Chapter 44
“Give her thoughtful gifts.”
— Nia Quill’s List
My slipper meets the top stair to the tune of my father’s deep voice. This is the first night in forever that he’s left the counting house before it closed. Death tends to have that effect on people, I’ve learned. Breaking old habits, creating new ones.
The luxurious sweep of silk skirts tickles my bare legs as I descend.
Father, bless him, looks as if he’s about to have a coronary. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man’s face so red as he gawks at me from the foyer.
“Surely, you’re not wearing that,” he chokes. “The front barely covers your—”
“I know. Isn’t it beautiful?” And the scandalous neckline that dips down to my sternum is one of my favorite parts. I love this dress, it makes me feel like a goddess, and Maddox is going to keel over when he sees me in it.
Three of the best reasons not to listen to the man who sired me.
“I think you look . . . nice, dear,” my mother says from behind her glass of wine.
Whether she means it or not, I appreciate the sentiment. Perhaps I need to die a second time for my father to come to terms with the fact that I have breasts.
“Thank you, Mother.” I sweep toward the door. “Shall we?”
Our hired carriage waits outside. Our faithful driver gives me a wink and a gruff, “Happy Birthday, Miss Nia.”
“Thank you, Martin.”
Mother and Father climb into the carriage as well, accompanying me to the heart of Rosehill city. We could’ve walked, but I’ve done enough walking—and climbing—over the last few weeks to last a lifetime.
When we emerge into the square, there’s an energy in the air, a buzz that’s catching, amplifying my own excitement.
Nothing can bring me down, not even seeing Ivee Lynch sitting at one of the high tables at the very front of the Black Rose, a short glass with a lime wedge braced on the rim clutched in her hands.
The pink of her flouncy gown matches the color on her lips and the bow in her canary-colored ringlets.
Instead of avoiding her like I normally would, I head straight over to her table.
Almost dying puts a lot into perspective, including how ridiculous it was to hold a grudge against this woman for stealing a pie and kissing someone who didn’t deserve my time or affection anyway.
Who knows? Maybe she thought Jonathan and I were over. I never even asked.
It's time to bury my anger. “Hello, Ivee.”
Her eyes widen as she glances around the busy pub, no doubt searching for an exit. Little does she know, I’m not here to cut her down.
“Nia.”
The next words get stuck in my throat, but I force them out anyway. “I want to apologize to you.”
Shapely brows arch over bulging eyes. “You . . . want to apologize . . . to me?”
“That’s right. I blamed you for many things over the years, but the last few weeks taught me that none of it matters.”
Her hand tightens around her glass, shaking the ice within.
“I also wanted to tell you something important. We’ve disliked each other for quite some time, but I need you to know that this does not come from a place of hate but of concern.”
My former nemesis seems to have gotten a handle on her shock; her face has regained its normal haughty expression. “Go on.”
Maybe there would have been a time when I relished telling her this, but I’ve let go of all my past hurt. I haven’t exactly been kind to her either. “On our journey back from The Divide, Nolan asked me to reconcile.”
Something flickers through her eyes, and her lips flatten into a grim line.
“I swear I’m not trying to hurt you—”
“No, no. It’s all right. I . . . appreciate you telling me.” She waves a hand between us, the pink polish on her fingernails glittering in the lamplight. “The truth is, I know Nolan doesn’t love me. To be honest, I’m not sure I love him either.”
Of all the responses I anticipated, this was not one of them.
If that’s true— “Then why did you ask him to marry you?” Why tie herself to someone who doesn’t hold her heart?
Her short nails trill against the glass. Part of me expects her to tell me to mind my own bloody business. Instead, she blows out a breath and says, “Because life is complicated. And sometimes we don’t get what we want.”
Life is complicated, but that doesn’t mean she cannot have happiness of her own.
“You deserve to find someone who loves you.”
Her answering smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you.” Her rosy skirt sweeps across my slippers as she slips off the stool, abandoning what’s left of her drink and leaving the pub entirely.
When I turn around, I find Kerris staring at me like I’ve just flashed the entire pub. “Were you just nice to Ivee Lynch?” She hands me a fizzy pint of amber cider.
“I’m twenty-five now. Very mature.”
“So mature.”
I hold out my glass for a toast, only to realize she doesn’t have a drink of her own.
“Why’d you buy a drink for me and not yourself?
I’m finally twenty-five—we need to celebrate.
