Chapter 12

Simon

We get to the dining room entrance and my palms start to sweat. Mr. and Mrs. Grimm have been nothing but polite to me so far but I'm still nervous about this. About us, I suppose.

Not us as in Baz and me. I'm not nervous about him, which is a new and exhilarating realization. He'd always made me twitchy before but it seems I've finally figured out why.

It's more about announcing the fact that we're dating to his family.

I mean, it's not really announcing anything though, is it? I'm certain Mordelia has managed to do that for us already. And it's not as if Baz and I have been that discreet in the last day. It just wasn't around anyone either of us knew.

I've not had a serious relationship since Agatha. Being around her parents wasn't quite so fraught; I knew them fairly well before we started dating, when we were just friends and they'd take me in for the Christmas holidays.

I'm not so good around people's parents. I'm not sure how to act. I'm an outsider looking in, I suppose, and everyone's level of comfort with their parents is different. It confuses me.

And then there's Baz's Aunt Fiona. She doesn't just confuse me, she fucking unnerves me, with that piercing stare of hers and comments that bloody well flay you. I hope she's not here.

I really hope she's not here.

Baz pushes open the door to the dining room and I drop his hand as if it's on fire. Fiona Pitch is sitting directly across from the doorway and her gaze goes right to us.

So does everyone else's.

Fuck.

Baz's fingers find mine again and he squeezes my hand. I feel hot, sweaty and shaky, but the cool touch of his hand on mine settles me just a bit. I don't know why I'm freaking out right now, at the worst possible time, but it's not like I've got control over it.

Baz rubs his thumb over mine and squeezes again, a little harder this time. I dart a look in his direction and see the flush on his cheeks but he's got a bit of a smirk on his face. His chin's up and I know this look. This is Baz ready to verbally spar with anyone.

And somehow it relaxes me. I take a breath and try to smile. I know I probably look a fright but I can do this. With Baz at my side, I can do this.

Fiona leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, her smirk a perfect match for the one Baz is sporting. "Baz, you finally found a bloke."

"Fiona, you remember Simon, Baz's roommate from Watford?" Daphne leans forward and gives Fiona a tight little smile.

"I'm sure you remember him," Mr. Grimm chimes in. "Come, Simon." He motions me over. "I imagine you are sick to death of aeroplane food. Good thing you made it in time for Christmas dinner."

I stumble to an open seat next to Baz's little brother. I can't remember his name right now. Baz slides in next to me, bumps my leg under the table and then keeps his own pressed against my thigh. It's reassuring.

Fiona's still coolly appraising me, one eyebrow arched. It makes her look so much like Baz. "Well, it's about damn time, Snow. I had assumed you were too thick to figure it out."

I blink at her. "Figure what out?"

She rolls her eyes. "That Baz was pining for you all those years, you pillock." She's still smirking. "How many times did I tell you, Malcolm? You could cut the sexual tension in that room with a knife."

"Leave it, Fiona." Mr. Grimm gives her a stern look.

"Oh, come on, Malcolm. Let me revel in it for a moment, will you? Baz is finally shagging Mage's Chosen One and I'm the last to know."

Christ, I hate that nickname. Baz called me that first year, when he found out I was on scholarship to Watford. No one's called me that for years. I truly despise it.

Fiona's grinning at me now, glass raised. "Cheers, Snow. You're the first bloke Baz has brought home to meet the family. When's the announcement going in the Times?"

Baz groans. "Seriously, Fiona, put a sock in it."

Mr. Grimm clears his throat. "Daphne, please pass the roast."

And just as suddenly as it started it's done. Everyone turns their eyes away from us and begins to dig in to the platters of food being sent around the table.

There are a fair number of platters. My stomach had been in knots for a few minutes there but it's easing now as the first platter reaches me. It's roast beef.

I love roast beef. It was always on my list of things I missed about Watford, when I'd go back to care in the summers. There's roasted potatoes and chestnut stuffing and brussels sprouts with bacon and my appetite comes roaring back as the scent of the food overwhelms me.

This meal puts even Watford's best to shame. I take second helpings of practically everything. I catch a glimpse of Baz's face as he holds the platter of roast beef for me and he's got that fond expression again.

We do the Christmas crackers then Mrs. Grimm brings out a massive trifle and sticky toffee pudding, and I may as well have died and gone to heaven. I feel stuffed and warm and full of goodwill towards mankind, even Fiona at this point.

