Page 18 of Wickedly Ever After
“I…I don’t know. Uh…we didn’t exchange pictures.”
Ida tensed. “Hari—this isn’t one of those Norn services, is it?”
He sighed. “What if it is?”
“Those fates are notorious for jinxing happy endings! Have you told your mother about any of this?”
Hari’s face flamed. “No. She’d read me the riot act about how I can’t commit, how every time I date a guy, it all falls apart. She’s already disappointed in me.”
“She is not really disappointed. She only wishes you’d settle down, marry a nice gnome, build an addition onto her house, and have children.”
“Grow up, in other words.” He pocketed the letter. “I don’t need to hear it from you too.”
“You know I didn’t mean it that way,” she said.
“She doesn’t mean it that way, either. But it hurts anyway.”
“I’m sorry. But for my part, it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, including me, Hari. I want to see you with a good man, and if you have to leave to find him, you should. I’ll bawl my eyes out and send you care packages five times a month, but Gods bless you, sweetheart, you deserve all the happiness in the world.”
Hari laughed. “I’m not leaving for any man. If he’s the right one, he’ll come here to live with me.”
“You’re not going to find the right one by asking the Norns,” she said.
“I’ve tried everything else,” he said. “You’ve been so helpful, setting me up and all, but it just hasn’t felt right until now. This guy—he’s different. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and he’s got this sarcastic sense of humor I love. And he works for a witch too. He won’t say who, but I haven’t told him I work for you either. Got to be careful, after all. I mean, like you say, I don’t know him. Yet.”
“Yet?”
“I told him I’d be in the capital next week and if he was there, you know, with all the witch conferences going on, we might, well, meet up.”
Ida’s stomach squirmed unpleasantly, probably as a result of the cheese Danish she’d forced herself to eat as penance, but it bothered her far more than lactose intolerance usually did. Was Hari actually serious about this gnome? He was romantic, like most of her staff, but he was usually sensible about most matters, especially ones of the heart. This gnome, whoever he was, had clearly sidestepped Hari’s usual caution.
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I’m going to be careful.” Hari gave her a curious look. “We’re going to meet at the hotel for dinner. Lots of people there. It’s not like I’m going to have my own room. I’m staying with you.”
“Oh, nonsense, I’ll update our arrangements—”
Hari set his hand on hers. “You don’t understand. I want to stay with you. I don’t want to take a chance something might happen to make me want something I don’t already have. I love it here with you. I don’t want to go anywhere else. And if I like this guy, there’s one person he has to impress more than me, and that’s you, Fairy Godmother.”
She refused to cry. Happily-Ever-After was her business, and if a person found one without the help of a witch, it was even better. Those were genuine. They weren’t tangled up in any more magic than people wanting to be together for the rest of their lives because they loved each other. She let out a sharp, happy laugh and hugged him. “Go read your letter.” She kissed the top of his head. “Your young man is going to be very lucky if he impresses you, and if he’s done that, he won’t have any trouble impressing me.”
“Are you sure?” The gnome’s face creased into folds of concern. “I can get through the rest of the fan mail first.”
“It will wait. And anyway, Hector isn’t writing, so I don’t have to be afraid of getting a vomiting spell or something worse.”
“Yeah,” Hari said, still looking worried. “Yeah, that’s true. Okay, then. But you let me handle it. You’ve got enough to do with the personal mail today.”
“I’m going for a walk in the garden as soon as I finish answering the invitations,” she promised.
When the door closed behind Hari, Ida listlessly set the remainder of the letters aside. Normally, she felt stressed before the week of a Happily-Ever-After, but also excited. She loved the festivities associated with the kidnapping of the princess at the end of the week: the dinners, the garden parties, the Bards’ Festival—she certainly appreciated a good lute duet—not to mention seeing friends she only saw once a year. And this was the Unicorn Jubilee. She should be celebrating a thousand years of love and happiness. But this year, it didn’t feel that way.
Blast Hector, blast him. She couldn’t even be properly happy for Hari.
Her eye fell on the crumpled letter she’d drafted.
Dear Hector,
Your refusal to write to me is your choice. If that is how you feel, then that’s how it should be. But I can’t say it causes me happiness to know you think I sent the laughing charm in order to hurt you. That was never my intention.
