Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
Elodie
Idon’t bother with a bath—I showered before getting ready for the social, and I want to spend every possible moment with my matches, not on my own. In the bathroom, I wriggle out of the slinky dress I picked from Other Elodie’s walk-in closet and reach for the lounge clothes Cole brought for me.
I can’t say I minded wearing the dress, especially after noticing the way all of my matches’ eyes lit up when they saw me in it.
It definitely wasn’t relaxing-wear, though.
I was too aware of the skin exposed close to areas I don’t want seen, of the hotter tug of my bond toward the two men I’m not getting that close to yet.
After shedding my bra for maximum comfort, I pick up the undershirt. It’s cotton rather than my doppelganger’s usual silk, but just as soft and light with a cozier texture. Much more me, if I could have picked the best quality version of my usual wardrobe.
Shoving aside the niggling question of what observations prompted Cole to include it, I slide it over my head and reach for the sweats.
Both shirt and pants are the same soft cotton, made even cozier by the gentle weight of the fabric. I hug myself with a little squirm against the fabric, reveling in the snuggly texture, a smile curving my lips.
If this is how Cole apologizes, maybe I don’t mind if he messes up now and then.
He even included a pair of thin gloves, which I appreciate because the ones I wore with my dress are too long. I slip the new pair over my fingers, tucking Asher’s bracelet underneath, and walk back into the hotel suite on socked feet.
I’ve gotten used enough to the opulence of Other Elodie’s home that the fine furnishings don’t take my breath away the way they might have a couple of months ago, but I can still appreciate the luxurious feel of the thick carpet beneath me.
The extravagance of this massive room that’s all ours for tonight sends a thrill through my chest.
Because what I appreciate most is the company of the four men waiting for me. Who, it turns out, might be able to cooperate with each other even at this early stage after all.
Maybe I’m still not giving them enough credit. Not even the imagined voices in my head could have predicted they’d manage to find common ground this quickly… but these aren’t the same matches.
And these versions of my men aren’t leaving any doubts about their devotion.
Even though I’m not dolled up anymore, all four of their faces brighten at the sight of me. As I walk over to join them, my pulse gives a giddy sort of hitch.
Cole organized tonight’s interlude, but they all came together to make it happen. They’re all standing there within a few feet of each other, not arguing or hassling each other, seemingly at peace.
For me. And right now, for the first time, we really do feel like a union.
“They’re good?” Cole asks, inspecting the clothes with a tinge of concern.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Salvatore leans against the back of the sofa in a typical nonchalant pose, but his gaze hasn’t left me for an instant. “What do you want to do next, a chroí?”
The pressure of the moment rises up over me, constricting my lungs. My matches have come together—but I could still screw this up. What if I suggest the wrong thing, or don’t show enough affection, or—
I inhale deeply and grasp onto the first low-key idea that pops into my head. “Do you like that show Wicked Courage here? That was always fun to watch. And we could dig into the snacks…”
Salvatore claps his hands. “Sounds good to me. Let’s find it!”
As Cole flips through the on-demand options with Salvatore advising, Byron and Asher congregate around the kitchenette’s small island with me.
Byron’s eyebrows lift slightly as he takes in the spread of bags and cartons. “Professor Raith was ready to feed the whole school.”
“This way Elodie can have whatever she’s in the mood for.” Asher rests a tentative hand against the small of my back. “What do you think, Lo?”
At the sound of the familiar nickname, my heart flips over. It’s the first time he’s used it in this world. And it came out totally unprompted.
He obviously has no idea how momentous it would feel to me. I swallow down the emotion that’s filled my throat and paw through the array of packages.
A few glances at the nutritional information tell me Cole did his job well here too. It’s not exactly health food, but none of the options are going to make me fear inflicting a high cholesterol problem on someone just from binging tonight.
Byron watches with a thoughtful expression. “You worry a lot about your health because of your glim. That’s why you’re careful about what you eat?”
I smile tightly. “If I’m not consciously controlling the magic, it’ll restore my body to optimal condition whenever it can… by leeching off whoever’s around me. It’s easier… safer… to try to stay in optimal condition to begin with so there’s nothing to ‘heal.’”
Asher’s brow creases. “Thinking about that all the time must be stressful.”
I shrug. “I’m used to it now. It is what it is.”