Meal over, we make our way to the drawing room, where a large fire is already crackling merrily in the stone fireplace. I'm not sure where to sit or what to do, but Baz tugs me to one of the large sofas. His siblings immediately swarm us from all sides. One of the twins sits next to me, the other by Baz's feet.

I've got no idea which one is sitting by me—they've got matching outfits on, just as Baz said, and I can't tell them apart. Magnus is curled up in front of me and Mordelia is lounging next to Baz. She was all cool indifference at dinner, sporting the utterly bored look that Baz had perfected back at school. It's uncanny how she channels him so well.

I dare a sidelong look at her. She's not all cool indifference now. Her arm is tucked around Baz's and as I peek at her she leans her head against his shoulder.

It's so domestic. Baz's parents are seated on the loveseat closest to the fire, talking quietly to each other. Fiona has taken over one of the massive stuffed leather armchairs across from them, wine glass full yet again.

And Baz is holding my hand.

Baz

It didn't take long for my siblings to warm up to Simon. Mordelia is still attempting to be aloof and apathetic, but she's been sizing Simon up since we walked in the door. Acantha has been pestering him with her awful puns since the trifle was served and Ophelia unexpectedly snuggled up to him on the sofa. She's usually the more reserved one of the two.

And as expected, Magnus demanded bedtime stories. But not from me.

I'm leaning against his doorframe, watching Simon read to him. There's an ache in my chest at the sight of them. At the sight of Simon, in my house. Part of my family holiday.

Part of my family.

It takes my breath away to think that something I've desperately wanted for so very long is right within my grasp.

Simon

I don't know why I'd let myself have such a panic at the start of dinner. Baz's family is easier to interact with than Agatha's, which is a bit of a stunner.

I always felt like I put Mrs. Wellbelove on edge, like she wasn't sure I'd know how to act at dinner or how to behave when they'd take me to the Club or at the parties they'd have at their home. She was kind but almost wary. It made me fidgety, and then I'd just stumble over my words more or bump into something and generally make a nuisance of myself.

Fiona's still scary as hell, but she'd been unexpectedly benign tonight. Other than that bit at dinner she hadn't done much more than give me long, contemplative stares. Then she'd look at Baz and go all soft.

I'd kissed Baz goodnight, after story time with Magnus. He'd walked me to my room, a wistful expression on his face. I know it's only been two nights, but it's going to feel odd not sharing a bed with him.

I'm all tucked into the massive four poster bed when I first hear it. It sounds like a tap. I think it's coming from the window. I pull the blanket up higher and burrow into the pillows.

Then it happens again. It's more of a scratch this time.

I'd thought about the house being haunted when we first drove up but I hadn't quite anticipated it to live up to that expectation.

The scratching sound comes again. I'm doing my best to ignore it. I do some deep breathing exercises and dive all the way under the blankets.

It's not long before I get beastly hot. I run warm as it is and this bed has layers of covers on it. I'm roasting under here.

I poke my head out and shove the covers down. Silence.

Maybe I was imagining it.

I'm just getting comfortable, close to dozing off, when it happens again.

It's not a tap this time. It's a whoosh against the window and then a thump right outside.

And then I hear what sounds like a moan.

I'm contemplating making a runner down the hall to Baz's room.

When the moaning sound comes again I do just that.

Baz

I'm finding it hard to settle in. I'm still functioning on New York time. I put another log on the fire, even though it's already blazing hot. I pull a book from the shelf and curl up at the far end of the sofa, closest to the fireplace.

My bed looks far too big tonight. I mentally chide myself. I've had two nights sharing with Simon and I'm already pining for him, even though he's just down the hall. It's pathetic, really.

I'm only a few pages in when a knock comes on the door. I'm in no frame of mind for a heart to heart with anyone at the moment and certainly not a salacious inquiry from Fiona.

It's Simon. His hair is in complete disarray, his face is flushed and he looks on edge.

"What's the matter?"

"I can't stay in there, Baz. I knew this place was haunted, as soon as I laid eyes on it."

"What are you on about? The house isn't haunted."

Simon shakes his head. "My room is."

I'd be tempted to suspect this was a ploy to inveigle himself into my room if he didn't look so anxious.

