Page 28 of The Fae’s Treasure

He doesn’t ask me to.

“I suppose I ought to get Bonwit here to share this feast with mortals, magicians, and the like. He’ll never forgive me if I don’t.”

“Bonwit?”

“My servant. My friend.” Dairmuid takes a piece of beef from the lasagna and gives it to Sprite, who has been moving from lap to lap this entire time. “Bonwit. Come to supper,” he murmurs, and in under a second, there’s a slash of silver beside me, and a shorter man with curly, coppery hair is standing at Dairmuid’s elbow.

“I was talking to the banshee and the pooka!” he cries, looking put out. “They think Saz might always be able to get to Rory, no matter what charms you put ‘round him, because she’s bound by blood. There’s only one way you might remove that ability completely, and that’s to grant him to his chosen mother as part of a fae’s unbreakable deal, something that cannot be undone. I told them you’d never do that, not in a million years. So, the only thing you might be able to do, Dair, is slay her, because if she comes to the mortal realm during the autumnal equinox, you’ll never be rid of her. She’s—”

“We know, Bonwit. We just figured that out. About Saz, that is, not about the deal you said,” Dairmuid says in a somber voice. “Sit.”

Bonwit sits, a chair appearing where I know there wasn’t one before. “What in damnation was the point of sending me out to hunt down our kind and pester them for information then? And who are all these people?” he demands, sounding severely put out.

“Sit. There’s wine. I’ll explain everything later.”

Rory fusses and squirms. I reluctantly move out of Dairmuid’s lap, feeling his hands go to my waist to steady me, and then he rises, too. “What do you need?” he asks.

“Little guy needs to be changed and fed. Every two hours, like clockwork.”

“I will help you.” Dairmuid grabs the diaper bag and follows me into the restaurant, leaving Sprite with Bonwit.

Tiramisu is a small restaurant, the kind with red walls, checkered tablecloths, and about ten tables inside and half that number outside. They have one restroom, which Dairmuid follows me into, and he watches in amazement as I pull down the changing station from the wall.

“They are certainly prepared, these humans.”

“We try,” I laugh.

I wish my laugh didn’t turn to tears, but it does. Sudden, exhausted, inexplicable tears.

“Oh, Deanna! Oh, my lady, do not cry,” Dairmuid whispers, turning me towards him, holding me tight as he dares while Rory is between us. “I will not let her hurt you, or him. I give you my vow.”

“I appreciate the vow. What I do not appreciate is how very unready I was for all this. Humans being prepared? Ha! I tried. I tried so hard. I have only daughter syndrome, and no, it’s not a real disease; it just means you have to be perfect, and responsible, and competent. I was supposed to be entering my ‘cool, calm, collected’ era. My ‘unbothered’ era. Single artsy-fartsy independent woman era. Now I’m a single mom with a paranormal situationship and demon baby mama drama, a mortgage, a new job, a new baby, and a puppy! A fucking puppy!”

“Bonwit can take the puppy,” Dairmuid suggests, faint hysteria in his tone, matching mine. “My lady, I will not leave you a single mother! I will be here.”

“You don’t even live in this realm!”

“I do now. I do now, because you wish it. You wish Rory to be here, and I wish him to be with you, who loves him so fiercely. I wish you would visit my world some time, but when you are ready, and only for the shortest of whiles. Don’t cry. We will not bother you. You can be unbothered. And cool? I will make your house a palace of frost if it brings you pleasure. Only, please, you must not cry. You must just ask for help.”

“I don’t like doing that. They think things about you when you’re a mom, and you ask for help. I know. I was one of them!” I sob harder, realizing that sometimes I’ve been a judgmental bitch in my life, and that I’m worrying about all the wrong things. There’s a demonic sexual predator who has blood ties to my son and might come and eat my entire state in the next week! That’s what I should worry about. “I’m crying in a bathroom, and Rory pooped. I need to change him,” I sniffle.

“Then I’m not doing the right things. I will learn to be better at this.” Dairmuid promises, lifting my chin. “By the moon, you are even beautiful when you’re crying and your nose is wet,” he smiles at me, and the scary thing is?

He means it. He has lovestruck eyes, and he cups my face, putting his head to mine.

“You say this to all the girls, though. You’re Mr. Fertility Fae,” I whisper.

“Actually... you’re right. I have called many beautiful. And their beauty is smooth, and tasteless, and slips by with perfection and polish, or seductive sinfulness.”

I almost tell him to stop, that this isn’t how you compliment a girl, by reminding her how imperfect she is, how unsexy it is to have bags under her eyes, a messy bun, and a runny nose.

“I have never meant it like I do now. I have never felt beauty in a person the way I feel it in nature, the way that I live and work. But I feel it now, in you. I feel all the richness and jaggedness of your beauty, the way it sears me when you’re sad, and stabs me when you’re angry, and the way it warms me and makes my blood race when you’re protecting my son. I have never seen beauty like yours. And that’s... That’s one reason I must stay here, Deanna. I cannot leave for long. I need not to miss a single second of it. Of you. Of us. Whatever we could be together.”

I swallow and stare up at the deadly handsome man with all the power, money, and fucking wings for goodness’ sake.

Ten seconds ago, I was prepared to tell him to hand me the wipes and remind him that we’re co-parenting. Nothing more.

Plot twist. I’m the one who kisses him first, and once I do, I don’t know how I’m ever going to stop.