Page 161 of Beyond the Cottage

Gretta rushed to the kitchen. She yanked a bottle from the cabinet and poured herself three fingers of brandy. She swirled the amber liquid, releasing its scent, when Ansel’s words came back to her.

You use alcohol to cope with stressful situations.

Yeah, so what if she did? It calmed her. And shehadcut back. It wasn’t that big of a deal if she occasionally let booze smooth out life’s rough edges.

She brought the glass to her lips.

And hesitated.

She set the glass on the counter.

He was always telling her how brave she was. He’d said the cottage made her resilient and independent. But it wasn’t really true.

Booze and killing witches…they were distractions from the past, bandages on a severed limb. And independence was the place she hid.

Did she want to rely on alcohol when things got hard? Did she want to be alone forever? To be withouthim? She and Ansel may be fucked up, but what if they were better being fucked up together?

She couldn’t keep pretending she didn’t know what this meant.

She loved Ansel. More than she had in the cottage, more than she thought she was capable of lovinganyone. It scared her, but she wanted to be as brave as he said she was.

She dumped the brandy down the drain.

Because fuck it. Instead of running, she’d try this time.

Half in a fog, she dug out her notepad and began scrawling. If they were going to do this, she had things to do first.

Gretta slipped the letter in her pocket and rushed from her building. She flew to the capitol in record time. When she pushed into Nat’s office, Henry yelled profanities at her back, and she slammed the door on them.

“Goddammit,” Nat said. “Do I need to start locking my door?”

She marched to his desk. “You aren’t taking Ansel’s money, and yousureas hell don’t get a say in our relationship. Whatever little agreement you two reached today is void. Otherwise, I’ll make sure the voting public finds out what an asshole you are.” The city had plenty of newspapers who’d love to hear all about the straight-laced senator’s past exploits.

“Fucking hell, Gretta. I’m not taking the money back.”

She paused. “You’re not?”

“No. Much as I’d love to see him penniless and on the streets, I’m more concerned about your interests.”

Wrath deflated, Gretta dropped to the sofa. “Okay… Why did you insist on those ridiculous, probably illegal stipulations, then?”

“As I told you, I was looking out for you. I feared you were on some kind of self-destructive bender, and taking up with the dust thief seemed to illustrate the fact. The way you’ve handled your new responsibilities has mitigated my fears.”

Gretta frowned. Someonereallyneeded to intervene on his unchecked god complex. She wanted to rail at him herself, but she was in too good a mood.

Besides, what would be the point? Nat would always be Nat.

“What about Ansel? Would you have kept him from me if he didn’t give back the money?”

“Absolutely.”

She sighed. “So it really was just a test?”

“As well as a legitimate investment. Believe it or not, I still care about fighting witches.”

“…And he passed?”

Nat’s expression grew dour. “I maintain you have atrocious taste in men, but I can hardly deny his devotion to you. Therefore, so be it.”

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