Page 78 of Mane Squeeze
“Oh?”
She glanced up at him, a smug little smirk on her lips. “Apparently the town heartbreaker is off the market.”
“Was I really?” he asked, pretending innocence.
“Oh, don’t play dumb and modest now! You were,” she said, teasing. “Rowan kept a chart.”
He groaned. “Of course he did.”
“But,” she added, her voice quieter now, “you chose me.”
He turned to her fully. “I’ll keep choosing you. Every day.”
“You better,” she said, smile tilting. “I’ve got enchanted garden gnomes now. Don’t test me.”
They kissed then, unhurried and warm. The kind of kiss that had become a habit. Not from repetition, but from knowing how good it felt to be known.
Lillith sighed against his lips, her eyes fluttering closed, and when they parted, she tucked herself into his side. For a long minute, neither of them said anything.
Then she murmured, “I never thought I wanted this.”
He tilted his head. “This?”
“A wedding. All of it. Twyla’s enchanted doves, the chaos, the endless questions about table linens…” She shook her head with a half-smile. “I figured if I ever ended up loving someone, it’d be something quiet. Private. Maybe even a little secret.”
“But?”
“But with you… it doesn’t feel like I’m giving anything up. It feels like I’m finally being seen.”
He blinked, a little thrown by the honesty. Then he kissed the top of her head and said, low and rough, “You always deserved to be seen.”
“Twyla’s been unbearable, by the way. She already cursed the pie table so no one touches it until the reception.”
Dominic laughed. “That woman’s terrifying.”
“And somehow even more invested in this wedding than I am.”
He looked at her, eyes full of something deep and steady. “I don’t care if the flowers explode, or the doves start chanting. As long as I get to say I do.”
Lillith smiled and reached for his hand again, and held on.
35
LILLITH
The fitting room at Madrine’s Boutique was an explosion of pinned lace, spilled spells, and at least three pairs of enchanted scissors buzzing like drunken bees in the air. Lillith stood on the raised pedestal at the center of the chaos, hands fidgeting at her sides while Twyla circled her with the intensity of a general preparing for war.
“You’re holding your shoulders like you’re bracing for an attack,” Twyla muttered, mouth full of pins.
Lillith exhaled. “I am.”
“No, you’re not.” Twyla pulled a pin free and adjusted the hem with an expert flick of her wrist. “Not anymore. You’re getting married, not walking into a duel.”
“Could be both,” Lillith murmured under her breath.
But Twyla just snorted. “Please. Dominic would take a bolt to the chest if it meant you didn’t get dirt on your shoes. You’ve already fought the hard battle. This? This is just your moment.”
Lillith looked down at the dress. It was black, of course—deep, velvety midnight that shimmered when the light hit it right, like the sky just before a storm broke. The bodice curved with understated elegance, stitched with faint, silverythreadwork that hinted at moonlight. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t trendy.
