Page 83 of Partnering with the Artist

And even if I don’t feel the same way as everyone else, I know how to love someone.

So, if this burn dies, I will still—irrevocably—love Maelin.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

I nod, pulling my gaze back up to her face. “I’m relieved. If not next Sunday, when may I marry you?”

“Hopefully, it will be next Sunday. I told Dad that ifhewants a wedding,hehas to plan it. Send the invitations. Pick the cake. Order the catering. Everything. Including pay for it. Because I’m very busy saving up my money for fancy organic cereal. Andyou are a responsible rich person, who invests in stocks, not weddings. Probably.”

“You said exactly those words to your father?”

Her lip juts, and her eyes wander as she nods. “Pretty much, yeah. He laughed. I didn’t. I said I was serious. I may have described my koala cereal for a little longer than entirely necessary. Mom muttered that if I loved the koala cereal so much, I should be asking their blessing to marry it. She can, after all, only assume that my affections for the cereal are what’s making me hesitate on tying the knot with a millionaire.” Maelin’s head tilts. “Are you a millionaire? I wasn’t sure.”

I glide my fingers into my hair. “Well. Yes, I am. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Technically, since we all pool our funds and share the pot, I have access to…billions? So. I don’t know if that means your mother would consider me a millionaire or…a billionaire?”

Maelin’s brows lunge upward. She whirls on her heel and reaches for the door knob.

“Where are you going?”

“To apologize to my mother and see if I can’t get one of my parents or a neighbor ordained online. We need to get someone over here to marry us yesterday.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. “I’m for that.”

Grinning at me, she glows. “Good. I’m sure that will make what I say next easier on your fragile constitution.”

Apprehensive, I echo, “Fragile constitution? Isthatwhat I have?”

“Absolutely.”

“What have you done?”

“Did you hear Mom ask whether you wanted to sleep in Morana’s room or on the couch? Or had you already blacked out by then?”

I reach for the lantern. “I…vaguely recall. Did you put meon the couch? Where I have no hope of controlling when your parents see my tattoos unless I sleep in my usual clothes, thus scorning your father’s t-shirt offering and making him hate me forever?”

Her laughter dances across my skin. “No, no. Don’t be silly.” She tugs me from the bathroom. “I told them we’d be sharing my room.”

I freeze.

“I didn’t want you to be alone in an unfamiliar house, in case you had an episode.”

This is going to cause me to have an episode. Never mind that we’ve shared a bed before. We’re in herparents’house. Maelin wants to wait for marriage before she goesall the way. That’s usually a taught belief. When it’s a taught belief, the teachers tend to say things likeyou have to be very, very carefulandit can just happen. As though intercourse is something you fall into.

I mean.

To be fair.

Ifanyonewere going to literallyfall intohaving sex, it might be Maelin. She did, after all, fall into my bed the first time she wound up there. But. Still. I feel like there simply must be an element of decision here. We’ve slept together twice now without any accidents.

Maybe not panicking in the precursor is a decisive element? That’s good, then. Because I ampanicking.

“Maelin,” I whisper, “is…this a good idea? I’d rather not do anything that would make your parents leery of me.”

“It’ll be fine,” she says, chuckling before she adds, “It’s a small house. So. I think they’re fairly confident we’ll behave.”

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