THE NEXT DAY
MICHAEL
I had thought, naively, that surviving yesterday's whirlwind of measuring tapes, pins, and divine teasing would buy me at least one peaceful morning. I was wrong. The great hall had been transformed overnight into a battlefield of silver tablecloths, mountains of menus, and the sweet, overwhelming scent of pastries and herbs. Every chair was occupied, the Elder at the head, parchment scrolls stacked like fortresses before him; the Moon Goddess gleaming serenely beside him, and across from me, Charlie was twirling a quill like a dagger while three alphas argued over flavors of cake.
Zavier, of course, was seated beside me pristine as ever, dark suit crisp, expression somewhere between mild annoyance and possessive calm. His hand rested casually on my knee under the table, his thumb drawing lazy, grounding circles that made focusing twice as hard.
