Page 44 of By the Fae

Even though I could feel the blush creeping up, I said, “The rude version, please?” before descending into a fit of very un-grown-up giggles.

So, she told me, and we spent all morning chatting, and most of the afternoon. I found out all sorts of things about her and her husband, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye at dinner. Eleven inches! It sounded painful.

I spoke about my life. About my parents and sister. My apartment on the waterfront that I was waiting to move into. I told her about work, how the guys largely ignored me. She shrugged and said, “Fae for you.”

I neglected to mention anything about Seth. I wasn’t sure why. It didn’t feel like something I wanted to tell someone I’d only just met, even if she had referred to herself as my friend.

At around midday, Taurin came downstairs and made us all sandwiches. Cheese and pickle, though his were vegan, and then he left us in the living room again, giving his wife a big lovedrunk smile on the way.

We carried on our conversation from where it left off. She spoke about herself, her husband, and her flatmates, and whenever the conversation drifted onto Goldie, I felt a rush of . . . something, in my gut. Something swoopy and a bit sickly. Not sure I could pinpoint the feeling yet, but when the talk moved away from the fae, I felt like something was missing. Like the moment between stepping out of a hot bath on a winter’s day and wrapping the towel around yourself.

“You know Goldie isn’t his real name?” she said.

“I didn’t think it was.”

Here comes the fluffy towel.

No, what am I thinking?

“He had it changed on his papers centuries ago. Now, I’m only going to tell you what it is because one day you might need some really good leverage against him.”

I nodded, leaning forward in my seat, trying to stop the desperation from reading on my face.

“His real name is—”

“Tell her and you’re dead to me.” Goldie stood at the doorframe, shirtless, one hand on his hip, one pant leg caught around his knee, and — oh my Gods — grey sweatpants.

Chapter 15.

Goldie

I arrived at just the right moment. Nobody needed to know my real name. If it weren’t for Dima, nobody besides my family would. I didn’t have much contact with my folks anymore. Hadn’t seen them in over a century, which sounded a long time if you were a human. And humans generally thought of things only in human terms.

Holly and Sugar Paste were practically cuddling in the middle of the sofa. Not Ludo had adopted his usual imitation of a ginger puddle across both their laps. Holly got lumbered with the arse end, though there was so much fur, sometimes it was difficult to tell the ends apart. Their hands were on the cat, on each other’s forearms, back on the cat.

She was still wearing those infuriating-not-at-all-cute GG&P pyjamas. Of course she was. I’d barricaded myself in the room with all her clothes.

“His real name is—”

“Tell her, and you’re dead to me,” I said, and both women jumped in shock. Holly’s gaze took in my bare chest. Her eyes landed on the front of my sweatpants and widened before she dragged them up to my face. Hers bloomed into a deep pink.

“Well, look who finally hauled his ass out of bed,” said Sugar Paste. She scooped up Not Ludo and left him in a jumble of fur on the sofa cushion. “I should see how my mate is getting on upstairs all by his lonesome.” She winked at me, then turned to Holly. “It was so nice getting to know you, Hols. I can’t wait for dinner later.”

“You too, Joey,” Holly said, a genuine smile on her face. My stomach dropped. What if I’d inadvertently created a lasting friendship here? I didn’t need to give the human an excuse to visit our apartment after the deal was over. I’d have to nip this in the bud.

Sugar Paste got to her feet and brushed past me. As she reached the hall, I grabbed her forearm and whispered so that only she could hear. “You invited her to dinner?”

“It’s Sunday,” she replied with a shrug.

“You know Sunday nights are Mal’s Motley Meals.” The words sounded silly coming from my mouth. Dima coined the term after Sugar Paste moved in. Every Sunday we’d get together around the table, eat, and chat like, well, like family. We’d take it in turns to cook for everyone. This week was Taur’s turn.

No guest had ever been invited to join us for Mal’s Motley Meals before.

She leaned in close to me, her body hidden from Holly by the door. “You’ve got yourself a really great girl there. Don’t fuck things up.” She peeled my hand from her arm and skipped up the stairs.

Feeling Holly’s eyes on me, I stepped outside the living room, took a breath, and shook out my hand, which, for some fucking unknown reason, was trembling.

Upstairs, Sugar Paste’s voice floated down from their bedroom. “I love her! I want to keep her!” she said to Taur.

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