupid Shuffle you required me to learn during our Valentine’s party with Clara and Rosie.”
“I mean, ifthey’re lucky.” I snort, thinking of the four of us blasting the wedding reception hit after too many glasses of punch. I’m still not a big drinker, but it was Rosie’s special recipe, and every cup tasted like strawberry jam. Side effects included: teaching West Virginia’s beloved cryptid how to do an organized dance and later, a monster hangover. Looking back, it wasworth it.
“I love you,my flame.”
“I love you too.” I pull him closer, breathing in the familiar scent of autumn leaves and oak. As long as we’re together, everything is going to be fine.