"Baz, I'm telling you. There's something moaning just outside, banging on the window and all." His brow is furrowed and he's jutting his chin out. Classic Snow expression.

"Show me."

"I'm not going back in there."

I sigh. "Simon."

He's got that obstinate expression I fell in love with now, all stubbornness and determination. Fucking gorgeous. He shakes his head in answer.

"Fine. I'll go see what's got your knickers in a twist." I take off down the hall towards his room and he's right behind me. I give him a sidelong glance. "I thought you weren't going back in there."

"I'm not. But I'm not going to let you swagger on down there and then come back and tell me it was nothing."

"It is nothing. And I don't swagger."

"Like hell you don't."

I step into his room while he stands in the doorway. It's completely silent. "You see, Simon, no ghouls, no ghosts, no mysterious moaning wraiths."

"Just you wait a minute. You'll hear it."

I raise an eyebrow and he growls in response. I stand, arms crossed, leaning against the bedpost. Simon takes a few tentative steps into the room and moves to stand next to me.

There's a scrape at the window and then a muffled thump.

"There!" Simon looks triumphant. "I told you!"

I try to stifle my laughter but I can't. It bubbles out of me, despite the irritated expression on his face.

"What are you laughing at, you posh toff? I told you it's haunted."

I manage to pull myself together. "It's not."

There's another sound just then and Simon points at the window defiantly. "What's that moaning then?"

I can't help it. I'm clutching the bedpost. "You poor sod. It's a bloody owl."

"What do you mean it's a bloody owl?"

"Just that. It's an owl. Likely a barn owl, from the sound of it. They've been known to roost in the chimneys from time to time."

"You're telling me all that racket, that moaning, is a sodding owl?" He's incredulous.

He's also fucking incandescent at the moment, full of righteous indignation, curls falling over his forehead, eyes blazing. He's like a magnet, pulling me across the room until I'm right behind him, sliding my arms around his waist and dropping my chin onto his shoulder. "You're in the country now, city boy."

He scoffs but his hands drop to where mine are clasped around his waist. "A fucking owl. I feel like a complete berk." Simon's fingers slide up and down my forearms, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He lets his head fall back, his neck exposed. I ghost my lips up to his jawline. He makes a small, satisfied sound and his eyes close.

His breathing speeds up as my mouth continues to slide along the planes of his skin. He shifts in my arms and then Simon is facing me, mouth reaching up to meet my own. Fingers slide into my hair and I grasp his hips and pull him closer.

He pulls back, just enough space between us for him to form words. "I think this whole experience has me rattled. I don't know how I could possibly sleep in here on my own." The roguish expression on his face contradicts what he's murmuring to me but I don't care.

"I couldn't possibly expect you to tolerate such disturbances to your beauty sleep, Simon. Seems I'll have to offer you my bed and rough it on the sofa for the night."

"You wouldn't dare." His fingers tighten in my hair.

"You're offering to take the sofa? That's quite gallant of you." I can't help grinning at him.

"You are such a wanker."

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"Say what you want, Simon." It comes out a whisper.

He whispers back. "You."

Simon

We're far quieter going back to Baz's room, stealthily making our way down the hallway. Baz shuts his door slowly, so it doesn't make a sound.

He takes my hand and pulls me towards the sofa. I sink down next to him but then let myself slide down onto the floor. "Come here."

Baz looks puzzled but he follows suit, shifting off the sofa until he's seated next to me.

"I liked this, the other night." I put my arm around his shoulder and pull him close. Baz tilts his head and I surge up to meet his lips, the drag and push of our mouths and tongues sending a wave of heat through me.

It could just be the blaze in the fireplace but I don't think so. Baz makes me feel like there's fire coursing through my veins, sizzling just under my skin. Like I could go fucking supernova just from his touch.

I've got him on his back moments later, me on all fours above him, sinking down to kiss him and then pulling back, making him reach for me.

He does, every time.

I pull back with a grin one more time and it's his turn to growl. Before I know it, he's pounced on me and dragged me down, pushing me to the carpet and then he stills, resting on one arm, face hovering above my own.

He's beautiful. I think I always knew how attractive Baz was but I never let myself admit it. Not until now. He's stunning in the firelight, shadows and light playing across his face, eyes shining silver in the glow of the fire, skin like dark honey.

His expression's serious now. I reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. "What is it, Baz?"

