I awoke to the smell of smoked salmon quiche wafting under my nose, which is a very unnerving smell to wake up to while trying to pull myself into the real world with a pounding headache and quivering stomach.

“Rise and shine,” a deep voice said from behind me. “I brought you the perfect hangover cure.”

Hangover … at the sound of the word, the pain in my body registered. My head throbbed, and my stomach churned with nausea. My eyes felt like they were about to pop out of my skull.

I rolled over, my bleary eyelids flickering open, revealing a shaft of blinding light shining directly on my face.

“Uuuurgh.” Who is banging my temples with a mallet? I’ll kill them, after I kill myself …

A shadow moved in front of the light. My eyes blurred, then started to adjust. Robbie came into view, standing in front of the window, from which that blasted sun was going about its morning torture. He held out a tray upon which balanced a plate piled high with leftover party food: the aforementioned offensive salmon quiche, meatballs with spicy peanut dipping sauce, stuffed peppers with goat’s cheese filling, and several cheesecake bites and mini cupcakes. Beside it sat a pot of steaming tea … the perfect gentleman.

In his other hand, he held a bottle of Powerade.

I took the tray and the Powerade gratefully, my fingers struggling to pull off the plastic cap. As I shuffled into a sitting position, my foot hooked around my corset, which was lying across the end of the bed where we’d tossed it the previous night. Black beads skittered across the sheets as I balanced the tray on my knees. Robbie knelt down to pick up the corset. He placed it on the wooden stool under the window.

Owwwww, my head …

I sipped the Powerade, clutching my stomach as it squirmed in protest. Robbie stepped back into the doorway, his face sympathetic. “Sorry it’s so early. I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d bring you some snacks for when you woke up. I was just gonna drop them and leave—”

I waved a hand as I took another swig of Powerade. My stomach churned. “Stay. Quiche it up with me.”

“You sure?” He looked hopefully at the corner of the bed. I patted the spot next to me, and held out the plate.

“Of course. Just beware that I am in no mood for any of the usual morning-after shenanigans.”

“No deep conversations or tickle wars. Got it.” He slumped down next to me, facing the window.

“In fact, if you could dispose of these salmon quiche for me, it would be very much appreciated.”

“Consider it done.” Robbie whipped the quiche off the and plate stuffed two into his mouth in one go.

I draped my legs across his, and placed the plate between us. I picked up a piece of chicken and took a tentative bite off the edge. Okay, that stayed down. Good. Maybe I’ll be able to enjoy a little more. Beside me, Robbie bit into a stuffed pepper. For a few minutes, we munched in silence, the impact of what we’d done last night hanging over us.

The last thing I wanted to do was talk about the state of our relationship. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to get many words out before I threw up everywhere. But we couldn’t risk getting things confused any longer. We needed to make everything plain and clear.

We were married now, and we should be desperately trying to salvage our friendship. But despite my throbbing head and churning stomach, I wanted nothing more than to feel Robbie’s cock inside me as soon as possible.

He was still looking out the window, not saying anything. I’d have to make the first move. “That was some party,” I ventured, watching his powerful jaw muscles move as he devoured another stuffed pepper. I remembered his wolf form bounding through the ballroom, how his powerful shoulder muscles tensed as his legs moved in a blur.

Robbie nodded. “It sure was. Bianca?”

His hand brushed my thigh. I closed my eyes, willing my stomach to settle. “No shenanigans, remember?”

“I’m so sorry I changed into a werewolf in the middle of the party.” Robbie scratched his head. “I was an idiot. I … I got jealous, and lost control. I think I may have destroyed everything.”

“What do you mean, destroyed everything? Did you claw up my new furniture?”

“I mean, for the Lowes, and between you and me. All those reporters were taking pictures—”

I held up my hand. “Don’t you dare apologise. Caleb will sort it out. He always does. And as for us … I was just thinking about how hot it was, watching you change.”

“You think it’s sexy that I’m a werewolf?”

“Hell yeah. Plus,” I sipped my Powerade, “it falls well within the ‘would my parents disapprove of this?’ filter I apply to everyone I shag. I’ve been the hedonistic bisexual sinner for years. If my mother knew her son-in-law was a werewolf …”

Robbie laughed. “I wish Caleb would see things your way.”

“You wish Caleb thought you were sexy?”

“No … I mean …” Robbie looked away. “Caleb and Irvine have this big plan about revealing the existence of shifters to the world. My little stunt has probably put paid to that.”