And I’ve already tried every possible strategy I found to stifle my glim, in vain.
Shaking off that depressing thought, I grab a bag of kettle corn that calls to me and sink onto the middle of the sofa. Salvatore glances over just as Byron and Asher claim the spots on either side of me.
The mafia heir narrows his eyes at them, but amusement touches his lips. “I’m going to sit with her one way or the other.” He drops down on the floor between my legs and Byron’s, tucking his arm around my calves.
Byron gives him a disgruntled look that holds a little amusement of his own and shifts so his shoulder rests against mine.
As the show starts playing, I assume Cole will take the armchair next to the sofa. Instead, he comes around behind us and grazes his fingers over my hair in a light caress.
A tingle races over my scalp at the familiar sensation. The other Cole often showed his affection the same way. But it means even more in this context.
This Cole wants to be absolutely clear that he’s committed to me just as much as the other guys are. The Cole I knew before was barely willing to talk about our bond, let alone embrace it, for ages after our match sparked.
As I settle into the sofa’s comfy cushions, a sense of peace wells up inside me like nothing I can remember feeling before. Like maybe everything could be okay in spite of the chaos we’ve been facing.
Maybe we could all be happy—not just them but me too.
The imagined voices in my head remain silent, but suddenly I don’t feel I’m missing anything. I have my matches right here.
Like I said to Cole, this is the first time I’ve been honest with them—mostly, at least. Does that mean these bonds are more meant to be than my first union?
I don’t know, but I’m going to enjoy our newfound cohesion as much as I can.
As the game show competitors get started on the first of the goofy but thrilling challenges, I toss perfectly salty-sweet popcorn into my mouth and laugh alongside the guys around me.
We shout out encouragement and warnings and wince when one contestant takes a tumble.
I relax even more into the warmth of the sofa and my companions.
Once a couple of episodes have wrapped up with the weakest contestants eliminated, Byron grabs the remote. “How about a change of pace?”
He flicks through the offerings before settling on a title I don’t recognize, with a hopeful gaze over at me. “You enjoy more scenic kinds of impressive visuals too, I think?”
The images that form on the screen aren’t a movie in the sense I’m used to, but a montage in a striking painterly animation that flows from one moment to the next alongside lilting music.
Maybe there’s a story to the figures and panoramas passing by, but the art is gorgeous enough that I’m content to simply let it wash over me rather than searching for deeper meaning.
Byron must have been thinking of how I appreciated the gorgeous scenery in the woods. It isn’t a bad choice at all.
Even Salvatore seems to get into the art film, letting out a low whistle at a particularly spectacular rush of imagery that comes with a swell of the music.
Asher slides his arm around mine, his gloved fingers clasping my hand. His thumb glides over my knuckles with the rhythm of the melody.
I’m not sure he even notices when his other hand drifts over to stroke my forearm. His fingertips tease up and down over the fabric of my sweatshirt, stirring a deeper heat that brings a flush rising to my face.
They skim a little higher past the sensitive skin of my inner elbow, and my next breath comes with a hint of a gasp.
Asher freezes with a twitch of his hand away. “Oh—sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“No,” I say quickly. My blush burns my cheeks. “I, um… It feels good.”
Asher pauses for a moment, his bright green eyes so intent on me I can’t look away. He trails his fingers up my arm again, and I give his other hand an encouraging squeeze.
The guy who was my best friend in another world keeps watching me rather than the screen, as if he can’t tear himself away, even after I turn my gaze back to the TV.
I’m vaguely aware that Cole has stepped aside to give us more space, that Byron and Salvatore have glanced over, but nearly all my awareness has narrowed to the delicious tendrils of sensation spreading over my skin.
The first time Asher’s knuckles brush the side of my breast, I think it might be an accident. But the flare of desire the simple contact provokes has me biting my lip, and I know he sees my reaction.
He repeats the gesture more purposefully, caressing the curve of my chest. Crossing lines we never dared in my old reality.
We didn’t know we were matches there. We had so many reasons for caution.
Here… it’s nothing but right.
When he strokes his thumb right over the peak of my breast, pebbling the nipple through the two layers of fabric, I can’t hold in another gasp.
Salvatore shifts by my feet with an approving hum. “That’s what our match needs from us.”