Page 133 of The Witch is Back

“You’ve always known you’d marry her, and you do have a habit of going along with things when it’s easier.” She lifted a hand when he went to speak. “Thanks to Emma, now you both have the freedom to choose. Time to consider what it is you want. What you could build together.”

The last month bloomed in his mind, ink in water. He thought of Emma’s hidden sassy side, her generous nature, her constantly surprising him, even if it sometimes wasn’t exactly for the best. How pretty she looked first thing in the morning or when she was baking, with flour on her cheeks, how flushed she got in the middle of an argument. How devastated she’d looked when she’d admitted the truth to him. When he’d turned his back on her at the Exhibition.

“I’m crazy about her,” he admitted. He lifted his gaze and found his mom beaming at him.

“Sweetheart. I know.”

“Then why did you let her break off the engagement?”

“Because I still think you need time to decide if you can learn to trust her. And,” she continued when he went to speak, “I think she needs time to decide if she can learn to trust you. Bastian, she has always known you were forced to be with her. Never chosen. It would be easy for you to go to her, but she needs to realize that it’s not about you choosing her; it’s also about her choosing you.”

“I don’t understand.”

His mom reached up, kissed his cheek. “Just trust me. If she’s what you want, this time, we do this the right way.”

A tornado exploded into the bar, whipping glasses off shelves, cracking the mirror and scattering napkins and peanuts across the floor.

In the part of Emma’s head that could still joke, the Wicked Witch of the West’s theme tune played with shrill, dire notes.

Duh duh duh duh duh duhhhh, Duh duh duh duh duh duhhhh.

Fortunately, the bar had already closed for the night, a fact that wouldn’t have escaped her mother, or else she wouldn’t have made such a dramatic entrance.

Emma knew she should feel panicked, terrified, a baby rabbit frozen in the field where a fox bore down on her with gleaming white teeth.

Instead she felt numb, packed in ice, as she had for the past week since she’d ended her engagement officially. She’d known Clarissa would find out sooner or later. She’d thought about telling her, but just hadn’t had the energy. She didn’t have the energy for much else but baking and milkshakes with Sloane these days. Who had made no bones about the fact she thought Emma dumping Bastian was a sucky decision.

Tia had also surprised her. When Emma had told them she was no longer engaged, she’d expected streamers to suddenly sprinkle through the air, a mariachi band to appear, castanets to appear in Tia’s hands and her friend’s booty to start shaking in the well-known victory dance.

Instead Tia had asked her if she was sure this was the right decision. And even though Emma had insisted it was, her friend hadn’t stopped casting her concerned looks ever since. Leah had been more vocal in her belief it was a mistake; she thought Emma and Bastian belonged together, but even she’d backed off after Emma refused to discuss it.

So, she kept busy, ignoring Chester’s worried whines and her own idiotic desires. Better to be alone than trapped in a marriage with a man who couldn’t forgive her.

She’d asked Diana and Alistair to keep Bastian away, but a part of her had still hoped he’d come after her. Convince her they needed to talk. Maybe even confess how much he cared for her, that he wanted to be married. That he did forgive her and understand why she’d done it.

Because that was the cruelest thing of all: she was in love with him.

And it was because she loved him that she’d let him go. Yes, a small part of her had violently hoped to see him come rushing through the bar’s doors, but the facts were that he hadn’t tried to see her or make her change her mind. It was enough proof she’d done the right thing. Kole had even reluctantly told her he’d heard Bastian had left again and that society was already whispering. She couldn’t find the energy to care.

Just as she didn’t care now as Clarissa blew in, a towering witch of formidable power with one pissed-off attitude.

“No ruby slippers here,” she said, dropping the cloth she’d been disinterestedly rubbing along the counter. “Dorothy already left.”

Her mother glowered. “Tell me it’s not true.”

Emma didn’t bother prevaricating. “It is.”

The mirror behind Emma shattered in a controlled burst of power. Instead of fragments flying out, they all collapsed into a heap of shrill music.

Emma eyed it, impassive. “That’s seven years, right there.”

“I can’t believe you did this.”

“Why? Just one more disappointment in a row of them.” Emma released a breath. “Why are you here? It’s done. There is no engagement.”

“We can still make this happen.”

“No.”

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