Page 64 of Partnering with the Artist

In every way I could think to analyze,we are compatible.

So, as long as the logistics hold and I’m not too much to handle off paper, this…this beautiful goddess of a woman…isvery likely to be my bride.

I might not be the best at identifying my emotions, but I am almost positive the idea of that elicits an elation unlike anything I have ever experienced before.

Chapter 23

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Sisters can kiss my koala crunch.

Maelin

“What happened towe’re taking things slow?” Morana asks, further ruining my whole day. She already said I couldn’t go mad with power just because I have more money than I have ever had in my life.

Apparently,going mad with poweraccording to her means buying one of everything in the candy aisle at SunMart, Sunset’s singular atmospheric grocery store. With the earth-tone decorations and the warm lighting in this place, it screamsWhole Foods. Thankfully, the selection maintains aWhole Foodsair with prices falling somewhere betweenKrogerandWalmart.

Putting a box of organic cereal in the cart, I murmur, “What’s not slow about what I’ve said?”

Morana, bane of my existence, swaps the organic, name brand cereal out for generic.

I can only assume she wishes death by preservatives upon me.

“You just said,” she begins, halting the cart beside the cereal I want (but can’t have), “I think I’m probably going to marry Zakery someday.”

“Yes.” I grab my cereal again. “Someday.That could be many, many snail-slow ages from now.” Or. Next week. I just need to get us on a round trip to Mom and Dad and hope they both gave me my winsome optimism while Morana discovered her grinchy attitude all by herself.

Morana arches a very grinchy brow at me. “Why are we going to spendseven dollarson a small box of cereal all of a sudden, Mae?”

“Because.” I point atmybox. “There is a koala onthisone.” I point at the inferior box in our cart. “And not asinglemarsupial onthatone.” Not even America’s greatest—and only—possum.

“Get your future husband to draw a koala on the cheaper box then.”

I scoff, gawk, gag.

“If you do not quit making a scene, I will send you out to sit in the car.”

My little sister hates me. I put my koala back on the shelf and pout. “You don’t understand, Mora… He was up all night yesterday putting together this form that outlined just about anything you can think of that might become pertinent in a relationship. He printed a copy for me. Filled it out himself. Then we exchanged and went over one another’s answers. He’s sincere. Committed. Serious in ways I’ve only ever dreamed of. You know how badly I’ve wanted to get married. Harry made me beg and plead to take our relationship to the next level, then he proposed without a ring—probably just to see if it would get me to sleep with him—then he stalled on making anything real. With Zakery, I haven’t had to ask. With Zakery, I haven’t had to saynoand give him thethat’s a wifey thingultimatum.” I’m practically twirling in a dress I made yesterday because Zakery said he wanted to paint me while I was working after we woke up. I gasp, grip the cart, halt Morana in her tracks, and ignore the death glare she gives me. “That’s right. We took a nap together yesterday, Mora. I practicallyclimbedon top of him. He cuddled me. Woke me with a dappling of forehead kisses, andkept. his. hands. to. himself.” I’m certain my eyes are glittering. “I was not molested yesterday in my attempt to obtain affection.That’sthe Zakery difference.”

Morana’s glare softens, fading into sympathy. “I’m so sorry the bar is that low, Mae. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner.”

My heart sinks as I remove my hands from the cart. “It’s not your fault. I protected him.”

“I know you did. And you did a great job. I don’t want you to fall hard into that pattern again.”

“I’m not holding anything back this time. I promise. He let me keep his answers to the form he made if you want to go through them, too? Just in case I’ve missed any red flags.”

Morana nods as she turns down the next aisle. “I would like to do that, yep.” She peers at the brownie, cake, and muffin mixes.

I want to slip my arm behind the first layer of mixes and knock one of each in the entire row into the cart.

Certain that Morana will not appreciate that, though, I lock my fingers behind me and fiddle with the bow of my sash.

“One,” she says.

“Two?” I counter.

She huffs a sigh.

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