” And that starts with a toast. I take her hand, pulling her into the crowd.
A handful of guards trail behind us, Nolan Graham among them.
I nod in greeting but feel no need to speak with him.
“It feels like we’ve been talking about this day forever.” I remember writing to her, planning for when we were both finally old enough to wed. My many thoughts over the ridiculousness of having to wait.
There’s a gap at the bar next to Everett and his friend Gryffin, like no one has the nerve to stand too close to the king or his friend. With the way they scowl, I don’t blame them.
Kerris laughs, coming to a halt before we reach him. “It’s water for us tonight, I’m afraid.”
“You’re mad if you think I’m drinking water.” Who celebrates with water? Honestly, didn’t I teach her better than this?
Kerris slides a hand over her stomach, and—
Wait. She isn’t talking about her and me. Bloody hell. “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”
“Shhh!” She slams her palm over my mouth, her gaze darting around the busy pub. “It’s still early days, so we aren’t telling many people yet.”
I can’t believe it. My cousin is going to be a mother.
When she drops her hand, I lean close to whisper, “Everett Gathin certainly doesn’t mess around, does he?”
“No. He. Does. Not,” she says with a smirk and final pat of her abdomen.
I think I’d rather enjoy married life for a while before bringing someone else into the mix. Then again, I’m not trying to fill a castle or create heirs to Willowhaven’s throne.
Kerris orders a glass of water with lime, which strikes me as an odd combination, but I’ve heard pregnant women suffer from strange cravings.
Good luck to her.
Condensation gathers along my fingers as I raise my glass to my lips for a sip of fizzy, refreshing cider. “Does anyone else know?”
“Just me, Everett, Gryffin, and Maddox, of course.”
Hearing his name sends a thrill zinging down my spine. “Speaking of Maddox . . . Where is he?”
Her lips lift into a knowing smile. “Turn around.”
Maddox stands in the doorway, his onyx hair tied back from his face, gloriously bare chest on full display, and a small goat tucked under his arm.
It’s a good thing he’s handsome. Otherwise, I’d probably throw him out on his arse for bringing his pet.
Biting back a smile of my own, I meet him before he can reach the bar. “It’s nice of you to show your face. For a bit there, I thought you weren’t coming.”
His smile brightens. “I could be dead, and I would drag myself from beneath the dirt to celebrate the anniversary of your birth.”
Good to know.
“I apologize for arriving late. My Biscuits discovered a new love for muddy puddles and needed a bath.”
Who needs a child when you have a mate obsessed with his pet goat? “Well, I’m glad you’re both here. I brought you something.”
He sets Biscuits down, and the tiny goat stamps his little foot as he protests loudly about the leather lead attached to his collar. “This is the anniversary of your birth. Should I not be the one giving you a gift?”
On any other birthday, perhaps. But this is my twenty-fifth birthday, and I’ve chosen a husband.
I squeeze between Kerris and the guards to the bar and ask the bartender to retrieve the box I asked to be dropped here earlier this afternoon.
A hush falls over the crowd, all eyes on us as Maddox opens the lid, his sharp teeth on full display behind his wide grin. Dark eyes find mine, twinkling with mischief. “A blueberry pie?”
“What other kind would it be? Although this pie comes with a question.” One I’ve been waiting a quarter of a century to ask. “Maddox Finch, will you do me the honor of letting me love you in all ways? The little and big ones? The easy and hard ones?”
From his pocket, he withdraws a small box. “Nia Quill, I accept your proposal.”
A wail interrupts the silence, followed by the sound of my mother’s body hitting the floor. Father kneels down beside her, shaking his head as he fans her with one hand and drinks from his glass of cider with the other.
“Your mother has died again,” Maddox says, his voice laced with concern.
“She’ll be fine.” She always is.
Maddox hands me the box.
I’m not sure what to think as I open it and withdraw a spool of ribbon.
“You told me a blue ribbon was once stolen from you,” he says. “Now you have one of your own.”
Heavens above, do I love this man.
“I love you, Maddox.” More than words can express.
Biscuits nuzzles into my skirt. I swear, if he takes a bite out of this dress, I’ll throw him into The Divide. I pull my skirts away and pat the goat on its wiry white head. “Biscuits? You’re not the worst goat I’ve ever met.”
When I stand once more, Maddox’s arms come around my back, pulling me close. “I love you, Nia Quill. In all ways.”