“Do you know that for a fact?”

“I overheard your friend from London Underground on the phone in her room. She’s already talking about ‘werewolves’ and ‘exposing the truth.’ Caleb is going to kill me.”

Serenity. Great. I thought of her camera in my face while I was snogging Willow. Completely aside from the werewolf problem, I didn’t exactly want that plastered all over the papers for Robbie to see. And judging by Caleb’s angry face last night, Robbie wasn’t wrong about that, either. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her. Just as soon as the idea of going downstairs doesn’t make me want to puke.”

“Okay, thanks.” He paused for a moment to divide the last cheesecake bite into two, and handed one half to me. “Bianca?”

“Yeah?” I set the cheesecake back on the plate. No way could I handle that in my current condition.

“It’s okay if you want to forget last night.”

I rubbed my temple. “Forget it?” The details from last night were still pretty hazy, but one thing was absolutely certain in my mind: I didn’t want to forget that kiss.

“Yeah, I mean, the two of us … we have to pull off this fake marriage thing if we want The Prim to be a success. You’ve worked so hard on it, I dinnae want to complicate things and risk that.”

“Oh.” Disappointment surged through me. “Do you want to forget it?”

He sighed. “I think we’re veering dangerously close to a serious conversation.”

“Robbie. We’re friends, and now we’re married. We’ve got to be honest with each other if this thing is going to work. I remember you saying something pretty intense last night, something that very much implied you don’t want to forget jack shit. Does that statement still stand?”

“You mean the one where I said I loved you?” Robbie’s face grew pale. “Aye … it … it stands.”

“Good.”

“You mean—?” His whole face lit up.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m not sure those words will ever come out of my mouth. But last night was pretty incredible, and I don’t want to ignore it. I want more.”

Robbie bent toward me with a filthy grin, but I waved my hand. “Don’t kiss me. My mouth tastes like cardboard.”

“Take it easy today.” He patted my knee as he stood up to leave. “When you’re feeling better, we’ll see about having a repeat.”

“I’m totally down with that. How hungover are you?”

“Just a little fuzzy, nothing too horrible. I’ll help with the cleanup.”

“Is it in a bad state down there?”

Robbie grinned. “It’s better you dinnae see it. You’ve also acquired several stragglers.” He told me about all the people he’d encountered on his journey down to the kitchen.

“What’s an art house for if not for eccentric Dutch tattoo artists to fall asleep in a pile of their own urine?”

Robbie laughed, the sound searing my ears. “Aye. If it’s okay by you, I’m going to have a hunt around some of your aunt’s old stuff. I might have to go into your bedroom.”

“Sure. Why?”

Robbie explained about the discovery of the ring in Silvia Sinclair’s portrait. I squeezed his hand. I couldn’t believe it. All along, Silvia was the key to solving the mystery of the ring. I rubbed my fingers along Robbie’s knuckles, pleased to hear the excitement in his voice. I’d watched him struggle with his task over the last couple of weeks, and I knew he worried that Caleb was getting impatient with him.

“I’ll come help you look for it once I can move again. Silvie’s scrapbook is on my bedside table, as well. There might be some clue in there I’ve overlooked.”

“Thanks so much, Bianca. You take it easy. Listen, one other thing – all the stuff we have downstairs for the charity shop. Do you mind if I use it?”

“Use it? What for?”

Robbie shrugged. “Maybe … I’ve been a little inspired by all the artwork in the house and all the creative people you know. That crown Alex made for you gave me an idea. I was thinking it would be dead pure brilliant to make some garden sculptures out of some of the old junk to line the path up to the door. It would really give visitors a taste of what they could expect inside, and it would be brilliant if they were made from things that actually came from the house, you know, repurposing – the way you’re repurposed The Prim itself. I was going to have a go at making something.”

“You? Make some art?”

Robbie shrugged again. “Why not? I can nail some shite together. It can’t be that hard.”

I laughed. “No, it’s not hard at all. Art is totally just nailing shite together. Knock yourself out. I reserve the right to laugh at you if your piece is horrible, though.”

“Fine.” He shuffled his feet. “So … seeya then.”

“Bye—” I started to say, but he’d already left.

