Page 46 of The Cuddle Clause
“It is now.”
I pulledthe car into Lucien’s circular driveway, tires crunching softly over imported gravel. The estate loomed in front of us, marble columns lined up like soldiers, perfectly symmetrical and aggressively pristine. The house sat high enough above the pack lands that, on a clear day like today, you could see the silver glint of the Bay in the distance, framed by the soft rise of the Marin headlands. The smell of eucalyptus drifted faintly on the breeze, mixed with the salty tang that traveled up from the water.
The place had been invaded by fresh flowers. Garlands were draped over banisters, bouquets exploded out of vases, and petals fluttered like they were contractually obligated to charm. Lucien never did subtle, especially not for a pack event. This brunch was a power statement. Even the landscaping screamed curated perfection—lavender hedges trimmed to impossible precision, blackthorn trees lined like sentries along the property’s edge, and the redwoods from Muir Woods visible beyond the outer garden walls.
I tapped my thumb against the steering wheel out of habit. Sensory input helped when my brain started spiraling. I didn’t like crowds. I especially didn’t like pack crowds. Too many smells, too much energy, too much pressure to smile like I wasn’t two seconds from bolting.
But Maggie was here, and for reasons that would require a therapist and a few years of unpacking, she calmed me—mostly.
I couldn’t depend on her to regulate me, though. I needed to figure out a way to get us out of the inevitable mating. I should’ve had a clear plan at this point, but I had absolutely nothing, which wasn’t fair to Maggie.
She was fixing her lipstick in the mirror and checking her hair, which was pinned up with a few pieces falling in that just-woke-up-like-this way. She looked like she belonged here more than I ever had. A distant foghorn echoed from somewhere near the Golden Gate. That low, familiar note that always reminded me the city wasn’t far, even if this world felt like another planet.
Inside, the string quartet was playing something classical and vaguely suggestive. The foyer buzzed with shifters dressed in brunch-formal attire: tailored shirts, pastel dresses, jewelry that was probably enchanted, cursed, or both.
I leaned close to her ear as we stepped inside. “Welcome to brunch with the beautiful and the borderline feral.”
She snorted as she scanned the crowd. “Are you sure this is a brunch? It looks like a wedding and a perfume commercial had a baby.”
That made me grin. The place was decked out beyond reason. Lucien didn’t know how to do anything halfway. Table runners in forest greens and golds. Mini waffle towers with edible flowers. Floating candles bobbing in champagne flutes. The air smelled like citrus, sugar, and power.
People started swarming us almost immediately. A council member slapped my back in greeting, then turned to Maggie with a curious look that made my hackles rise.
I slid an arm around her waist and leaned into the act. “This is Maggie. She’s off-limits and allergic to small talk, so maybe keep the questions to a minimum.”
That earned me a quick glare from her, but I caught the twitch of her mouth. She was trying not to laugh. We moved deeper into the fray. More handshakes. More introductions. Every third person asked if we were mated yet.
I smiled through it. “Not officially, but it’s only a matter of time, right, honeybun?”
She elbowed me. My grin widened.
We took our seats at the main table. I pulled out her chair, handed her a mimosa, and fed her a blackberry from my plate. When I casually brushed my fingers over hers, I pretended it was part of the act.
It wasn’t, though. I really wanted to feel her skin.
Lucien’s latest date, a wide-eyed shifter from another pack named Cally or Calla or something with a K, asked if Maggie and I were emotionally in sync. I nodded solemnly. “Incredibly. It’s cosmic.”
Maggie rested her chin on my shoulder like she was indulging a long-suffering spouse. “He cries at animal documentaries. You should see his sensitive soul in action.”
I choked slightly on my croissant. She was enjoying this way too much.
Then came the wives. They surrounded Maggie like she was a new puppy at a birthday party. Complimented her dress. Her energy. Heraura—whatever that meant.
One brushed my arm on the way out and whispered, “She grounds you. That’s what you need.”
I smiled politely as I filed that comment deep into the back of my brain with the other things that scared me.
The wives weren’t done, though. Now they were giving Maggie mating advice.
“Make sure he shifts somewhere soft.”
“If he growls during sex, it means he’s into it.”
“Let him sleep near your dirty laundry. It bonds him to your scent.”
I wanted to evaporate.
A chime rang through the house. Everyone turned toward the main table where Lucien stood, mimosa raised like some kind of dramatic brunch prophet.
