Page 11 of My Indecent Valentine

“You’ll give us the patent,” Sofia says, voice sharpening into a steely command. It’s an aggressive counteroffer, and there’s a sudden tightness in my pants. My wife never ceases to impress me.

Magleon turns around, a snarl on his face. “That’s too much!”

“And you’ll sell us the building,” I add. “For ten percent under fair market value.”

He scoffs and curses under his breath. “In that case, I will insist on a ‘gratification clause’.”

I shake my head ‘no.’

“What’s that?” Sofia asks.

“An escape-hatch loophole,” I say, not bothering to hide my disdain.

“I’m not paying through the nose for an unenthusiastic thrust job. If your performance doesn’t meet my expectations, you get nothing. That’s fair!” Magleon shouts.

“Then your expectations need to be clearly spelled out in writing,” I say, rising from my chair. A gratification clause would allow him to declare himself dissatisfied and void the contract with no explanation required. I would never agree to that.

“Fine. We can discuss the details upstairs,” he says through gritted teeth, then gestures to the door with a jab of pent-up frustration. “I’ll have Alette join us.”

“Give us a few minutes. We’ll be right behind you,” I say, and he departs with a stomp.

I turn to Sofia as soon as the door is closed. “We don’t have to do this.”

“No. We don’t have to,” she says, sliding her hand into mine. “No one can make us do anything. Not Magleon, not anyone. I don’t care what anyone wants but you. If you think this is worth it, then I do, too.” She meets my eye and, squeezing my hand, she waits for me to decide.

Do I think keeping our dream restaurant open and securing our financial future is worth it? It should be an easy question, but it’s not. I won’t know the details until we’re upstairs, but this much is clear: Magleon is going to ask me to shed every layer of privacy I’ve ever wrapped around myself and invite him into my innermost thoughts while I bed my most beloved and precious wife. My skin is prickling like an electric storm, and there’s a clammy sweat trickling down the back of my neck. I pull at my collar.

“You’re worth it,” I say. She’s the only thing that is.

Chapter 5

Sofia

Wanting to be Samite, fantasizing about experiencing the world in his skin, that’s the only part of this whole thing that makes any sense to me. Everything else is too strange to sink in. It floats on the surface as we ride up the elevator. There’s not a flutter in my pulse, not a nervous bone in my body. Delira’s Gift is a meaningless phrase.

What I can’t stop thinking about is Magleon and how long he’s been fantasizing and obsessing over Samite. A very long time and in great detail by the sound of it. But Samite is mine. And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him, including this.

It’s after midnight before the contract is finalized. The back and forth between the two of them gets heated and drawn out. I’d like to go home and sleep. I’m exhausted.

“It has to be now,” Samite murmurs in my ear. He means the performance. “Can you do it, my love?” he asks with a brush of lips against my cheek. Magleon was firm on one point: no repairs or installation until after we’ve performed Delira’s Gift. If we want to open on time, it’s now or never.

I feel the first real twinge of nerves now that the moment has arrived, but I nod, blinking my eyes to clear them of their sleepy haze. Tipping my chin with his finger, he kisses my lips. Then he picks up a pen and signs. He passes the contract to me, and I scribble my name next to his.

We have a deal.

I’m given a white evening gown to change into, and something about that makes my stomach go a little queasy. In the back of my mind, I know it’s not a gown. It’s a costume, one I’ll be wearing for an audience.

Samite is given a three-piece suit, all black. His is a perfect fit as if someone knew his exact measurements. Mine is a bit loose, and the shoulders keep slipping. I have to walk carefully to avoid exposing myself ahead of time.

A room is prepared, or maybe it’s been ready this whole time. We hover outside the gilded, black panel door and soon Magleon’s three partners join us. One is a towering orc, even taller than Magleon. He has a stronger jaw, wider shoulders, and he’s dressed in a tailored gold suit. The other two are impossibly tall demonesses with jewel-encrusted horns dressed in evening wear. With their heels, they’re the same height as Magleon.

Samite and I are on an entirely different scale from the four of them, two field mice in the company of hawks. I shift uncomfortably and grab at my shoulder, catching my sleeve before it can fall.

We exchange nods but no names and enter the room. It is dimly lit by a half dozen recessed lights turned low. Heavy velvet curtains hang across the back wall, royal purple with gold fringe. A spotlight flicks on, illuminating a small platform. It has a red patterned carpet and a tufted gold ottoman sitting in the middle. It looks like a footstool, but it’s tall enough and large enough to be a bed. A single carved wooden chair sits next to it. Further away, tucked into the shadows, are two matching damask loveseats. I glance up. A variety of mirrors hang at different heights and angles over the stage.

My pulse ticks up to a nervous drumbeat in my chest, all drowsiness gone.

Magleon and his partners head to the loveseats. Samite takes my hand and leads me to the platform.

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