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She doesn't say anything for a beat. Neither do I.

She walks toward me. And I wipe my dirty hands on my jeans, suddenly more fucking nervous than I have any right to be.

She stops a few feet away. Her gaze moves from me to the envelope and back again.

“You wrote all this?”

“Yeah.”

“And the wards belong to the property?”

“Yes.”

“Not you?”

“No.”

Her velvet eyes narrow slightly.

“And I can remove them?”

“Any fucking time you want.”

“You won't stop me?”

Fuck.

That question hits me square in the chest.

Because she actually has to ask.

“No, Sweet. I won’t stop you.” I shake my head. “They're yours. This place is yours. What happens to it is your decision.”

Something shifts in her expression.

Not forgiveness.

We're not there yet. But some of the hardness leaves her eyes.

“And if I decide I don't want your magic here?”

“Then you remove it.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

She studies me for a long time.

I don't move closer.

Don't touch her.

Don't tell her she's my promised.

Don't tell her my Devil is currently demanding that I close the six feet between us and bury my face against the mark on her neck.

I just fucking wait. Finally, she looks down at the envelope.