by Zoe Chant
"What I can't believe," said Wanda, "is this food."
Jana agreed enthusiastically. "This is amazing. You cooked it yourself?"
Bruce tipped his glass toward Violet. "I couldn't have done it without my sous chef."
For their dinner he had prepared a rustic but sophisticated pot roast, redolent with herbs and spices that filled the dining room with their fragrance. Rosemary, thyme, sage, and others Violet couldn't identify. It smelled homey and satisfying, and it fit perfectly with the fire roaring in the grate and the warm colors in the walls.
"He says that, but I just chopped whatever he told me to," admitted Violet, slicing and spearing one of her last potatoes.
"You have to walk before you can run," said her sister archly. Laughing, Violet swatted her on the arm. But if there was someone who was familiar with Violet's mediocre kitchen skills, it was Jana.
"She graced the kitchen with her presence," replied Bruce, leaning over to kiss Violet on the cheek, to the giggling amusement of their guests. "That's all I ask." His lips brushed across her skin, leaving a fire in their wake. Even though it was an act, Violet couldn't hold back the smile that split her face in half.
Wanda sat back with a satisfied sigh. "I wanted to finish it all since it's so good, but there's just too much food here."
Bruce smiled with pride. "Save some room—there's dessert coming."
All the women groaned.
"I don't know if I can take it," said Wanda.
"Dessert doesn't go to your stomach, right?" Jana asked her with a playful elbow to the side. "It's a whole different food group. That's why there's always room for it."
"It was Violet's idea," added Bruce.
"It's Mom's apple pie—or at least I hope it is," she admitted shyly.
Jana's eyebrows flew up. "Did you find the recipe?"
“No—but I guessed.” Violet glanced toward Bruce. “I described it to him—the woodsy flavor, do you remember that?”
Jana looked wistful. “That was the best part. I’ve never tasted it in any other apple pie. Or apple anything.”
“Bruce thought it might be rosemary. And I do, too; it smelled just right when it was in the oven.”
Her sister’s eyes were suspiciously misty. Violet retrieved the pie and sliced it carefully, as carefully as if it really were a long-lost relic from their parents’ past. As she passed a slice to Jana, she hurried to add, not wanting to get her hopes up, “It might not be exactly the same, let me know …”
Jana waved her concerns away. “Even if it’s not the same, I’m sure it’s really good.”
Finally Violet sat down with her own slice, and took a tentative bite.
It was like falling into a memory. Violet closed her eyes. The herbaceous flavor of the rosemary with the apples was unlike anything she’d ever tasted before—except for one dish: Rita Simmons's apple pie. She could feel her mother’s warm kitchen around her, a cool breeze coming in through the open window. For a moment suspended in time, she felt sixteen again. Oh, how she had complained then. Complained about the flour dusting her hands that got all over her clothes, complained about the sweltering heat of the oven, complained about not being able to go out with her friends because Mama insisted on family lunch after church on Sundays.
Violet wanted to yell at her younger self and tell her how much she didn’t understand, how she didn’t appreciate what she had. It wasn’t until after she passed that Violet was forced to understand all the ways her mother had provided for them and taken care of them, now that she had to shoulder the burden herself.
What she wouldn’t give to have her back.
Jana’s sigh pulled her back in to the present moment. When Violet opened her eyes, a tear slipped down her face.
Bruce’s calloused thumb brushed across her cheekbone, wiping away the tear. She tried to blink the rest away. He was looking at her with such gentleness, such care in his clear blue eyes, she could almost believe—
“Aww,” said Jana softly—never afraid to irreverently interrupt a moment.
Violet broke her gaze away from Bruce with a laugh. “Look at me, getting all sentimental.” His hand slipped to her shoulder, which he squeezed and stroked comfortingly.
“That’s Mama’s apple pie, all right,” confirmed Jana, with a watery smile of her own. “Now we just need some ice cream to go with it.”
“Next time,” Violet promised. A peace brimmed inside her like she hadn’t experienced in years—the peace of her mother’s presence.
After dessert, and amid a chorus of contented post-dinner groans, she packed up some of the pie for Jana, and sent them her and Wanda both home with plenty of leftovers. Wanda stayed to talk with Bruce about some work business while Violet walked Jana out to her car.
Jana sighed, a mischievous look entering her eye. “After that meal, the only thing I can think about is falling asleep. I would stay with you … but I wouldn’t want to interrupt your honeymoon shenanigans.”
“Jana!” Pretending to be shocked, Violet smacked her on the arm, and they both burst into giggles.
When their amusement died down, Jana turned more serious. “Violet … are you happy?”
The question gave her pause. It felt wrong to lie to her sister about something so serious for her part of the charade. Was she happy?
Could she even be happy? Really, truly happy, after everything?
She gave the only answer she could, which was what she felt in that moment: “Yes, definitely.”
Jana’s shoulders relaxed. “I was worried about you, after Chad leaving like that.”
“Bruce isn’t anything like Chad.” Their relationship might not be real, but that she could say with utmost certainty. “And that was a long time ago.”
“At least you know he’s not after your money,” Jana joked.
No, I’m just after his, she thought with a pang. Aloud she said, “There is that.”
