Page 30 of Asher

He waves dismissively. “I know, but you’re manipulating the situation, aren’t you?”

“Of course.” He knows me so well already. “My aunt and uncle—Alistair’s parents—have a farm in Devon. Well, they call it a farm, and technically I suppose farming does happen there, but it’s more like an estate. They live in a lovely late-eighteenth-century manor house with a spacious ballroom and about thirty bedrooms. There are three decent-sized villages within a twenty-minute drive, and Bideford is only half an hour away, so there won’t be any trouble finding accommodation for our guests. My cousin Elinor got married there a few years back, which means there’s already a list of community-friendly hotels and B&Bs in the area.” I smile just thinking about how much easier that will make everything. “We’re guaranteed for them to have availability at short notice, since it’s a private home, and my aunt has a lot of contacts in the area due to all the entertaining she likes to do.” That branch of the family has always been particularly sociable. Which probably explains Alistair.

“It sounds perfect,” Asher says. “And the weather should still be quite mild.”

I narrow my eyes. “By Hortplatz standards, yes. But November in England is often miserable.”

“We can wait until next summer?” He says it as though we’re likely to still be together then, instead of “broken up.” I don’t bother to remind him that I’ll be dumping him and going back to Cambridge next summer.

“No, let’s get this done. I’m interested to see if actual marriage rather than just engagement has any impact on how the village treats me.” I grab another hors d’oeuvre.

“Is someone mistreating you? Being rude?” That edge is back in his voice. Is it wrong that his overprotectiveness gives me warm vibes?

“Not even close. Everyone’s been lovely, and even more so since ‘us’ happened.” I gesture between us. “Which is the point. I want to see if they go from being ‘friendly and welcoming’ to making me one of the cool club members.” And I really want to attend the midwinter ritual.

He relaxes. “The cool club? I’m offended that I haven’t been asked to join.”

“Pfft. You’re a founding member.” I snitch the last hors d’oeuvre while he’s busy pondering that. “They worship you in Hortplatz.”

“No.” He shakes his head, his gaze tracking the movement of the hors d’oeuvre to my mouth. I take a bite with no remorse at all. “There’s no worship. They’re just grateful for everything my grandparents have done, and that carries over to me.”

I pause with the second bite midway to my lips. Is he really so self-effacing that he believes that? Surely not—the Asher I know isn’t lacking in confidence at all. He’s aware of his talents and achievements and makes the most of them.

Just as I’m wondering how best to ask, his hand snaps out and steals the food from mine.

“Hey!” I barely manage to keep my voice down enough to avoid attracting attention. “That’s mine!”

Asher pops the half hors d’oeuvre into his mouth. “Mmm. Delicious.” His head tilts as he smiles at me. “Honestly, Garrett, you should know by now that one thing I’mexcellentat is reading my opponent.”

It’s so close to what I was just thinking—that he knows how to make the most of his talents—that a laugh escapes me. Damn him, heknewI wouldn’t be able to resist an analysis of social behavior. He deliberately distracted me.

“That’s how tonight is going to be, hm? We’re going to use our special gifts against each other?” I slide my foot out of my shoe and rub my big toe against his ankle, then higher. My sexual weakness for him is just as strong as his for me, but let’s face it, that’s a battle that will end in a draw, and I’m good with that.

He swallows hard. “Truce?”

Chuckling, I pull my foot back and return it to my shoe. “Truce… for now.” I meet his gaze. “We can stay at your apartment tonight, can’t we?”

“Yes.” His answer comes fast. “I’ll take you back in time for school tomorrow.”

Our server appears then, whisking away the empty platter and our empty glasses with unobtrusive efficiency.

As soon as he’s gone, Asher says, “I’ve been meaning to mention… I’m pretty sure you know this already, but we’re going to need beefy security at the wedding.”

I nod. It hadn’t occurred to me at first, but when I started thinking about the guest list, there was no way to avoid it. The lucifer is coming, since he’s living with Asher’s cousin, and then there’s Jesse, and Alistair’s boyfriend, Aidan, who’s my own species leader. With three such high-profile public figures, we can’t expect the wedding to slip under the radar for too much longer. I’m convinced the only reason it has for so long is that we don’t appear in public and haven’t made any concrete plans yet. “Has your cousin said anything about how they want to handle it? Alistair’s been shockingly quiet on the subject, which makes me think we should be concerned.”

“Concerned?” Asher frowns his scary demon frown, and I’m quite proud of how unaffected I am. But then, he’s not really aiming it at me, is he. “Why would that concern you?”

“You’ll understand when you know him better. If Alistair is quiet about something, it means his ideas are… overstated.” I wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to build a twenty-foot steel-reinforced wall around the estate, then outfitted it with canons and had his sorcerer friends ward the whole thing so strongly that birds couldn’t even fly overhead. I don’t mention that to Asher, though. There’s no point warning him about my family before he meets them.

“Okay.” He sounds dubious, but lets it go. “I asked Gideon if there were specific procedures we needed to know about. He said that since three members of the lucifer’s team would already be in attendance at the wedding, he trusted me to oversee the rest of the security measures. But I was thinking, maybe we could invite the rest of the senior team as well?”

That’s not a bad idea. I tap my forefinger against my lip. “That would work nicely. I met them all at Ellie’s wedding, and they were mostly well-behaved.”

“Mostly?” Asher’s frown is back. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry about it. The worst ones were already on the guest list.” Because they’re related to me. The only other one who seemed truly troublesome was— “Oh, wait. That might be a problem.”

The sommelier bustles up right then with the wine we ordered to go with dinner, and we go through the process of uncorking and sampling. When everything has been pronounced excellent, our wineglasses have been filled, and we’re alone again, Asher looks across the table at me. “Problem?”

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