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Belinda gets someone she trusts caring for her business. Clarissa gets a home and a job she fucking loves. And I get Belinda permanently living next door.

Except that's not quite right anymore.

Because Belinda doesn't live next door. She lives with me.

Permanently.

Fuck, I like that word.

Her clothes are in my closet. Her shampoo is in my shower. Her books are on my nightstand.

Her baking shit has taken over half my kitchen.

There are approximately nine thousand hair products in my bathroom, and I don't know what a single fucking one of them does.

Sparky has three beds in my house despite still sleeping wherever the fuck he wants. Belinda's slippers are beside mine.

Her coffee mug is in the cabinet. Her scent is in my sheets. And every morning, I wake up with my promised in my arms.

Home.

That's what she is.

Home.

And somehow, impossibly, it gets even better. Because my mate is pregnant.

Pregnant.

With my child.

Our baby. Our family.

Fuck.

The thought still hits me with the same wonder it did when Grandmother confirmed it.

My Devil has been insufferable ever since.

Mine.

Yeah, I fucking know. I look across the crowded room.

There she is.

Belinda.

My promised.

My mate.

My Little Witch.

The mother of my child.

She's standing near the dessert table talking to Megan, wearing a black dress that hugs every one of those gorgeous curves and a ridiculous little Witch hat tilted sideways on her curls.

Her skin looks normal tonight.