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He nods. “Yes, yes. You’re right.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“But I’m not sorry,” he tells me.
“See, now you lost me.”
“I’m sorry for scaring you, for confusing you. But I’m not sorry that I married you.”
This should piss me off. Why isn’t it pissing me off?
“Go on,” I say.
“If you want to leave, I’ll respect that. But we can’t simply set aside the connection we had.”
Behind him, the door creaks open, and it’s a tall, white bearded fellow in a red suit. I blanch as Cyran goes on, “…the connection we both felt when I was deep inside you, filling you…”
“Oh, excuse me,” Santa Claus says, backing out and closing the door. Outside, I hear Clara howling, “I told you our house was occupied at the moment!”
I might pass out. Santa Claus just heard all of that.
Cyran is unfazed. “…Our souls collided, Ivy. You can’t deny that.”
I swallow hard. He’s right. But that’s nothing to base a relationship on…is it?
“Let me give you another option. You could stay in the village, and we could see where this goes. I’ve already found a house for you, where you can be alone and decide when and where you want to see me. If you want to see me.
“If you choose either of those options, I’ll be fine. I could wait for you. Or I’ll live in torment forever because that’s what I deserve. To live alone without my one true mate.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t deserve eternal torment. That’s stupid. Maybe a little torment.”
His throat bobs. “So you wish to leave.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Cyran shoots to his feet. “You’re staying! I knew it!”
“Shut up, I didn’t say that either,” I laugh.
He kisses me so hard it scrambles my thoughts. What was he groveling about already? Oh, right. Marrying me in a pretty freakin’ sneaky way.
“But you’ll stay.”
I stare up at him for a long time.
Finally, I say, “You know, it could be the mountain troll whiskey talking, but yes. I’ll stay.”
Cyran lets out a giant whoop and scoops me up into his arms, princess-style.
He kisses me again and presses his forehead to mine. “Forgive me, wife.”
I rub the tip of my nose against his. “You elves don’t have, like, multiple wives or anything, do you?”
“No,” he says. “But we can pretend, if it will make you jealous.”
“Don’t ever pretend,” I say, feeling the green monster form in my belly. I guess I don’t even like him to joke about that stuff.
“I promise. And I promise to make your sacrifice worth it.”
