Лорел Гамильтон - Incubus Dreams

Her shoulders hunched. “I’ve been cold since I left the wedding last night. I just can’t seem to get warm.”

I did not remark that most shapeshifters have a slightly higher body temperature than we mere humans, and that maybe the warmth she was missing went by the name of Louie. I didn’t say it, because it would have been too obvious, and too cruel.

She walked through the darkened living room, to the opened curtains of the kitchen beyond. When I’d been sure that Damian was down for the day, I’d opened the drapes. She hesitated just inside the kitchen. “Where is everybody?”

“Micah had to get some sleep. Gregory and Nathaniel are upstairs working on an outfit for work. Something about some straps breaking.”

She sat in the chair that Richard had been in, so she could keep an eye on most of the doors, and still look outside at the view. Or maybe it had been an accident, and I was projecting why. I doubted Richard had thought about safety considerations when he chose the seat. But again, maybe I wasn’t being fair. Oh, well.

She kept the dark glasses on, though it wasn’t that bright anymore. Her blond hair was straight, but thick, and looked like she’d combed it, but nothing else, so the ends didn’t do the curl up that she liked. She almost never went out without more done to it than this. In fact, she sat hunched at the table, over the coffee mug, like a hangover victim.

“You ready for biscuits?” I asked.

“Does he actually cook?”

I almost said, If you were around more, you’d know, but I was good. “Yeah, he cooks. He does the grocery shopping, most of the menu planning, and most of the housework.”

“My, isn’t he a regular domestic goddess.” Her voice was ugly when she said it.

I’d be nice because she was hurting, but that would only cover so much, then she’d piss me off, and I really didn’t want to fight with Ronnie this morning. “I needed a wife,” I said, and managed to keep my voice neutral.

“Don’t we all,” she said, and there was no malice now. She took the tiniest sip of coffee. “I don’t think I could eat right now.”

I took a much bigger sip of coffee, and said, “Okay, do you have a plan for how this talk will go?”

She looked up at me, still wearing the glasses so I couldn’t see her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You wanted to talk, I assume about Louie and what happened last night, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then talk,” I said.

“It’s not that simple,” she said.

“Okay, then can I ask a question?”

“Depends on the question,” she said.

I took a big breath and plunged into the deep end. “Why did you say no to Louie’s proposal?”

“Oh, not you, too.”

“What?” I asked.

“Don’t tell me you expected me to just say yes?”

I wanted her to take off the glasses so I could see her eyes, see what she was thinking. “Actually, yeah.”

“Why, for God’s sake?”

“Because I’ve never seen you happier for longer with anyone,” I said.

She pushed her coffee away, as if she was angry at it, too. “Happy the way thingsare, Anita. Why does he have to go and change everything?”

“You spend more nights at each other’s places together than alone, right?”

She just nodded.

“He said he offered to move in together first, why not try it?”

“Because I want my stuff. I love Louie, but I hate how he’s taken over my closet, my medicine cabinet. He’s taken two of the dresser drawers over for his clothes.”

“The bastard,” I said.

“It’s not funny,” she said.

“No, I know. Did you tell him you didn’t like him moving his stuff in?”

“I tried.”

“Do you want him gone, poof, out of your life?”

She shook her head. “No, but I want my apartment back, the way it was. I don’t like coming home and finding that he’s rearranged everything in my cabinets so it’s easier to find. If I want to dig through every cabinet to find tomato paste, then it was my choice. He didn’t even ask, I just came home one night, and he’d organized everything in the kitchen. I couldn’t find anything.” She must have sounded pouty even to herself, because she jerked off the glasses and gave the full force of those pain-filled gray eyes. “You think I’m being silly, don’t you?”

“No, he should have probably asked you before rearranging everything.” The fact that Nathaniel had not only rearranged everything in my kitchen, but also thrown out the non-matching stuff was probably best kept to myself.

“I love dating Louie, but I don’t want to marry anybody.”

“Okay.”

“Just okay, you’re not going to try talking me into it?”

“Hey, I’m not headed for wedded bliss either, who am I to force you into it?”

She looked at me, as if searching my face for a lie. She was pale and hollow-eyed, as if she hadn’t gotten much more sleep than Micah.

“But you’ve let Micah move in with you.”

I nodded and drank coffee. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you want him to move in with you? I thought you liked your independence as much as I do.”

“I’m still independent, Ronnie. Micah moving in didn’t change that.”

“He doesn’t try to order you around?”

I just looked at her.

“I’m sorry, Anita, but my dad was such a bastard to my mother.

I’ve seen pictures of her on stage in college. She wanted so much, but he wouldn’t have a wife that worked. She had to be the perfect little homemaker. She hated it, and she hated him.”

“You aren’t your mother,” I said, “and Louie isn’t your father.”

Sometimes in these heart-to-heart talks you have to state the obvious.

“You weren’t there, Anita, you didn’t see it. She fell into a bottle, and he never noticed, because on the outside she was perfect.

She never got roaring drunk, or falling down drunk. It was just like she needed this constant buzz to see her through the day, and the night. A functioning alcoholic is what they call it.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. We’d both told each other our sad stories years ago. She knew all about my mother’s death, my father marrying the ice princess stepmother, and my perfect stepsister. We’d shared our bitterness toward our families long ago. I knew all this, so why tell it again? Because something about the proposal had brought it up.

“You told me months ago that Louie is nothing like your dad.”

“Yeah, but he still wants to own me.”

“Own you,” I said, “what does that mean, own you?”

“We date, we have great sex, we enjoy each other’s company, why does he have to move in, or make me marry him?” There was something like real fear in her face.

I touched her hand where it lay clenched on the tabletop. “Ronnie, he can’t make you marry him.”

“But if I don’t agree to something, he’ll leave. We either move forward, or he’s gone. That’s him trying to force me to marry him.”

I felt like I wasn’t qualified for this talk, because her logic wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t like that. I knew Louie, and he’d have been horrified that she saw his proposal and his need to finalize things as ownership. I was almost a hundred-percent certain he didn’t mean it that way. I squeezed her hand and tried to think of what to say that would help things instead of hurt. Nothing came to mind.

“I don’t know what to say, Ronnie, except that I don’t believe Louie meant to hurt you like this. He loves you, and thought you loved him, and when people love each other, they tend to want to get married.”

She took her hand back. “How do I know this is love? I meanthe love, like till-death-do-you-part love?”