My mouth tilts on one side. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mackenzie looks ahead at the wide front door of my parents’ house, her throat bobbing with a swallow as she gives herself one last encouraging nod. “This is going to be fine.”
“It is,” I assure her.
“We will not let either of them intimidate us into having babies this soon.”
“We won’t,” I answer, crossing my fingers behind my back. I don’t have to tell her I’m not as opposed to the idea as she is. “It’s going to be fine.”
“I’m always worried your mother secretly hates me because of all the fake mate stuff,” she admits quietly.
“My mother might like you more than me because of the fake mate stuff,” I snort. “She kind of thinks you’re the most badass woman she’s ever heard of.”
“Right.” She looks determined, her nose wrinkling. “Right. I am the most badass woman she’s ever heard of.”
I chuckle under my breath, leaning to kiss her temple. “You are,” I encourage. “And besides . . .” My fingers drift down from her nape, the tip of my index finger circling the dark imprint of my teeth that hasn’t yet begun to fade. It makes me feel a myriad of emotions every time I see it, knowing that it matches the one she gave me, that it means she’ll be with me for the rest of our lives. I duck to kiss her there as she shivers. “It isn’t fake anymore.”
Mackenzie smiles up at me, reaching to squeeze my hand, and I wonder idly if she realizes that she holds the entirety of my being in the palm of hers.
“No,” she answers quietly. “No, it isn’t.”
I still don’t know if Mackenzie believes in fate, but one thing is for certain.
I sure as hell do.
Acknowledgments
It’s odd to be writing acknowledgments for a book that I am finishing up copyedits on only a month after my first book published! The most topsy-turvy part of this entire “being an author” process has been getting used to the schedule of the whole publishing thing. I would love to tell you that after more than a year I’ve totally got it down, but if I were sly enough to say that, I am sure my entire team would give me bombastic side-eye （cue TikTok sound）。 Speaking of my team—my continued love and adoration for every single one of you hasn’t dimmed in the slightest. My editor, Cindy Hwang, who is the horny cheerleader of my dreams, and whose agreement that this book needed exam-room shenanigans just confirms that she is, in fact, perfect; Jess Watterson, who I am happy to confirm is still petting my hair whenever it’s warranted （which is a lot, since I am the human equivalent of a natural disaster—think tornado, full-on cows circling around, just mooing up a storm while people shout in terror）， is seriously the best, and even if she ever fires me for being insufferable （which would totally be fair） I will still love her; Jessica Mangicaro （marketing） and Kristin Cipolla （publicity, and my little onion babe）—I think of Jess and Kristin as a duo, and maybe that’s not true, but it won’t stop me from consistently cc’ing them together （and more recently, forcing them to endure me in a group DM chat on IG）。 These two ladies deserve gold medals for the sheer number of all-caps emails and neurotic questions they have had to endure （sometimes the SAME questions, since I have the attention span of Doug from Up）。 I would love to tell you both that things WILL GET BETTER, but . . . I am not a liar. I will always be a tragedy of the non-Greek variety, since I am not nearly important enough. However, I am sorry for saying “raw dog” so much. The Penguin creative team, who owns my entire heart and my whole ass （yeah, I am making it weird）; Monika Roe for another FANTASTIC cover （may she always be available for more）; and a special thank-you to Ruby Dixon, who not only blurbed my first book but then suffered through an entire year of me badgering her to be my friend with grace and poise. （I love her books, but I love her more.） And on that note, thank you to ALL those that blurbed my book after Ruby; every single one had me rolling in bed like a cat on catnip.
The Fake Mate had many champions while being worked on, even if my oldest friend, Dan, was not one of them. （Dan, you bland, tasteless jerk, you will never know the glory of knotting!） My sweet Katie, who loves everything I do, even if it’s not remotely interesting; my lovely Keri, with her less-than-superior taste in Sleep Token thirsting （iv is superior, I’m sorry） but her more than competent encouragement of my horny wolves; my pseudo-mama, Andria, for FaceTiming me to yell at me when I got mopey; and my daddy, Kristen, for pointing out after a beta read that this book DID IN FACT need horny exam-room shenanigans （the universe brought you into my life to give us this, and I am all the better for it）。