“Bruce is seriously loaded, though. I’m jealous.” Balancing the leftovers precariously in one hand, Jana poked her in the side with the other.
Violet leaned against the car. Her secret fears were piqued by Jana’s words. “I’m meeting his family tomorrow.”
“For the first time?”
“Yeah.” Violet bit her lip. “I don’t know what they’re going to think of me.”
“They’re going to think you’re amazing, of course. Because you are. They’re going to love you.”
“You think so?”
“No one could mistake the way you two look at each other. Both of you.” Jana’s tone brooked no uncertainty.
A warm glow settled in Violet’s chest. “And how exactly does he look at me?”
“Are you kidding? No, wait—did you go blind and not tell me? He wants to eat you up with a spoon. And cuddle you, and protect you, and kiss you, and take care of you forever and ever—” Laughing, Jana nimbly dodged Violet’s incoming tickle.
“Ladies, ladies.” Wanda’s voice rang down from the front porch as she descended. “I know you don’t know what to do with yourselves without me, but going all Hunger Games on each other is a bit much.”
Despite her jocular words, there was a crease in Wanda’s brow, like she was upset by something. Maybe she was just stressed about whatever work thing she and Bruce had been talking about, Violet theorized.
“It’s about time, chauffeur,” teased Jana, not noticing anything. Wanda rolled her eyes with an affectionate smile.
But when Wanda hugged Violet goodbye, there was still tension in her embrace.
“Are you okay?” asked Violet.
In response Wanda gave her another not-quite-completely-sincere smile. “It should be me asking if you’re okay.”
Right. She knows this is all a setup, and she’s worried about me, thought Violet. “I’m great,” she said. “Never better.”
Wanda didn’t look entirely reassured, but it was enough. Violet made her way up the porch to where Bruce was waiting. Daringly she slipped her fingers into his and t
ipped her face toward him. Maybe it was the wine, or Jana’s observations spurring her on. It might be a bad idea to play with fire—but it felt good.
“Kiss for show?” she murmured.
He didn’t need any persuading; he bent to press his lips to hers immediately. The heat she’d felt during dinner paled in comparison to what she felt now—a scorching, searing desire, all the way down to her bones.
His tongue ran over the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. Eagerly she opened her mouth to his, deepening the kiss and savoring the slide of his tongue against hers. One arm wrapped around her, tight and protective, as he plundered her mouth.
In the distance, she could dimly hear the sound of whooping and the engine of Wanda’s car firing. All the rest of her attention was taken up by the kiss.
Bruce rested his forehead against hers. Their breathy pants mingled together in the chilly evening air. Violet could live here forever, in this space between satisfaction and desire.
As if remembering something, he suddenly pulled away from her. Without the heat of his body nearby, the night became colder. She tucked her cardigan around herself more firmly, folding her arms. She knew he could read the question on her face as plain as day: Do you want me?
Guilt flickered in his eyes before he turned away and went inside, away from her. I guess I got my answer, she thought. The night suddenly seemed much colder.
* * *
That night, she woke to the sound of something snapping.
It was still dark. Violet fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. The display said it was only 2:33 a.m. Groaning, she flung her head back on the pillow.
She wondered what had woken her. Maybe the sound had been part of her dream. She didn’t hear anything else.
Tiptoeing so as not to wake Bruce—he had sequestered himself away after their kiss on the porch, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him right now—she made her way to the kitchen. On the top shelf of the pantry she found what she thought she had spied earlier while cooking with Bruce: a hot chocolate mix.
It was the work of a minute to stir up a mug and stand by the big window at the back of the house. The cocoa was hot and comforting, warming her down to her toes. Under the full moon, she had a beautiful view of the property. The woods were encased in mist, lending a sense of mysterious magic to the scene.
A movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye. Violet’s mouth fell open in shock. An enormous shape lumbered across the landscape.
Halfway there, it seemed to sense something. Its heavy bulk stilled, and its head raised—to look right at her.
It was a bear.
A thrill of excitement shot down her spine. It was so close to the house—was it not afraid?
There was something familiar about it, but Violet couldn’t put her finger on what. It was formidable—there was a lot of muscle packed onto its huge frame. But it gave no sign of wanting to attack her. In fact, it seemed transfixed.
Feeling a bit silly, Violet raised her hand and gave it a little wave.
She expected no response. But after a moment, the bear tipped its head toward her. Like a nod, she thought, and a giggle burst out of her. A gentleman bear. The surreality of the situation felt dreamlike, as if anything might happen. Yet she felt perfectly safe.
It shambled off to God knew where, and when it disappeared the spell it had woven over her broke. Violet shook her head at herself. Of course there would be wild animals out here. And of course a bear didn’t understand human gestures like waving and nodding.
So why wasn’t she afraid?
Violet couldn’t answer that. But she wrapped herself in that sense of safety and contentment, and went back to bed.
Chapter Eight
Bruce
"This is my mother, Ava. Mom, this is Violet, my . . . wife." Bruce almost slipped up and called her mate, but he was more worried about the meeting that was taking place amid the clamor and festivity of a Davis party—and his mother's reaction.
