Page 113 of The Witch is Back

Well, in a way, yes, they had. While their friendship had been real all those years ago, she could see now it hadn’t had a chance to develop into maturity. Bastian had been so busy trying to be perfect for his parents. And her crush on him had been sweet but innocent. Hard for any man to develop feelings for a woman who said yes-sir-no-sir-conjure-three-bags-full-sir.

The party continued behind her, but the dark quiet surrounding her kept her apart, allowed her mind to drift back. To other parties, other nights. Some full of promise, some...not so.

She didn’t like to think of it. Or talk about it. She still wasn’t sure how Bastian had convinced her to share about Clarissa. What good would it do now?

He’d looked...sick, she thought, shifting from one heel to another, the shoes pinching. Furious. And quietly guilty. It was disconcerting how much it had touched her.

And tonight, he’d been lightly possessive, a touch to her lower back, a skim of fingers across her bare shoulder, a brush of her hip with his. It could easily go to a girl’s head. Bastian Truenote and expensive champagne—both needed to be taken in small doses to stay sensible.

Because she had a very unsensible urge to share more. To trust him, with at least some of her secrets. He’d gone all in, and knowing she was holding back so much had nausea sliding greasily up her throat.

Voices coming from the other side of the wraparound terrace made her shrink back into the shadows, not ready to face another onslaught about the damning “passion” tattoo.

A group of young married witches, the same posse that had never failed to sneer about “poor Emmaline” and her running fiancé, turned the corner.

Shrinking back into the shadows had been an excellent instinct. Now she just had to stay quiet and hope they went back inside before they realized she was out here.

“Did you see Bastian Truenote?” Lyssa Garden, blonde, blue-eyed and a strong firestarter, waved her fan in front of her face energetically. “Traveling agreed with him. He looks even better than he did seven years ago.”

“I heard he works in graveyards,” another of her group, Blue Paige, spoke up. “Digging up corpses.”

“Why would he do that?”

Blue shrugged, adjusting the dress she wore so it hung lower on her spectacular cleavage. “I don’t care why if it’s given him arms like that. My Frederick is nice enough, but he doesn’t look as good in a tuxedo.”

“Blue, you’re terrible.” The third out of the four, Macy Roarke, giggled. “Though you’re right. Bastian only looks better since he went away. A shame he’s wasted on poor Emmaline. We’ve all said it.”

Emma stiffened.

“He doesn’t seem to mind.” This from the fourth, Betsy Lakeland, a brunette in emerald. She’d used to be one of the main witches who had ridiculed Emma in the first months after Bastian had left. Her words came as a surprise, which only continued when she added, “He barely take his eyes or his hands off her.”

Lyssa looked down her nose at Betsy. “That’s ridiculous. If he is watching her, it’s probably to make sure she doesn’t do anything to embarrass him and the Truenote name. He’s stuck with her, after all.”

“He could have stayed away,” Macy said in wonder. “Maybe he likes her. She does have that whole doe-eyed innocent thing.”

Blue waved that away. “Please. He came back because he’s a good son. He knows his duty. Do you think if he had a choice, he’d have willingly come back and married that puddle?”

Emma’s stomach twisted.

Betsy lifted a shoulder, uncertainty on her face. “Well... I don’t know. He laughs a lot when he’s with her.”

“Betsy, you sound like an idiot.” Lyssa’s words carried the distinct ring of a slap. “Please. Bastian Truenote choosing to marry someone like Emmaline Bluewater is like a dog with a cat. And not even one of those purebred Siamese, but a ratty street cat abandoned in an alley.”

“I...”

“Betsy, you really need to shut up.” Blue adjusted her hair. “You’re not here for your opinions. You’re here to make us look good by comparison.”

Ouch. Even Emma winced at that.

“Why don’t you stay out here, get some fresh air? Maybe that will sort out these idiot ideas of yours,” Lyssa suggested. “Macy? Blue?” Without another word, the three walked off into the party.

Betsy fisted her hands by her sides, her eyes swimming as she stared after the rest of her group. Her chest heaved. With a sharp motion, she turned and stumbled for the railing, bracing her hands on it.

Emma argued with herself, but stepped forward. “Nice women.”

Betsy stiffened, turned her head with cool precision. “Did I ask for your opinion?”

“No.” Seeing that familiar derision, Emma almost turned tail and scurried off. But she’d been on the receiving end of similar insults, felt them eat away at her like acid. So, she hesitated, fingers awkward at her side. “Why do you hang around with them if they talk to you like that?”

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