E


    nning a date turned out to be moreplicated than I’d expected.


    Over the next two days, I found myself sneaking around the mansion whenever Alexander was gone, which was most of the time. He was often so buried in Alpha King business that he likely wouldn’t have noticed my preparations even when he was home.


    It was strangely sort of fun at first, putting together a date like this. I tried not to think about whether or not Alexander would even want it and instead focused on the creative aspect of making sure everything was perfect.


    But every time I thought I had everything figured out, I realized there was something else I didn’t <b>know </b>about my own husband, and my enjoyment started to turn into frustration.


    I started with the easy stuff. Food. I had to question the cook to find out what sorts of food Alexander liked, I discovered that he actually liked simple things–grilled meats, fresh bread, nothing too fancy<b>. </b><b>I </b>could handle that. I spent that very afternoon in the kitchen with the cook, learning how to make his favorite sandwich. Roast beef, sharp cheddar, mustard, no mayo.


    Next came the nkets and pillows. I dug through the linen closet until I found the softest ones we owned, then spent way too long trying to figure out which ones would look romantic without beingpletely obvious. Did we even have romantic nkets? What the fuck did that even mean?


    Lilith, who was sitting on the edge of the bed watching mement over cushions, let out a softugh.” You’re more into this than I expected.”


    I shrugged and tossed a small throw pillow aside. “I want it to be perfect.”


    Lilith tilted her head. I could sense her intrigue, although I appreciated that she didn’t press the matter.


    Every time I looked at her, though, I still couldn’t help but think about the evidence that had been left in the bathroom at the coronation. Lilith had told me that she didn’t leave the note or the envelope, indicating that it must have been someone else.


    But who? And why? Alexander mentioned that Gabriel had been demoted for negligence, so was it him? Or was it someone else?


    I shook my head, dispelling the thoughts as I looked away. No. Now was not the time to be thinking about conspiracies. I had a date to n and a husband whose trust I wanted to earn.


    Which meant that, for now, pillows and nkets had to be a priority.


    Finally, I settled on a thick wool nket that would keep us warm and a couple of down pillows. Nothing fancy, butfortable. It just had to be nice enough to lounge on under the stars.


    Then I moved on to candles. Alexander seemed like the type who’d appreciate something that smelled like pine of cedar, not flowers. I found a few scents that were pleasant and subtle and added those to the growing basket of supplies.


    By the third day, the day of the full moon, I was feeling pretty good about my progress. I had the food sorted, the atmosphere nned, and I’d picked out a spot in the woods behind the mansion.


    But then I realized I had no idea what music to bring.


    It hit me, as I sat in our bedroom putting together a ylist, that I had absolutely no idea what kind of music Alexander liked.


    Did he like ssical? Rock? Country? Jazz? In our five years of marriage, I’d only seen him listen to music on a handful of asions, and never for long. And if he did listen, it was usually with headphones.


    This was fucking embarrassing. What kind of wife didn’t know what music her husband liked?


    The kind who’d spent five years in a marriage that wasn’t really a marriage, I supposed.


    It bothered me so much more than it probably should have. Music was such a basic thing. Couples were supposed to know stuff like that about each other. They were supposed to have songs that meant something, ylists they’d made together, memories tied to certain albums.


    Alexander and I had none of that.


    We had a marriage built on a contract and no love. We had a few nights of incredible sex and a baby on the way. We had paint–stained clothes and inside jokes about crib assembly.


    But we didn’t have music.


    I flopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Maybe this whole date idea was stupid. Maybe I was trying to force something that wasn’t there, creating intimacy where none existed just because Dr. Evelyn had suggested physical contact during the full moon.


    Suddenly, I had an idea: his office.


    Alexander spent most of his time in that study. If he listened to music anywhere, it would be in his private office where no one could judge his choices or interrupt his concentration.


    I checked the clock. He’d left for a meeting an hour ago and wouldn’t be back untilte afternoon, which left me plenty of time to do a little investigating.


    I felt ridiculous sneaking down the hall to his office like I was in a spy movie, and after the fact that he’d told me he thought I might be an actual spy, it hit a little close to home. But I slipped in anyway<b>, </b>surprised to find that the door was unlocked, and made a mental note just to check the bookshelves for any CDs or vinyls.


    Finally, after a couple of minutes of searching, I spotted a shelf in the corner that had various things sitting on it: some knick–knacks, packets of random paperwork, a few personal books that didn’t fit in with the other leatherbound books on politics and pack histories.


    And there, at the bottom of that shelf, was a small stack of CDs.


    Grinning, I crossed the room and crouched in front of the cab.


    The titles were eclectic. ssic rock mixed with blues, some jazz, a few country albums, even some ssical pieces. Nothing I would have expected, but somehow it made sense. Alexander had always been hard to categorize, I supposed.


    I opened the cab door and carefully pulled out a few CDs to get a better look. Some of the cases were especially well–worn, indicating which ones were his favorite. One jazz CD seemed to be so worn that I could hardly read the originalbel.


    This was perfect. I stood, intending to just take this one CD for tonight, and turned to leave. But when I turned, I found that I wasn’t alone.


    Alexander was standing in the doorway. And his face was nothing short of thunderous.


    Before I could react, he was crossing the room in three long strides. One hand gripped my wrist, pinning it above my head while the other came to press into the wall beside me. His chest heaved, eyes shing like he’d caught me doing something terrible.


    Because he thought I was a fucking spy.


    And he had just caught me red–handed in his office, going through his things without his knowledge.


    Goddess, how could I have been so stupid?


    “I can exin-”


    “Then exin.” Alexander’s grip tightened around my wrist, not enough to be painful but just enough to ensure I couldn’t slip away. “Tell me what you’re doing in my office without my permission, E.”