Page 43 of The Witch is Back

That was the explanation she was getting after seven years of silence?

Resentment built inside her in waves. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

He ran an agitated hand across the back of his neck. “What do you want me to say?”

She made a noise. “Good night, Bastian.”

He made a grab for her but she smoothly moved out of the way, a happy outcome of putting in her time at the “business end” of the bar.

“What do you mean good night?” he demanded.

“I’m tired. In general, but also of the games.” She faced him, taking comfort from the way Chester frolicked over and leaned his slight bulk against her leg. “What do I want you to say? How about the truth?”

“Because truth is so important to you.” There was a definite tone to his words.

Rage jumped into the fray, cuddling resentment like a close friend. “Excuse me?”

“Why don’t you tell me some truths, Emma?” His voice was hard. So were his eyes. “Why did you want to marry so quickly at twenty-one? We had years.”

Her cheeks flushed hot. “You know why,” she evaded, heart picking up its pace.

“Do I?”

“You want me completely humiliated, is that it?” Her fingers curled into her palms to keep her emotion inside. She didn’t want any plant fatalities and the fern in the corner already drooped. “Fine. I wanted to marry you—was eager to, in fact—because I fancied myself in love with you. Okay? There’s the great humiliating truth we both knew. I was pathetic enough to settle for having you in any way I could, as quickly as I could.”

To his credit, not that she wanted to give him any, he was visibly taken aback. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Emma found strength in it. Why the hell not continue at this point? “Face it, Bastian. You’re not only the firstborn, you’re the Truenote heir. Your magic is one of the strongest in society. Doors opened for you. But you ignored all of that because you—you couldn’t stand the idea of marrying me. The shy idiot. Number five in a weaker family with weaker magic. No b-beauty.” She stumbled over the word, hating to even admit that a sliver of herself had valued that at the time.

“No.” He made an aborted move toward her, his hand reaching out and then fisting when she stepped back. His face took on an edge of frustration. “No,” he repeated, hard. And then, after a moment, “I couldn’t stand the idea of marrying anyone.”

She blinked.

“I had everything,” he continued, picking his words carefully. “And I was an idiot who thought running away was easier.”

“Than what?”

His expression was strained. “Having to face you. Marriage.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. Her skin felt raw from keeping magic locked inside. “You wanted the freedom to choose.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to choke. Lines appeared around his eyes as he paused for an extended moment. “I did,” he said, the words torn from him as if they’d been buried deep. A small amount of shame shadowed his face.

“And here we are anyway.”

“Here we are.” He lifted his chin and resolution replaced the shame. “And now I have to ask you for the truth.”

Her laugh was cracked, much like her brain would be after this conversation. “You’ve had far too much as it is.”

“And yet not enough.” The air crackled as he seemed to gather himself. “Earlier, in the office. The memory read.”

Her lips thinned.

“I know you feel guilt.” His eyes burned, locked on her. “Please. Tell me. Why do you feel guilt about me?”

She’d sooner have gone over all the slights and snubs and tears again. This was not an area she wanted to get into. Sloane and the Joining and...everything. The path ahead was too dangerous to travel.

The silence thickened and he began to look gray. “What did you do?” he whispered, the words hoarse.

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