I snorted. “When did you last play matchmaker?”
“Juliet and Morgan.”
I stared at him, chip halfway to my mouth, then lowered it again. “You tried to set up Juliet and Morgan.” Morgan was finally coming into his own as Master of Navarre House, but even still, I couldn’t see him with our pixie guard and fearsome fighter.
“‘Tried’ being the operative word,” Ethan said. “It didn’t take.” His voice was flat.
“Well, of course not.” I frowned, trying to imagine sly Juliet with the previously passive-aggressive Morgan. “Oil and water.”
“I don’t see why they should be. They’re both senior staff, in a manner of speaking. They’re both witty and intelligent people, Morgan more so now that he’s stepped out of Celina’s shadow.”
“Wrong personalities. Wrong chemistry.”
“There are some who’d say the same thing about us.”
“And they’d be wrong,” I said with a smile, and bit into the chip. “I help keep your ego in check.”
“I am a shy and retiring vampire,” he said, with not one bit of sincerity or believability. “And I keep you from running headlong into danger.”
I gave him a look.
“Well, I try,” he amended. “And is that to be your official Dry Wife Expression? I’d like to go ahead and commit it to memory.”
“You’re hilarious, husband.”
“And you’re beautiful, wife. Headstrong or otherwise.”
A compliment either way.
CHAPTER TEN
WE’LL ALWAYS (NOT) HAVE PARIS
I woke to the smells of chocolate and sugar, but kept my eyes closed, basking in the fantasy that Chicago’s problems had resolved themselves and we’d been whisked away to Paris while we slept. I’d open tall, iron windows to a balcony, a wonderful breeze, and a view of the Eiffel Tower.
“Bonjour, mon amour,” I said.
“You’re still in Chicago,” Ethan reminded me. “And the mayor wants to see us.”
Of course she did. I pulled a pillow over my face. “I can’t hear you. The sun’s still up.”
“The sun has set. And the mayor has beckoned. And I have breakfast.”
I tossed away the pillow, sat up.
Ethan sat beside me on the edge of the bed, naked but for a pair of silk pajama bottoms. The breakfast tray sat on the bedside table with the promised cup of dark, steaming chocolate, and two perfect-looking croissants beside a bowl of perky raspberries.
“Two delicious choices,” I said, leaning up to kiss him. “Good evening, husband.”