Page 100 of The Cuddle Clause
Lucien twirled away down the hallway like a game show host on cocaine. Staff flitted by with trays of champagne and floating orbs of enchanted lighting. Music thudded faintly from the east wing. Somewhere, someone was screaming with joy or magically-induced intoxication.
I caught Maggie’s eye as we were practically dragged down the corridor by Lucien’s enthusiasm. Her mouth opened to ask something—probablywhat fresh hell is this—but we were already being ushered through a gold-trimmed doorway into what used to be the drawing room and had now been transformed into a full stage setup.
Spotlights. A semicircle of chairs faced a small, raised platform, and the glowing sign overhead read:
“MATES: HOW WELL DO YOU REALLY KNOW EACH OTHER?”
No. Nope.
Lucien clapped once and spun to face us. “Surprise! Since you two are our headliners, and obviously the talk of the whole damn pack, we thought it’d be fun to do a little compatibility quiz before the ceremonial part. Just a few questions. A little flirtation. A little bonding magic. You’re going to be adorable.”
My blood pressure hit critical levels. “Lucien, what kind of quiz are we talking about?”
“Oh, you know. Favorite food. Pet peeves. Love languages. All that juicy stuff.” He waved a hand like it was no big deal, then turned on his heel. “Curtain up in five!”
And he vanished. Maggie and I stood there. My spine was locking up, and my palms started to sweat.
“They’re going to eat us alive,” I muttered. “We haven’t rehearsed for this. We don’t have answers. How are we supposed to… Mags, can we convince the entire pack that we’re compatible?”
Maggie stepped in front of me and took both my hands in hers.
Everything stopped. The chaos in the room, the thumping in my chest, the rising panic in my throat—all of it eased the second she touched me.
Her thumbs rubbed slow circles against my knuckles. “Hey. Breathe.”
I did. Shakily.
Her voice stayed soft and steady. “We’ve spent weeks together. We know more than we think.”
I swallowed. “This is going to blow up in our faces.”
“Or,” she said, eyes holding mine, “we’re going to be accidentally amazing at it. We live together. We know quite a bit about each other.”
She smiled, and God help me, I felt invincible.
An assistant took us aside separately and made us fill out answers to the questions being asked. A few minutes later, we were seated onstage in front of what had to be at least a hundred pack members. Lucien sat in the front row, beaming like he’d singlehandedly orchestrated a royal wedding.
A man in a velvet suit took the mic and introduced himself as tonight’scompatibility conductor. I wasn’t sure if that was his actual title or something Lucien invented on the fly, but he took the job seriously. He had cue cards and dramatic pauses and everything.
“Let’s begin with something simple,” the host said. “Roman, what’s Maggie’s favorite food?”
Maggie stiffened. I forced a breath, digging into memory.
“Uh… she pretends it’s something cool and healthy like soba noodles, but it’s actually toaster waffles with cinnamon sugar.”
The crowd laughed. Maggie turned to me, eyes wide. “That’s freakishly accurate.”
I shrugged. “You mutter in your sleep.”
Next card.
“Maggie, what’s Roman’s most annoying habit?”
She tilted her head and smirked. “He alphabetizes the spice rack. Without asking.”
Someone in the crowd gasped. “You monster!”
I raised my hand. “If it’s not alphabetical, it’s chaos. How do you find anything in there?”