"I go back to New York in a week."

I nod. "I know."

"You don't . . . you don't have to go tomorrow, if you don't want to."

My heart's thumping in my chest. I'm not due back at the care home until Monday. "You sure? I know your family's missed you, Baz. I'm sure they don't want to have me hanging around another day."

"I do." He leans down to kiss me again, gentle and slow this time. "I'd have you stay here all week, if I could."

I shake my head. "I'd take you up on that, if I didn't have to be back at work on Monday."

Baz's hand comes to rest on my chest, fingers tracing the patterns on my pyjamas. "I could head to London, meet you for dinner, before I go?"

"I'd like that."

His brow creases. "You really want to do this, Simon? This long-distance thing?"

I nod my head. "I'd like to try. Penny and Micah did it for years. You'll be back when? May? That's not too long."

"It's five months. That's too fucking long."

It is too fucking long. I don't tell him that. "There's texts and phone calls and facetime. I'm not fussed about it."

"I want this." There's a determination in his voice. It sends a thrill through me to hear it, to hear him say that about me.

"I want it too. More than I ever realized."

"Stay tomorrow. I can drive you home tomorrow night or we can leave early Monday morning."

I laugh. "I've got to get home before I go to work, Baz. I've got holiday clothes, not work clothes, in my bag."

He waves his hand dismissively. "You can borrow something of mine."

"I don't fit your trousers. You told me so yourself."

He's leaning closer now, mouth hovering above mine again. "We'll manage."

Baz

I don't know what time it is. I've been on the floor, kissing Simon Snow until my lips feel bruised.

"We should get to bed. This floor isn't doing either of us any good."

Simon goes up on one elbow and looks at my bed. "Don't the gargoyles creep you out?"

"What? No, I don't even notice them anymore."

"Ha! They did creep you out at one point then."

I shrug. Christ, what is with me? "I found them a little unnerving when I was young. But that was years ago. They're just part of the décor."

"Vampire Gothic."

"It's Victorian."

"Fine, Victorian vampire lair then."

I roll my eyes. "It's vintage."

Simon laughs. He darts another look at the bed. "They're so many eyes. I'd feel like I was being watched the whole time."

"Watched doing what?"

He raises an eyebrow at me suggestively. I can feel my face start to burn. Memories of the summer after fifth year come to mind. And the summer after that. And . . . fuck it all.

I clear my throat. "You can't see them when the lights are off."

He juts out his chin. "I'd still know they were there."

"You are impossible."

"Just grab a pillow and we'll make do here."

"Simon, I am not going to sleep on the floor of my room when I have a serviceable and dare I say exceptionally comfortable bed just steps away."

He looms over me, eyes wide, hovering just above my face. "A bed with a hundred weird eyes."

I huff. "Fine." I bring myself to my feet and march across the room to grab two pillows from the bed. I toss them across the room at him. He catches one but the other comes so rapidly that it hits him right in the face.

"Arse."

"Coward."

I grin at him and pull the comforter off the bed as well. I cross the room to him. "Come on, then. I suppose I'll have to keep you company, since the owls and gargoyles unnerve you so much."

"Come on where?"

"The sofa, you numpty. I told you I'm not sleeping on the floor." All the furniture in my room is massive. We should manage just fine on the sofa, if a little snug. I have no complaints about that.

Simon comes to a stand as well. I take the pillows and push them to one end, up against the armrest. "This will have to do, I suppose." I wave a hand at the pillows.

He takes the hint. He stretches out on the sofa, head pillowed on his arm, face bathed in the light of the fire, tawny gold and bronze. He's a vision, straight out of one of my fantasies.

I sit and then slowly let myself drop down against the sofa cushions and the heat of Simon. I mirror his position, facing the fire. He curls himself around me, arm resting over my waist and then he tugs me closer. I can feel his breath on my neck, shivers going through me at the sensation, his chest pressed against my back.

I'm in Simon Snow's arms. There's nowhere I'd rather be.

Simon

I breathe in the scent of his hair and gently touch my lips to his neck. I'm tired. I can barely keep my eyes open but I don't need to see to do this, to touch Baz, to nuzzle against his neck and spoon myself around him.

He pulls the blanket over us and rests his hand on mine. I push my fingers up to twine with his. I wonder if he can feel my heart pounding. I can feel the flutter of his pulse under my lips.

