Max straightened his jacket, itched his nose, and ignored the pull between his shoulders. Despite his fidgeting, dressmaker Bella still stared at him with wide eyes, mouth slack.
“You’re jesting.”
“I’m not,” he muttered.
Her astonishment deepened. Wide-eyed, she leaned on the table that rested between them. She must have used a potion to elongate her eyelashes, for he’d never seen eye fans that wide.
Bella straightened. “Handfasted?”
“Happily so.”
She set her hands on rounded hips, ignoring his dry tone. A rolling laugh followed. “I heard rumors, of course, but thought it drivel. You know how the gossip columns stir up anything for a read. I mean, if there was any witch I had assumed would never . . .”
In her daze, he couldn’t help but wonder what he saw in her before. An outlet, perhaps. Unfair of him, but true nonetheless. Bella had been a safe arm through his when social etiquette required a companion. She achieved her equally selfish purposes through him. Societal advancement, for one. After being seen on his arm for one gala, her dressmaker’s shop had been flooded with new customers for weeks.
She required no idle chat, asked no questions, and showed herself presentable for every occasion.
As well as . . . other necessities.
“Do you love her?”
He scowled. “Not your business.”
She laughed. “Oh ho! Now it’s none of my business?”
“My emotions are of no concern to you.”
Bella’s brow lifted. “Not at all,” she cried. “Except for how well I know you. Does the poor lass know what she’s gotten into?”
“Obviously,” he gritted out from between clenched teeth. Bella hit a little too close to home—and the somewhat turbulent atmosphere at Wildrose—with such a question.
“Don’t send her on a chase, Max. You bottle all things up. Don’t do that with a wife, if you really care.”
“Your advice has not been requested.”
Bella smiled like a cat. “And yet,” she drawled, “I’m giving it.”
“There’s more than one way to show love that doesn’t involve the words.”
“Right. Speaking to another woman about your wife is surely the secondary route for deepest affection.”
“Bella . . .”
His warning fell on deaf ears. She laughed to herself. He almost didn’t come here today, fearing a jealous woman. Bella was too detached for anything like jealousy, but her surprise was deeper than expected.
“Who is she?”
“No one you’d know.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll find out, Max. You know I will.”
“I know.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“Why? You have your sources. There are better things to do with my time than fuel your lust to know the latest news.”
“Then I’ll seek it out on my own and stir up all sorts of publicity while I do it.”
Ah, the Bella he knew best. Cutthroat, and effective. He hesitated. In fact, he didn’t want that. Who knew what manner of unsavory rumors Bella might land on and then spread herself—in the name of thwarted positions. Bella might not hold envy, but she didn’t enjoy being usurped either.
“I’ll bring her for a fitting.”
Curiosity glittered in her coy stare. “Here?”
“Give me a slot and I’ll make it happen. You can satisfy your questions with your own eyes, instead of mongering amongst the dregs of society.”
With a nod, she agreed. “I shall look forward to meeting the woman who secured your safety. How else can I help you, Max? Surely you aren’t here to bring the good news?”
“I came to ask you for . . . a favor, I suppose.”
She waved a hand, blinking fast, as a wordless indication to continue.
“Ah . . .”
Realizing his stupidity too late, Max fought to find the right words. I don’t know how to court my own wife was a little too close to home. As well as I’ve never done this before and have no idea how to do it.
There were some things Bella didn’t need to know.
“I’ve been away quite a bit,” he finally said. “I’d love some ideas for how to . . . do something special for her.”
An eyebrow rose, finely blonde but lined with a darker brown to highlight her face shape. She’d once explained all her preparations before one of their social events, and the sheer time requirement boggled him.
“So you came to me?”
“You’re a woman of experience and wisdom in the ways of women. I need a few . . . ideas.”
“Have you asked her what she’d like?”
“I’d like to surprise her.”
“Is she a typical woman?”
“In what way?”
She chortled. “Does she like romance? Can you sweep her off her feet with flowers?”
“Oh.” Max raked his mind, completely unmoored by the question. Isadora didn’t strike him as the usual romantic type. She came from a background of witches who handfasted for practical reasons, from what he could tell.
And yet . . .
“I would consider her a romantic, yes.”
“Well, a candlelight dinner is always nice.”
“Where?”
She shrugged. “Somewhere nice? You know all the fancy restaurants in the city. The Castle Faire is good for their desserts, but their menu is quite . . . lacking . . . with all the wars and things. To that end, ignore the fancy dinner idea. What about a quiet picnic?”
“A picnic?”
“Maybe she’d just like to be alone with you?”
“It’s winter, Bella.”
“So take candles.”
“In the cold?”
“Warm her with your passion.” She winked. “I know it’s hot enough.”
He growled. “This is not helpful. If I wanted to freeze her out of my life I could take her on a picnic in the woods in the depths of winter. I’d really rather she stayed around. We need something . . . romantic and pragmatic, I think.”
Nonplussed, Bella leaned back. “Then good luck figuring it out, since you’re so open to feedback.”
Max let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I’m not sure how to do this.”
Bella paused for a long while, studying him. With an exasperated breath, she leaned forward. Loose, blonde curls slanted onto her slender shoulders.
“Max, get out of your own way.”
With that, she straightened up and stepped back. The ting of a bell announced a new customer. Max turned his back to the door and transported away, deeper in the quagmire of how to tell his wife he loved her.
Without saying the words.