Page 96 of Partnering with the Artist

This—whateverthis feelingis that she incites—is not doomed to fade. It grows stronger every single minute I’m with her.

She puffs. “Is there any selfish reason you want to hang my picture in the foyer?”

“I…also want to see it whenever I come home. I’m very proud of it.”

Her eyes close, then she deflates. “In that case, do we need to consider moving into another part of the manor? Someplace where our front door is not the main one? Then you can cover the walls in illicit pictures of me, and we just won’t have any company.”

Illicit? Confusion riots. “It’s inappropriate?”

“A little bit, yes.”

“You’re fully clothed.”

She releases my chin and rubs her eye, putting the little pictures I drew on the back of her hand last night on display. “Just…trust me.”

Very well. I do. Lowering my head, I concede. “I apologize if anything I’ve said during this argument has hurt you, and I appreciate your willingness to discuss this matter openly with me. I hadn’t realized the picture was considered inappropriate.”

A smile flirts with her pretty apple red lips. “I’m sorry that this matter was not an opportunity for me to love you.”

“Think nothing of it, my princess.” I kiss her forehead. “You show me you love me in…” My attention drifts, toward cotton-candy blue. “…countless other ways.”

Burying herself in my arms, she groans. “Ignore that.”

Ignore the fact she’s making me a fursuit? Ignore the several hundred dollars of materials she bought yesterday, with the money she earned while modeling for me? Ignore how hilarious it is that she’s actually going through with making me a fursona?

No, I don’t think I will.

I murmur, “Are we furries now, Maelin? I need to know. I think if we are, we shouldbeCotton Candy. You’ll be Cotton; I’ll be Candy. It’ll be adorable. Kyran can make a website for us. I’ll fill it with furry art. It can be a shrine to our love.”

“Please stop being so into this for the wrong reasons,” she mumbles against my chest. “I’m only making you a fursuit because yesterday morning you said you wished no one had gotten that picture of you laughing at the Creator’s Ball, yet you also wished you could feel comfortable enough to be yourself like that in public more often. Solution? Fursuit.”

Solution: fursuit.

I poorly tamp down a laugh. “You—” I choke on my smile. “—havegot—” My eyes begin to water. “—tostop—” I wheeze. “—thinking a fursuit is agood solutionto anything.”

Her head tilts back and she squarely pouts at me. “Fine. Be that way. I don’thaveto make it for you. I’ll sell it for ten thousand dollars.”

I snort. “I’ll buy it for twenty.”

“Thirty.”

“One hundred.”

“You’re very bad at bartering.” She kisses my jaw, andfeelingsignite.

To manage them, I say, “I can’t wait to go undercover at a con with you.”

“It’ll be fun.”

As she cuddles ever closer, I remember…I don’t need to manage these feelings. I am allowed to justfeelthem. Even when they rock me to the very foundation of my core. “Maelin?”

“Yes?”

“If I paint a wedding photo of us, may I hangthatin the foyer?”

Smiling, she says, “Yes, you may.”

Excellent.

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