Chapter 161: Chapter 161: The Picnic

THEY PILED into the car—Mailah still buzzing from the dress fitting, Grayson looking distracted in a way that made her curious. Lucien and Oliver settled into the back seat, immediately diving into a debate.

Grayson pulled out of the boutique parking area, but instead of heading back toward the villa, he turned in the opposite direction.

Mailah frowned. “Wrong way.”

“No, it’s not.”

“The villa is that way,” she said, pointing behind them.

“I know where the villa is.” His lips curved—not quite a smile, but close. “We’re making a stop first.”

“A stop where?”

“You’ll see.”

Mailah looked at Lucien and Oliver in the rearview mirror. They both looked suspiciously innocent—the kind of innocent that meant they absolutely knew what was happening and weren’t telling.

“You’re all in on something,” she accused.

“We’re in on nothing,” Lucien said, examining his nails with exaggerated nonchalance.

“Lucien, you’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m an excellent liar. You just know me too well.”

Grayson drove in silence, taking them through winding roads that led away from town and deeper into the countryside. The landscape shifted from olive groves to vineyards to rolling hills dotted with cypress trees.

“Grayson,” Mailah said. “Seriously. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I should have taken you days ago.”

That wasn’t ominous at all.

They crested a hill, and Mailah’s breath caught.

Below them, nestled in a valley like a secret, was a lake. Not large—intimate, really—surrounded by wildflowers that swayed in the afternoon breeze. The water was so clear it reflected the sky perfectly.

“Oh,” Mailah breathed.

Grayson pulled the car to a stop near the water’s edge. “We’re here.”

“Here where? What is this place?”

“This,” he said, opening his door, “is where I come when the world gets too loud. When being what I am gets too heavy.” He looked at her. “I wanted to share it with you.”

Mailah’s heart did something complicated in her chest.

She got out of the car, drawn toward the water like a magnet. Up close, it was even more beautiful—wildflowers in shades of purple and yellow, the scent of lavender heavy in the air, the water so still it looked like glass.

“How did you find this place?” she asked.

“By accident. About fifty years ago, I was driving through here and got lost. Ended up here and just—” He paused, seeming to search for words. “Stayed. For hours. It was the first time in decades I felt like I could breathe.”

The vulnerability in his admission made her throat tight. “You’ve never brought anyone here before?”

“No. This was always mine.” He moved to stand beside her, close enough that their arms brushed. “But I wanted it to be ours.”

“Grayson—”

“There’s more,” he said, taking her hand. “Close your eyes.”

She did. She let him lead her forward, careful steps on uneven ground, his hand steady in hers.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Open them.”

She did.

And nearly burst into tears.

Someone—Grayson, obviously—had created a small setup near the lake’s edge. A blanket spread on the grass, cushions arranged for comfort, a basket that probably contained food. But it was the details that destroyed her.

Wildflowers arranged in mason jars. Her chosen wine—the one from the tasting that she’d declared “very good wine” because she had no idea what she was talking about.

A small speaker playing soft music. Books—three of them, the exact series she’d mentioned loving months ago in passing conversation.

“You remembered,” she whispered.

“I remember everything you tell me,” he said simply.

Behind them, Lucien made a sound that might have been “aww”. Oliver cleared his throat pointedly.

“We’re going to—” Lucien gestured vaguely away. “Be somewhere else. Far away. You two need… this.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Mailah asked, still staring at the setup.

“Since the dress fitting was scheduled,” Grayson admitted. “I wanted to give you something normal. Just—” He seemed to struggle for words. “Just us. Being together. Without the weight of everything else.”

Mailah turned to face him fully. “This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“It’s a picnic by a lake. That’s fairly standard.”

“It’s you giving me your secret place and remembering books I mentioned once three months ago. That’s extraordinary.”

Color touched his cheeks—actual color, barely visible but there. “I wanted—” He stopped, started again. “You’ve given up so much to be with me. I wanted to give you something back.”

The tears she’d been fighting spilled over. “I didn’t give anything up. I chose you. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?”

“Yes.” She reached up, cupping his face. “Grayson, I chose you. And I’d do it again. A thousand times over.”

He kissed her—soft at first, then deeper, his hands sliding into her hair. She felt the restraint in him, the way he was holding back, trying so hard not to take too much.

“Stop,” she murmured against his mouth.

He froze, pulling back immediately. “Did I—”

“Stop holding back,” she clarified. “I’m not fragile. I’m not going to break. Just—” She pulled him back down. “Be with me. Really with me.”

Something in his control cracked. The kiss deepened, turned hungry, his hands tightening in her hair. She felt his restraint fraying at the edges.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his eyes were completely silver.

“We should—” He gestured vaguely at the picnic setup. “Eat. I brought food.”

“You brought food,” she repeated, trying to get her brain to work again.

“And wine. And books. I was trying to be romantic.”

“You succeeded. Extremely successfully.”

“Good.” He took her hand, leading her to the blanket. “Because I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never—” He stopped, looking almost embarrassed. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Never?”

“Never needed to. My marriages were arrangements. There was no romance involved.”

The admission made her chest ache. “So this—this is your first romantic picnic?”

“Yes. Is it—am I doing it right?”