"It's so great to meet you," Violet gushed, extending her hand to Bruce's mother. "Bruce has told me so much about his family."
For a moment, Bruce thought his mother might not take the offered hand. But then she did, and the tense line that had run through her shoulders since she'd arrived eased.
"Now your family as well," his mother said, graciously enough, making Violet smile. "Though this was all a little sudden, I can see how much Bruce cares for you."
Bruce gave his mother a warning look, which she returned with innocence and a hint of "we'll talk about this later."
However, it turned out that later was now. Tom, his second cousin, sidled up to Violet and slung a friendly arm around her shoulders—a little too friendly for Bruce's taste. His bear growled at Tom's presumption, and his hand tightened on Violet's. She squeezed back and flashed him a reassuring smile.
"Look at this. Bruce found himself a babe." Tom winked and gesticulated with his beer bottle. Bruce's irritation with him grew. Tom might be family, but sometimes he was a little much. And sometimes he needed to be put in his place.
"Tom …" he said warningly, and let his rising bear flash in his eyes.
Of course, that didn't deter Tom, who was an incorrigible flirt and self-proclaimed ladies' man. Tom gave his wife a blazing smile. "Know how to square dance?"
Violet giggled uncertainly before glancing at Bruce. "Um, no, I don't."
Tom held out a hand, more than a little mischief glinting in his blue gaze. "I'd be more than happy to teach you."
Rolling her eyes and laughing, Violet accepted his cousin's hand and did a little twirl, to Tom's obvious delight.
"Be nice," warned Bruce.
Tom smirked. "Don't worry, I plan to be very nice."
Tom was walking a thin line between friendly banter and a real challenge. Bruce could have ordered him to stand down—as the alpha of the clan, Tom would have to obey. But the reception had gone well so far, and he didn’t want to make things uncomfortable for Violet, or reveal their true nature as bear shifters.
While Tom whisked Violet away for a square dancing lesson, Bruce was left alone with his mother. It was the opportunity she had been waiting for all night, he suspected.
"You're not happy, I take it," he said before she could say anything.
The corner of her mouth twisted. "I am happy for you."
"But you would have been happier if we made an alliance with Whitebeam."
She shrugged one shoulder. "Can't say I'm not disappointed. Those bears are disappointed too."
He couldn't blame them for that, he supposed. An alliance between their two clans would have made for one very powerful bear family. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a flash of Violet’s bright dress and had a surge of jealous irritation. He clamped down on it.
Her voice softened. "But I know it's no good to argue with you about it. I see the way you look at her. It’s the same way I felt about your father. There's no mistaking your mate."
This surprised Bruce, who thought she had always seemed unsentimental in her partnership with his father. He had always known she loved him, of course, but she had tended to be reserved and undemonstrative in her affection toward everyone, including Bruce. Once in a while, he had even wondered whether she and his father really were mates, or whether theirs was some kind of arranged partnership.
This unexpected revelation led to a surge of affection for his mother. “I didn’t know what to expect at all,” he confessed. “It took me by surprise. I had no idea what it would be like, meeting my mate.”
His mother’s eyes were suspiciously bright as she looked at him. “No one ever does. Now”—her tone was suddenly more businesslike—“it looks like you’ll have to rescue your lady.” She patted him on the arm.
The song had ended, but Tom was still dancing with Violet—and touching her possessively, as if she were his. His hand slid into the small of Violet’s back, and Bruce’s bear took over.
Striding across the floor, Bruce snatched back h
is new bride from his interloper cousin, sliding an arm around her shoulders. She smiled at him, looking more than a little relieved, and slid one of her hands into his.
“Cut in?” he asked pleasantly, giving Tom a hard look that said back off in blinking, neon letters.
“We were just dancing,” said Tom. He was enjoying himself. “Feeling a little jealous? Don’t trust your mate with another man?”
That brought out Bruce’s growl—a deep rumble emanating from his chest that signified his alpha leadership. If Tom kept pushing, he would have a challenge on his hands. He knew he could win a fight against Tom; that wasn’t the problem. The problem was what Violet would think about it.
For a moment he thought Tom would push it. There was a hard look in his eyes. But something on Bruce’s face must have given him pause, because a second later he held up his hands in surrender.
“Jeez, Bruce, take a joke.”
Bruce glared at his retreating back.
Next to him Violet giggled uncertainly. “What was that, some macho man pissing contest?”
“… Something like that.”
“You didn’t seem to mind when he pulled me away,” she pointed out, with a light, teasing smile. “What changed?”
“I was trying to be nice.”
Her hand squeezed his. “So was I, you know. You can cut in anytime, by the way.”
Bruce smiled down at her. They weren’t really dancing, but swaying gently. There wasn’t any music, but their bodies were in perfect sync with each other. “I’ll remember that, Mrs. Violet Davis.”
Her smile lit up her face, and she tucked herself more securely into his side. “I haven’t changed my name yet.”
“No?”
Shyly she looked down. “I didn’t know if there would be a point if we were just going to …”
If we were just going to break up anyway. That was what she was going to say.
Bruce’s lips brushed her temple. “Maybe I’ll change my name,” he suggested lightly.