Page 79 of The Witch is Back

How did he expect her to think about anything else? Fortunately Emma had a day of baking ahead of her, some to put out in the bar, some to freeze for when she was busy doing paperwork or admin. Her mind was occupied with measuring, sifting, stirring, whisking—

—and then Bastian’s voice would pop back into her head like a determined boomerang.

With her keen sense of knowing, Tia had launched at Emma as soon as she’d slipped into the bar that morning. Emma had barely shaken out her umbrella when her friend was on her, demanding to know what was going on.

Since Tia’s premonitions weren’t strong enough to include images, just a heady sense that something important would happen, Emma had evaded by telling her about the dinner with Bastian’s family. She focused heavily on how sick Diana was, not only because Tia was a secret marshmallow, but because she needed the reminder of why she’d agreed to this marriage.

Reminder: it hadn’t been so she could fall into the trap that was Bastian Truenote. Again.

Even if she felt even guiltier now for keeping the Joining clause from him.

But there was a solution, she reminded herself. She hadn’t created the clause, but she’d fixed it. That was enough.

She beat the mixture for the cookies by hand, needing to work off the tension.

It wasn’t fair of him to capitalize on her attraction to him, especially by contrasting the idea of casual sex—which was what it would be even if they were getting married, right?—with her sensible nature.

She beat harder. It wasn’t a crime to be sensible. Especially when she had a history of getting in too deep with him and watching him leave.

Shy, sensible Emmaline.

A scowl threaded her brow. She was so tired of being the sensible one. The practical one. Just once, she’d like to shock everyone and throw caution to the wind.

Don’t you ever want to be wild?

Goddess, yes, she did. Maybe this was her chance, if she played it right. Eyes wide open to what this was—and what it was not.

But was it wrong to sleep with Bastian when she was keeping so much from him? Or since it would be casual, just bodies coming together, did it not even matter?

A noise broke through her mental game of back and forth. Her compact chimed, insistent and shrill, from her purse where she’d stashed it on the floor by the door.

She stared at it, dread coiling in her stomach. Maybe it would be Kole, she reasoned, as she dragged her feet over to her purse. She fished out the compact, opened it up.

Immediately her throat closed. Her tongue seemed to have grown two sizes as she struggled to speak. “M-Mother.”

“I thought I could never be shocked over how much you continue to disappoint me, Emmaline.” Cruel, arctic tones sliced through the mirror to cut away at her self-esteem. “Explain yourself.”

Tension gathered into knots at the base of Emma’s spine, through her shoulders and neck. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Clarissa snapped. Her haughty face was perfectly made up, the elegant grand lady with an ugly glint in her eyes that the small mirror couldn’t disguise. “I know it’s second nature with you, but please, for once, try and act like a Bluewater.”

She’d heard this all before. “What have I done, Mother?”

“Did you dine with the Truenotes last evening?”

“Yes.”

“You dined with the Truenotes.”

Sweat moistened her temples. “Yes?”

“Stupid girl. How could you have accepted their invitation without consulting me?”

Emma had no idea how to answer that. Which, as it turned out, wasn’t a big deal, since Clarissa motored on regardless.

“We are the bridal party, Emmaline. We should have had Bastian over first. It is our responsibility and our privilege to extend an invitation.”

“Sorry, Mother.”

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