* * *

As I slipped in and out of sleep in Robbie’s tiny attic bed, interrupted by thuds and bangs from the house below, I dreamed about the girl Hattie, who used to sleep in this same room. I imagined a maid’s uniform hanging from the rusty nail behind the door, and Silvia sneaking up the stairs in her lacy nightgown to share her first fumbling sexual explorations right here in this bed …

And now Robbie and I had sullied the place all over again. I grinned as I drifted back to sleep again. And didn’t we do you proud, Hattie? I think you and I would’ve got on very well if we’d ever met …

My eyes fluttered open again. I fumbled for Robbie’s phone, which he’d left beside the bed. I clicked past the screen that blinked 72 missed calls from Caleb, and pulled up the time. It read 2:43 p.m. when I finally dragged my body out of bed. I scrambled around on the floor for the remnants of my wedding dress, before discovering Robbie had left my dressing gown, a pair of jeans and my favourite Ramones shirt folded up on the small chair beside the door. Beaming, I pulled the dressing gown on, tucked the clothes under my arm, and headed for the stairs.

Robbie was on the first floor landing, trying to roll Hans over so he could vacuum underneath him. He waved at me as I headed to the bathroom. Behind his head, I caught a glimpse of Silvie’s portrait, and noticed for the first time the ring on her finger. The Benedict Ring. The treasure the whole pack was hunting for, right here in my own home.

As the hot water cascaded over my body, the fogginess in my head started to abate. I stared down at my tiny breasts, remembering Robbie’s hands cupping them reverently, his lips closing over the tiny buds. Despite the heat of the water, my nipples grew hard.

Robbie. I still couldn’t believe we’d fallen into the sack together, and on the night of our fake wedding. And yet, it felt so, so right. I couldn’t wait to climb back into bed with him again and see if last night was a fluke or not.

I switched the water off and towelled myself dry, then slipped on my clothes. I was applying makeup when I heard the front door slam and a familiar voice calling up the stairs.

“Hello, Bianca! Are you sober yet?”

I patted into the hall and peered over the balustrade. Elinor stood in the entrance hall, wearing jeans and an old dress shirt of Eric’s, and carrying her laptop, sketchbook, and a bucket of cleaning supplies under her arm.

“Where’s Eric?” I asked.

“The band had to head back down to London for a show,” she said. “I thought I’d come and help you clean up, but I see you’ve already been at it for hours.”

I noticed that the entrance hall had been cleared of rubbish and passed-out drunks. The rug was rolled up against the wall, and the floor shone from a recent scrub. Several rubbish bags and recycling bins had been stacked beside the front door. Robbie. I grinned wider. I sure know how to pick a fake husband. “Something like that. Go put the coffee on. I’ll be right down.”

As I stumbled my way through the front rooms, bleary-eyed guests rose from their stupor to greet me. Robbie hadn’t done much work in these rooms. I figured he was probably too afraid to face anyone after his accidental transformation. I smiled as I saw the remains of the cupcake tossing game I’d been playing with my German friends still clinging to the wall.

I love The Prim so hard. This place was exactly what I wanted it to be.

I entered the kitchen. Elinor was already at the table, tapping away on her computer. The coffee machine beeped. I frothed some milk and served us both an espresso.

“You’re a hit.” Elinor swirled around her computer as I slumped down in the chair opposite. I grimaced at the headline. “WEREWOLVES, LESBIANS, DEBAUCHERY AT ART HOUSE OPENING.” It was the blog post on London Underground. The hero image was me and Willow, lips locked in a passionate kiss. Right underneath was Robbie, his face frozen halfway through his shift, tufts of hair sprouting from his cheeks and his lips pulled back in a terrifying howl.

Shit. That Serenity sure worked fast. With shaking hands, I pulled the laptop toward me. Please don’t let this reveal too much about shifters. Please let Robbie not have ruined Caleb’s plan.

I skimmed the article, words and phrases jumping out at me … The hit new spot on the alternative arts scene … hottest party of the year … only Victorian manor to have its very own werewolf … performance art like no other … lesbian feminist icon Bianca Sinclair’s finest hour—

I couldn’t believe it. One killer party, and I was a “lesbian feminist icon”? Yikes. But at least Serenity had written about Robbie’s shift as though it was a performance piece. Robbie was safe, for now. But I thought back to what Robbie had said she was saying on the phone, about “exposing the truth”? Was Serenity keeping the real story of shifters back, saving it for a different publication, or until she had something more to show?

My eyes met Elinor’s. “Do me a favour, and don’t let Robbie see this.”