As small sigh escapes me as I drop my head onto his shoulder. Baz's cold feet tangle with mine but I don't pull them away.

This feels so right. He's the only familiar thing in this room and he's the one thing I want to hold onto, for as long as I can.

I fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.

Baz

The sun is streaming into the room by the time I wake up. I'm still in the circle of Simon's arms, his breath still warm and regular on my neck. I could stay here all day, crammed together in the confines of my sofa.

I'm just going to revel in this moment.

I've nothing to do today. Boxing Day is usually quiet at my house. Father and Daphne never make plans. They know the children are rabid to play with their new toys and any other venture would be fraught with drama. Now that Daphne finally succumbed to letting them get a video game console I'm sure they'll be glued to it all day, with a few breaks for squabbles and snacks.

I'll steer clear.

I mentally run through my checklist for the week. I've made tentative plans to see Dev and Niall. I'll likely spend at least one night at Fiona's. We'll sit around and watch 80's films, drink a lot of wine and eat chocolate. It's tradition.

Simon's going to be working, come Monday. And I'll be leaving on New Year's Eve. To get back to New York in time to be at work bright and early January second. Americans truly have no regard for family time or holidays. It's brutal. Two weeks' vacation a year and I already burned through most of the first week at the end of the summer and this week will take me through the second.

I won't get a chance to come back until May or after.

Five fucking months.

I'll drive up to London, meet him for dinner, find some way to be with him before I have to leave again.

Simon stirs against my back and the arm across my waist tightens. "Stop thinking so hard."

"I'm not thinking." I am. I've got a million thoughts spinning through my head.

"You are. I can practically feel you ticking things off on your fingers."

I can't help but laugh. He's right. It's unnerving how well he reads me, how he can sense my thoughts, my discomfort.

But I know him too. I know what to expect when he juts his chin out, when he balls his fists at his side, when he tilts his head as if he's listening to something just out of range. When his eyes blaze, when they soften, when he pulls at the curls on his head.

I've watched the moods of Simon Snow for so very long that each one is familiar to me.

Each one except the new ones that make my skin tingle and my heart pound in my chest. The fond looks, the tender gestures, the way his eyes rest on me and make me feel like I am the center of his world.

Simon's kissing my neck now and I shift in his arms so I'm facing him, reaching up to sink my hands in his hair.

"I'm going to miss you." That's not what I meant to say.

He kisses the tip of my nose. "I'm going to miss you too, but I don't want to talk about that." He leans in to brush his lips to mine. "It hurts to think about things I can't have or can't help."

"You can have me." Once again words leave my lips that I'd not intended to say. I mean them, with every fibre of my being, but I hadn't meant to say them out loud.

He smiles that smile I've grown to love in the last few days. The one that makes me feel like it's meant just for me.

"Not the way I'd like to but I'll find a way to manage until May."

I wish we were back at Ebb's. A place where no one knows us, where the days are our own, where the nights come down to nothing but the two of us.

My lips find his once more. Simon's fingers slip between the buttons of my pyjama shirt and come to rest against my stomach, gently rubbing against my skin, and I can't think of anything except his touch.

Until a knock comes on the door, that is.

What I'd give for some sodding privacy.

I groan and come to a seated position. The knock comes again, louder this time.

"So help me, Baz, I'm going to walk in if you don't open this door. You've had all night to shag your boyfriend or wank away to the thought of him. Open up. I'm leaving for London in an hour, you twat."

Fuck. It's Fiona.

She's always got some bash to go to on Boxing Day. Watford friends. They all go drinking, slumming and clubbing in Covent Garden. It's a whole scene. She's wrecked for days after.

The knocking comes again and there's a warning twist to the doorknob. I never even thought to lock it last night. Blast the woman.

"Hush." I whisper to Simon and then I'm dashing across the room.

I open the door partway, positioning myself in the opening, effectively blocking all sight of him. "Sod off, Fiona. I'm still on the blasted New York clock."

Fiona raises an eyebrow. She's all kitted out for her day—black leather jacket, black mini-skirt with tights, her kick-ass black boots. Makeup on point, lipstick blood red. "Nice try, boyo, but your boyfriend forgot to close the door to his room last night. It's empty and he's nowhere to be found."

She goes up on tiptoe to try to peek around me, a feral smile on her face. "Why don't you invite me in for a little chat before I go?"

