Page 110 of The Witch is Back

And she didn’t until an hour later when, after talking idly of the past and sharing memories, he tucked her close and said, “Tell me about having Clarissa as a mother.”

CHAPTER 22

Bastian watched the tension creep into Emma’s muscles. He had one arm flung over her waist and he rubbed it over her skin in comfort. He regretted her reaction, but he had to know. It was eating at him. With everything he now suspected Clarissa of, what more had swum under the surface that he hadn’t seen?

He had to know.

She didn’t look at him. Maybe she knew what he did—that those brown eyes of hers were an open book. “Why?”

“Because.” He bent, brushed a kiss over her bare shoulder. “Because we’re going to be married. Because we’re partners. Because we’re lovers. Because I’m your friend. Because you need to tell someone. Because I want to know. Pick one, they’re all true.”

She tried to laugh, but it came out more as a sad sound. “You’re thinking about my mother right now? I knew you were a pervert, but that’s low even for you.”

He didn’t speak, just waited.

“You know what it was like. You were there.”

“I thought I knew. I saw that she was controlling and bossy and always strove for perfection. I know we joked about her being the Wicked Witch. And I know sometimes I didn’t see you for days.” Not to mention, a lot more she didn’t know about, like the Joining clause or the silencing hex. “I didn’t think much of it at the time. Now I am.”

Her eyelashes drifted down, veiling her thoughts. Her skin was chilled and with a thought, he moved the duvet to cover them.

“Clarissa wanted a perfect daughter,” Emma finally said, her voice matter-of-fact. “And she got me. I’m awkwardly shy, I’m too skinny. As the lastborn, I don’t have strong magic. I’m not beautiful or charming. I was her greatest failure.”

“Emma.”

“No.” She rolled to look at him. “It’s the truth. Until she saw us playing and worked out how to make the engagement happen, I was the disappointment. And when the contract was signed, suddenly I was useful. But she needed to mold me into the perfect Higher family wife.” She swallowed and her hand pressed the arm that was around her. “It wasn’t easy.”

“She’s a bitch,” he told her, just as matter-of-fact, resentment for both their sakes simmering in the pit of his stomach. “There’s no such thing as a perfect Higher family wife.”

“She thinks there is. For as far back as I remember, I had to take lessons.”

“In what?”

“Everything. Magic. Beauty. Charm. How not to be awkward.” A line appeared in between her brows. He kissed it. “When I did anything she didn’t approve of, she locked me in my bedroom without food or magic.”

The tight feeling of rage in his chest was new. Unsettling. A monster roared inside him as he curled his free hand into a fist so tight the knuckle would be white. He breathed deeply through the red haze, needing to stay calm. To hear all of it.

He didn’t ask how her mother had restrained her magic. She’d likely used a magical barrier of some kind, but that wasn’t the point of the story, even if it was unbearable to think of your magic being taken. He should know.

“I never knew it was that bad.” And, though it wasn’t logical, he blamed himself for that blindness. “Didn’t your dad get involved? Your brothers...?”

“My dad wasn’t a strong man. In any way, really. But when she tried to do worse, he threatened to tell your family. I loved him so much for that,” she said in a soft voice. “I’m sure she made him pay, but he never backed down. He’d travel sometimes but only when necessary, so I’d be as protected as possible. Then he died.”

Grim, Bastian stroked a thumb across the dip in her waist.

“I wasn’t allowed to mourn him. She said he was weak. Kole and I had our own service.” A smile touched her lips. “I was terrified she’d find out, but he said he’d handle her. He was still a boy, but I believed him. We always planned everything together.”

“Did he get involved after your dad died?”

“As much as he could, but he was away at boarding school. And I’d learned how to play the game by that point.” At the lift of his eyebrow, she continued. “I did what she wanted, spoke very little. Didn’t laugh, didn’t draw attention. The only time she let me go away from her was when I said I was meeting you.”

He connected the dots. To her young self, he’d represented freedom. And then he’d left her alone.

Pain, sharp and swift, stabbed him in the gut. His hand tightened on her.

“She thought she’d done as good a job as she could. There was no getting around the shyness, so that was always a thorn in her side, but I was quiet, demure, nonargumentative. The only time I got into trouble was when you convinced me to sneak off, so even then her punishments were half-hearted.”

“Fuck. She punished you when we snuck off?” He wanted to throw himself at her feet, beg her forgiveness. It felt like he had broken glass in his throat when he swallowed. “Emma.”

---