She laughed, the sound slightly watery. “You’re doing it perfectly.”

They settled on the blanket, and Grayson began unpacking the basket with careful precision. There was cheese, bread, fruit, olives—simple food that somehow felt extravagant in this setting.

“Did you set this yourself?” Mailah asked, watching him arrange everything.

“God, no. I asked Lucien. Well—I threatened him until he agreed to help.”

“You threatened him into helping with romantic gestures?”

“Don’t ask. Lucien made me promise never to speak of it.” He handed her a glass of wine.

Mailah took a sip, savoring the taste. “This is really good.”

They ate in comfortable silence, watching the light play on the water.

Birds called from distant trees. The breeze carried the scent of wildflowers. It was so peaceful, so normal.

“Tell me about the fifty years you’ve been coming here,” she said, breaking the quiet.

Grayson was quiet for a moment, his gaze on the lake.

“I needed somewhere to remember what it felt like to just exist. Not hunt, not feed, not perform the role of ’civilized demon’—just be.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“It was. But it was also necessary.” He glanced at her. “I thought I’d gotten used to being alone. Comfortable with it, even. And then you showed up and—” He shook his head. “Everything changed.”

“Good change or bad change?”

“Terrifying change,” he said honestly. “You made me want things I’d convinced myself I didn’t need. Connection. Companionship. Someone to share my secret lake with.”

“Your not-so-secret lake now.”

“Our lake,” he corrected.

He set down his wine glass carefully, like he didn’t trust his hands. “Mailah, I want to make sure need you understand completely.”

“What?”

“After the bonding ritual—after we’re connected—I really won’t be able to hide from you.” He stopped, jaw clenching. “My need for you.”

“I understand.”

“Do you really? There’s no privacy in a demon bond.”

“And you’ll feel the same from me,” she pointed out. “It goes both ways.”

“That’s what terrifies me. The thought of you feeling how much I—” He stopped again, seeming to struggle with the words.

“How much you what?” she prompted gently.

“How much I want you. Need you. How completely you’ve undone me.” His voice dropped. “How even now, sitting here trying to give you a romantic picnic, all I can think about is how you looked in that dress. How you’ll look in three days when I bind myself to you. How you’ll look after, when everyone knows you’re mine.”

Heat flooded through her. “Grayson—”

“I’m trying to be romantic,” he said, almost desperately. “I’m trying to give you something normal and sweet and human. But I’m not human, Mailah. And pretending I am gets harder every day I’m with you.”

She set down her own wine glass and moved closer, closing the distance between them. “I don’t want you to pretend. I never have.”

“You say that now—”

“I say it always.” She took his face in both hands, making him look at her. “Grayson, I fell in love with you. All of you. Not the human parts you show the world. Not the controlled, restrained version you think I need. You. The incubus who visited my dreams and feeds on life energy and has spent centuries abstaining because you were too afraid to hurt anyone.”

“I’m still afraid of hurting you.”

“I know. But I’m not afraid of you.” She kissed him softly. “So stop trying to be something you’re not. Be yourself. Be the demon who brought me to his secret lake and tried to threaten his friend into helping with romantic gestures. Be the man who remembers books I mentioned once. Be—” She kissed him again. “Be mine.”

His restraint shattered.

He pulled her into his lap, kissing her with a desperation that stole her breath. His hands were everywhere—her hair, her waist, her back—like he couldn’t get close enough.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged. “We should stop.”

“Should we?”

“If we don’t, I’ll—” He stopped, jaw clenching. “I’ll do something we’re not ready for.”

“What if I’m ready?”

“Mailah.” Her name was a warning and a plea.

“Okay,” she said, pulling back slightly. “Okay. We’ll stop. But Grayson?”

“Yes?”

“After the wedding. After the bonding. I don’t want you to hold back anymore.”

His eyes darkened. “You have no idea what that means.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking for.” She smiled. “Three days, remember? I can wait three more days.”

“Three days,” he agreed, but he sounded pained about it.

They settled back into the picnic—though “settled” was generous. The air between them was charged, every accidental touch sending sparks through Mailah’s system. She could feel his eyes on her constantly.

They finished the food, drank the wine, and just existed together in the afternoon sun.

Eventually, Mailah lay back on the blanket, staring up at the sky. Grayson joined her, close enough that their shoulders touched.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For this. For sharing your place with me.”

“Thank you for not running when I told you I’ve been obsessing over you.”

“Was that what that was? Obsessing?”

“Completely. Lucien says it’s embarrassing.”

“Lucien’s wrong. It’s romantic.”

His hand found hers, threading their fingers together. “Three days.”

“Stop counting. It makes it feel both longer and shorter.”

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. But it is.”

They lay there until the sun started to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Eventually, Grayson’s phone buzzed with a message from Lucien that just said: Is it safe to come back or are you two still being disgustingly in love?

“We should head back,” Grayson said reluctantly. “Before Lucien sends a search party.”

“Or worse—shows up himself.”

They packed up the picnic, Mailah committing every detail to memory. The lake, the wildflowers, the way Grayson looked in the golden light—she wanted to remember all of it.

As they walked back to the car, Grayson caught her hand. “Mailah?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

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