“Deal.”

I skimmed through the comments. There were several people who’d attended the party talking about Robbie’s shift, claiming it couldn’t possibly have been a performance. One person said he’d thrown a bulb of garlic at the wolf to destroy it. Someone else said they saw a wolf roaming around the manor garden. The hashtag #crookshollowwerewolf was even trending on Twitter. I rubbed my temple, my headache starting to return. “Has Caleb seen this yet?”

Elinor nodded. “Oh yeah. He’s doing damage control, getting the word out that it was an elaborate stunt. He’s got Eric to do a TV interview about the party today down in London, which is why he went down early. Eric will say it was a publicity stunt. Cole’s down there too – he’s pretending to be an SFX artist who created the piece. Apparently, he’s already got two commissions.”

“That’s hilarious.”

Elinor glared at me. “It’s really not. Caleb will be over later to talk to Robbie. He’s not happy, Bianca. If this gets worse, it could throw all their plans off. You and Robbie have to be more careful. You don’t know what kind of attention this might attract.”

“You think other wolves might take offence to this?”

“You bet I do. So does Caleb. And it’s not just wolves.” Elinor flipped to another tab, and jabbed a perfectly-manicured finger at an article. “Not everyone is so enthusiastic about your kiss.”

I squinted at the screen. It was a conservative Christian website reporting on events in the Loamshire county. They had reprinted the same image of me, lips locked with Willow’s, underneath a heading that read, “MEET THE JEZEBEL OF CROOKSHOLLOW.” The article declared the Crookshollow art scene a hedonistic cesspool of debauchery, and I its demonic conductor.

I rubbed my throbbing temple. This was too much to take in after a hard night. “My mother will just love this.”

“Your mother was singing I Will Survive with Eric’s band last night. Don’t you remember?”

“No. How on earth did I miss that?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see you after Robbie’s shift. Come to think of it, I didn’t see him, either. Did something happen?”

I gulped down a mouthful of piping hot coffee, scalding my tongue “Um … no, nothing happened.”

“Bianca.” Elinor had on her stern voice, the one she used when she knew someone was lying.

Damn, nothing gets past Elinor. Sometimes, I really hated having an ex-lawyer for a friend.

I shrugged, trying to hide behind my coffee mug, but I couldn’t stop the smile that crept across my face.

“If you did anything to lead him on, I’m going to kill you, that is if Caleb or Marcus doesn’t get to you first. The whole day must’ve been painful for him, and then having to see that kiss … no wonder he got agitated and shifted by accident. A lot of people care about Robbie, and you can’t just—”

“Oi, relax, would you?” I held up my hands. “The truth is, something did happen, but—”

“I knew it!” Elinor slammed her cup on the table so hard, she splashed coffee across my grandmother’s lace tablecloth. “I knew eventually you’d end up shagging him. You can’t help it. You can’t resist anyone who’s crazy about you. I just can’t believe you’d play with him like that. You know how Robbie feels about you.”

“Relax, would you? It turns out, I think I feel the same way.”

“You … what?” Elinor’s stern expression faltered.

“Robbie’s great. He’s amazing, actually. I think … we’re going to try and give it a serious go.”

“You mean, like a relationship?”

“I don’t mean exactly a relationship.” I shrugged. “I mean, slightly more serious than my last fling. We’ll just see how it goes.”

“But … you’ve never liked Robbie like that.”

“I changed my mind. Am I not allowed to do that?”

“No, no, of course you are.” Elinor cleared her throat. “I think that’s great, really I do. I just … be careful, Bianca. If this goes tits up, Robbie won’t just recover like you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I get it. You’re worried about Robbie. But he’s a big, strong, sexy shifter. He can look after himself. And just because I’ve had a lot of partners doesn’t mean I don’t know how to commit or that I can’t get my heart broken.

Well, that last part’s true, anyway.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” Elinor dug her phone out of her pocket. “I got some pictures of your mum with the band. Want to see?”

“Oh, god yes.” Conversation forgotten, I leaned over as Elinor scrolled through her images, giggling at the images of my prim and proper mother letting her hair down for once.

Elinor’s just trying to be my friend, but she doesn’t have anything to worry about, and neither does Robbie. I care about him. I’m not going to hurt him. And even if I did, he’s a big, tough shifter. He used to be in a gang, for fuck’s sake. He can survive anything, even heartbreak.

Can’t he?