“Not to us,” I said with a smile.
“No, not to you. But only because we work under the radar. I’m not saying we should go public, but we should at least be in the mix. And it would be nice to be official, for once.”
“And how does this tie into marriage?” Ethan asked, glancing between them.
“The Order can ignore us as individuals.” Mallory looked at Catcher. “We’re powerful individually, but we’re still just that—two separate units. The Order’s got a lot of respect for the institution of marriage, for the idea of two souls becoming one.”
“And if you’re married,” I said with a nod, seeing where this was going, “you become a unit.”
“Worth more than the sum of our parts,” Catcher agreed. “We figure they’ll think it’s better to deal with us than leave us on our own.”
That didn’t sound completely unreasonable. Maybe a little naive, but not unreasonable, especially considering what little I knew of the Order. But it was so unromantic. I had no objection to rational or logical, but I knew Mallory, and romance was important to her. Very important.
I glanced her way, caught her looking at me with cautious hope. She wanted me to approve. I could be happy for her, sure. I didn’t need to agree with the circumstances, but I sure as hell wanted to understand them.
“And when are you thinking about doing it?” Ethan asked.
“As soon as possible,” Mallory said, and Catcher nodded when she glanced at him. “Just at the courthouse, nothing big. But we’d really like you and Ethan to attend, to be our witnesses.”
“To stand up for us,” Catcher said.
Ethan blinked in surprise. “We’d be honored, of course. But I’m sure we could help with something a little more elaborate, if you’d like. You’d be welcome to use the House or the garden.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mallory said, tucking hair behind her ears again. It was a nervous gesture, and reiterated that we were going to need to have a nice, long chat about whatever this was. “We’re hoping to keep it really low-key. Efficient.”
Ethan nodded, reached out, and touched her hands supportively. “We’ll help however we can.” He pushed back his chair and rose. “And I think this calls for something stronger than soda.” He pulled a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator across the room, deftly picked up four champagne glasses in his other hand. I was grateful he was handling the situation with such aplomb, since I was clearly running behind.
“It’s good to hear good news,” Ethan said, bringing them back to the table, where I helped him disassemble the knot of them. “There hasn’t been much of that tonight.”
He removed the foil, then unscrewed the cage and pulled out the cork. Champagne frothed over the rim, which he tipped into the glasses. I passed them out, and Ethan raised his glass.
“To new beginnings and happiness. May you both have a lifetime of it.”
“Hear, hear,” I said, and we clinked our glasses together.
Mallory caught my gaze, hopefulness and trepidation in her eyes. I smiled and nodded, a promise of support.
Her relief was nearly palpable, and tears welled in her eyes.
We were definitely going to have to discuss this. But that was a discussion for another time, preferably with two fewer men in the audience.
* * *
Mallory and Catcher were tired, so they begged off Ethan’s offer of a special dessert or more champagne by the backyard fountain—and what might have been an opportunity to chat with Mallory about the sudden interest in marriage.
We were an hour before dawn, and despite said drama—or probably because of Mallory’s—I was utterly wired. Sleep wasn’t going to come quickly, so I decided to force its hand.
I’d skipped a night of training (for a perfectly legitimate reason), but recognized that I still needed to work out, to hone my skills. So when Catcher and Mallory returned to their room and Ethan turned back to House business, I climbed into workout gear and headed outside.
I didn’t think about anything as I ran down the path that followed the interior perimeter of the Cadogan grounds. My mind was primarily focused on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping my form correct, keeping my speed consistent.
I pushed myself until my breath was quick and rhythmic, my body sheened with sweat, and my legs felt like iron. And by the time I’d slowed in front of the House, my limbs were warm and loose and my brain was relatively calm. Exhaustion tended to do that, and the faint lightening at the edge of the horizon probably wasn’t helping.
The foyers were empty when I walked through, the House’s vampires tucked in and prepared for daylight. Probably a good thing, since I was hot, sweaty, and still panting.
The stairs, however, did not feel so good. My body felt leaden, and I nearly sighed with relief when I finally reached the third-floor landing.
The apartments were empty, so I ditched sweaty clothes and headed directly for the shower, washing off the sweat, the fear, the anxiety.