I think the hell not.

"I'll meet you downstairs for breakfast."

"It's midday, you pillock. Almost one o'clock."

It's a bit of a standoff now. Fiona has a triumphant look on her face. She may have to leave in an hour but knowing her she'll spend the whole sodding hour lurking about my room for confirmation that I've got Simon squirreled away in here.

I don't dare look behind me at Simon. That will give the whole thing away. I lean out a bit and lower my voice. "I promise I'll tell you everything when I come up on Wednesday."

Her grin is exultant. "That means you've got something to tell me then." She crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe.

Fuck.

I hear shuffling behind me. Blast it. I lean my head against the edge of the door. "Fiona. . ."

She's beaming now and focused on something just over my left shoulder. I feel the heat of Simon before I turn my head for confirmation.

"Uh, hi?"

He's standing right behind me and Fiona is grinning like a madwoman. "Good afternoon, Snow."

Simon shuffles his feet and gives me an apologetic look. "I've got to use the loo. It seemed like you weren't going to wrap this up too quick."

"Yes, right." I move aside and make room for Simon to sidle out the door. He gives Fiona a brief nod of the head and then he's making a runner down the hallway.

Deserter.

The smug look on her face makes my skin flame. She shoves me in the chest and pushes into the room. "Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch I never thought you'd have it in you to shag your boyfriend in the venerable confines of Pitch Manor!"

"I'm not shagging him, you frightful wretch." This is peak Fiona. She has no filter and absolutely no boundaries when it comes to privacy. It's maddening and also comforting.

She was the first person I came out to. She took me out for my first night of clubbing. She was the first person I ever got drunk with. Fiona's like a fairy godmother except more like Maleficent than the pastel trio. And a lot more fun.

She takes in the sight of the rumpled bed linen and the pillows and comforter on the sofa and starts to laugh. "Jesus, Baz, you are such a Vestal virgin. Did you seriously make your boyfriend spend the night on your sofa?"

"Shut up, Fiona."

She pulls me into her arms, her embrace as fierce and firm as ever. "You look happy, you besotted prick. So does he. Don't fuck this up." She takes my face in her hands and leans up, grey eyes dark and deliberate. "I mean it, Baz. You've got the capacity to talk yourself in circles." She flicks my forehead with her index finger. "Don't think so hard. Enjoy this. You finally have what you've wanted for so long." She flicks me again. "Don't. Fuck. It. Up."

She squeezes the breath out of me and steps back to the door. "You can bring Snow if you want, on Wednesday."

"I think that's likely the best way to fuck it up, don't you?"

Fiona laughs. "That gives me hope for you, you utter berk. Snog the hell out of him as long as you can and come around on Wednesday. I'll have Breakfast Club and Local Hero, more salt and vinegar crisps than you can inhale in a night, and enough wine to loosen even you up."

I hug her back. "Thanks, Fiona."

She's out the door and I can hear her boots thumping down the stairs. Fiona's a force of nature. I love her to bits but she comes on a bit strong. I think it's best Simon's only exposed to her in short bursts. Mordelia's enough for one weekend.

I poke my head out and look down the corridor. Simon peeks out of his bedroom at the same time, eyes wide.

I shake my head at him. He doesn't budge. "She's gone." I hiss it down the hall.

He shakes his head back, jaw jutting out. I sigh and make my way to his door. "She's gone," I repeat.

"That may be, but I'm not taking the chance on Mordelia or Magnus or anyone else coming to find you. That was more than enough for me."

"Fiona's just a lot of fuss and bother. Her bark's worse than her bite."

"She's fucking terrifying." Simon's face is flushed and he looks good enough to eat.

"You'll get used to her." I like the thought of that.

"Like getting used to a fucking cyclone."

"She's been on her best behaviour so far."

"I'm doomed." Simon's brow is furrowed. I reach out a finger and smooth the lines on his forehead. His expression relaxes at my touch.

"You're not doomed. It means she likes you."

"I think the fuck not. She was glaring at me the whole night."

"That's her fond glare. You'll get used to it."

Simon's stomach chooses this moment to rumble loudly. "Alright, you nightmare. Get dressed. It's obviously time to feed you again." I lean in and press a kiss to his forehead. His fingers find mine and he pulls me close, a brush of lips before he pulls away. "Come to my room when you're ready."