Chapter Thirty-Four
“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Sage grumbles, re-tucking his pale blue oxford shirt into his pressed navy pants. “Thanksgiving with Ansel.” He sneers the name, making a face along with it. “I’d rather have dinner with a pack of hyenas.”
Sighing from my perch on the barstool, I say for the thousandth time, “We don’t have to go.”
He places his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes on me. “Well, I agreed. Can’t exactly back out now.”
“You didn’t have to say yes,” I remind him with a pointed finger.
He scrubs a hand over his stubble. Normally he’s freshly shaved since his job requires it, but since he has a few days off he’s letting it grow in.
“It was nice for his family to invite us. It would’ve been rude to decline.” He exhales a weighted breath. “Does he know?”
“Know what?” I blink at him, confused.
“About…” He waves his hand at me wildly.
I know what he’s asking, but I can’t help it when I say, “Does he know magic?” I mimic his hand gesture.
“Dandelion,” he warns and I laugh, slipping off the stool.
“Yes, Sage, he knows about what happened.”
He nods, hands still on his hips. “I’m surprised you told him.”
“Me too.” There’s no sense in denying it. “Are you ready, then?”
“Yeah.” He grabs his coat off the rack, slipping it on.
I begin my process of bundling up in a million layers.
We head down to the garage, and Sage immediately starts the car, letting it heat up. I bring up my texts from Ansel, finding the one with the address to his house.
Twenty minutes later we pull up outside a stone and brick monstrosity of a house. It’s massive, with a circular driveway and what I’m sure is a sprawling bright green lawn in the summer.
Sage parks the car, letting out a low whistle. “Is his father related to the President of France? Do they have a president? Prime Minister?” he rambles, his nose crinkled in thought.
“I think they have both.” I undo my seatbelt, stepping out.
My breath fogs the air as we walk to the front door.
“We should’ve brought a dish or something,” Sage grumbles under his breath.
I give him an incredulous look. “We can’t cook.”
He laughs. “Right. Nobody would want anything we brought anyway. Could’ve bought a pie, though.”
“Too late now.” I push the doorbell.
We don’t have to wait long before the door opens and a woman who has to be Ansel’s mom opens it. “Oh, you must be Sage and Dani. Ansel speaks so highly of you.” She smiles at me.
I stare at her in awe. She’s beautiful, with dark brown hair blown out in loose voluminous curls, fair skin and amber eyes, her pouted lips are a glossy pink color, and she’s dressed in a fitted white dress I’d be terrified of staining.
Sage and I step into the massive foyer. There’s a grand staircase and to our left is a formal living room, to the right is the dining room with an already set table and chandelier glowing above it.
“Let me take your coats.”
I give her a skeptical look, because surely she doesn’t want my dirty coat to ruin her dress. But she waves us on, her nails painted a soft pink.