Chapter Twenty-One
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Sarelia
The two weeks before my parents arrive at my new home are two of the happiest weeks of my life.
I live a dream, waking up every morning to Archie propped up beside me doing nothing more than looking at me, eyelids low over bright brown eyes.
When my own eyes flutter open, he kisses my nose before whispering either “my turn” or “your turn” before he rolls out of bed and leaves me until lunch.
On the days when it’s my turn, I start my morning at my desk, checking my laptop to see if he’s decided to stream or not.
When I do find him streaming, I watch, pulling clips to spend my evenings making fan edits out of.
It’s the days he doesn’t stream that are the most fun, though.
Days like today. Days when I get to play.
Pretending to be a super-secret spy girl, I grip my phone in my hand as I tip-toe down a hallway in the maze that is our home.
I still haven’t discovered all of the nooks and crannies the house has to offer, even with the tour that Archie gave me, so when I poke at a cracked door to find my husband sitting in the midst of a whole sewing room I’m not surprised, exactly, even as the thrill of shock spreads through my body.
My goodness, he’s enthralling.
Half-dressed, he sews a line down a white linen shirt before cutting excess thread and standing. He shrugs the shirt over naked shoulders, taking his dear, sweet, blessed time buttoning it up while I drool, completely forgetting my mission.
Once buttoned, he unearths a soft red sweater vest from a pile of fabric on what might be a chair, judging by the feet sticking out under it, but could just as easily be a table. The swatches of color reach so high it’s impossible to decipher.
Not that I’m trying all that hard, what with Archie right there and all.
He sighs, tugging at his collar. “Your camera, my princess,” he says to the room, eyes aimed nowhere near me.
I gasp, then blush, then fumble my phone in my effort to get it up and recording. It clunks horribly against the hardwood flooring, threatening to crack. I wince.
“Sorry!” I squeak, lunging for the phone and knocking my head on the door in the process. It slams the rest of the way open, hitting the wall and ricocheting.
Archie curses as I whimper, landing hard on my hands. I flinch away from the soon-to-be pain of being hit by the door taking its rightful revenge, only to throw myself against the door frame with an unpleasant thwack.
Archie’s hand stops the solid wood from whacking me mere inches before it closes on my pathetic, probably-bruised form.
My breaths come heavy as my skin lights itself on fire, pinks and reds covering me from my ears to my toes.
“Angel,” Archie murmurs, dry amusement coating his tongue. “Your stalking could use a little more work.”
I groan. “I did so good on my other days!” I protest. “It’s not my fault you went and upped the stakes!”
He helps me to my feet, pouting. “I was giving you a treat.”
“I am undeserving of treats,” I say. “For clearly I short-circuit at the sight of them.”
His pouting lip twitches.
I sigh. “I lost today,” I mutter. “Which means, via the rules, that it’s now your turn.”
He grins, a delicious, feral thing, and I nearly swoon. “Indeed it does,” he mutters before pulling me to him for a quick, hard kiss. “Run along, then, love.”
I do, abandoning the sewing room with haste to return to my room.
I throw my nothing-but-trouble phone onto my bed, then change out of my spy gear—a black maxi dress and a deep red lip—and exchange it for my more comfortable everyday clothing.
Black is traded for pale pinks and yellows and blues, a soft explosion of color on a mid-length dress.
I cover it with my favorite pink corset, then complete my outfit with a pair of chicken slippers Archie gifted to me one evening before bed.
They don’t match, of course, but they’re big and they’re comfortable and they make my husband smile.
Before I can decide what I’m going to do with myself for the rest of the morning, my phone buzzes with a series of texts.
Freddie: A priest just left our house.
Freddie: Mom hired him to come and bless the car before we leave tomorrow. She says he exorcised any “bad spirits,” too, so that we don’t bring them with us to see you.
Freddie: She told me she doesn’t want to add any “negativity” to your “already tremulous situation.”
Freddie: …
Freddie: …
Freddie: You’re not gonna believe this, but
Freddie: A witch just showed up.
Freddie: Oh my gosh, Lia, she’s smudging the car.
Freddie: OH MY GOSH, LIA, SHE CAUGHT HERSELF ON FIRE SMUDGING THE CAR
The messages don’t stop, and I get a full live commentary on the cleansing and preparing of our mother’s Honda Civic, including updates on the witch’s fire, which is thankfully tamed quickly.
Lia: Stay away from the witch. And the car, probably. And also drugs. Stay away from drugs. Particularly whatever ones Mom is currently taking.
Freddie: No kidding.
Freddie: I wonder if they’re going to do this every time we visit.
I shudder at the thought of them visiting more than just this once. I mean, sure, I invited them. And they’re my family. And I love them. And I want to see them in the future.
However.
Cleansing the car, really? I got married. I didn’t join a Satan-worshipping cult and start hexing people. I’m not walking around with contagious curses oozing from my skin.
I remind myself, not for the first time, that running away in a fit of tears and marrying your celebrity crush is not normal behavior, so they have at least an inkling of a reason to be concerned about me at present. It’s all the before stuff that they should have trusted me on.
Freddie: I have to pack now so that the witch can protect my suitcase, I guess. Anything here you want me to bring to you?
Lia: Yes, actually! Can you get my Archie posters from my room?
Freddie: You want me to take down posters of the man you live with and bring them to your home where you live with that man so that you can put them up as decoration?
I blink, not seeing the issue he seems to be implying.
Lia: Yes.
Freddie: No. I will not be involving myself in that. If you want posters, ask your husband for free merch.
I scowl at my phone. He’s such a brat.
Lia: Why’d you even ask, then?
Freddie: I thought you’d want, like, something cool?
I scoff.
Lia: I do want something cool.
Freddie: I’ll see you tomorrow.
“He wouldn’t know cool if it bit him,” I grumble, setting my phone on my desk.
Bemoaning the lack of Archie posters in my room, I pick up my laptop and wander downstairs. Rain patters against the windows, beckoning me to the catio. Pesky appears, winding through my feet as I open the door to the comforting sound of rain on metal.
“You’d like posters of Archie, wouldn’t you, Pesky?” I ask, giving her a light scratch behind her ear. “We could put one out here for you, so you’d never be without him.”
Pesky meows her agreement, then jumps into one of the round yellow chairs to settle in for her morning nap.
“Exactly,” I say. “Because you’re cool, like me. And cool cats like us know just how cool Archie is. It’s instinctual!”
Pesky purrs and licks her paw.
I sniff, taking the seat she didn’t and opening my laptop. Before I get lost in concocting stories about my dashing knight or editing videos of his perfect, beautiful, cool face, I turn to the camera in the corner of the catio and blow it a kiss.
I can’t see him, but downstairs, I know that Archie smiles softly at his computer screen and blows me one back.
I sigh, marveling at how perfect he is. How perfect being here is. How lovely and wonderful and kind everyone has been to me, how lovingly my sweet Pesky purrs beside me, how beautifully my husband and I play.
Contentment covers me as I type my password into my laptop and open my favorite video editing software, angling the screen so that Archie gets a direct line of sight to what I’m doing.
He told me one day that he’s fascinated by my processes—by how neatly I make lists for every little project and then check them off, one by one. He likes to watch my mind work.
So I let him watch my mind work, and I rest in the knowledge that I’m living my absolute dream every single day with nothing to mar it.
Well.
Almost nothing.
A tiny niggle of anxious unease worms its way through my nervous system as our playful morning wears into an afternoon spent sitting next to Archie at his desk watching him work on CubeCraft, then an evening with our lips pressed together and our hands roaming.
Yes, nothing could mar this time with my knight, my love, my dream come true.
Except, of course, my parents.