Page 44 of The Witch is Back

Alarmed, she stepped back. “Nothing.”

“Emma...”

“I...” Goddess, why could she never think quickly? “I...guess it might have been because...” Should she tell him about the Joining? She batted the idea back down instantly. Kole hadn’t been in touch with a solution and things were complicated enough. She’d already exposed herself too much for one evening.

Coward, her inner voice whispered, but she ignored it, searching for a different reason to feel guilt. Inspiration put up a hand and she grasped it. “Because my mother was so eager for the wedding to happen.”

If anything, his face went darker.

She hurried on. “I was a doormat—let’s be honest. I’d have waited until you were ready, but my mother...she was eager to get us married. I just went along with it, even knowing you weren’t going to be pleased.” In a way, that was true. Clarissa had been forceful in arranging for the engagement to be officially announced and had already been discussing the Divining. Emma hadn’t argued because—well, she’d never argued. Her mother could’ve asked her to float herself over a cliff and Emma would’ve done so.

He absorbed this in silence. She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell which way he was tipping. Her foot bounced in agitation as she watched each thought flicker across his face.

He had to believe her. She had no hands left to play—she couldn’t tell him about Sloane either. That was too important a secret and the more people that knew, the less safe her sister was. From Clarissa, from that whole world.

“So,” he said finally, apparently accepting her words. A soundless breath eased from her as her shoulders loosened. “Where do we go from here? We’re stuck together in this.”

Ouch. “Why do you always make it sound so bad to be stuck with me?”

“What?” Lines dug into his forehead. He shook his head abruptly. “No. If anything, you’re stuck with me. I know I’m a bad bargain.”

“Please. Spare me the false modesty.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s not false.” He leaned his hips back against the couch. “Goddess knows I’m far from perfect.”

“Right. Tell me one thing about you that isn’t.” She offered the challenge with a good deal of mockery.

He considered. “I can’t grow a mustache.”

“Bastian.”

“I’m serious—it comes in all patchy. Very George Michael.”

An inappropriate laugh huffed out of her. The rightness of the moment struck like the chimes of a clock and she recoiled, refusing to get lost in it.

“So?” he repeated. “Where do we go from here? Do we stick to our corners? Unwilling to trust.”

Bending to Chester, she stroked his head and hid her face, absorbing the love-you-love-you vibes of support. Emotions clashed inside her like a version of pinball. She knew his preference was to avoid difficult topics, but he’d come here. He’d said sorry. And she thought he meant it.

It didn’t mean that all the resentment and bitterness and hurt washed away like footprints in the sand.

“It wouldn’t be like it was.” The TV almost covered her murmur, but he heard. She met his gaze. “It can’t be. I’m not her.” She’d screamed the words at him, but now, here, she needed him to truly understand that. The adoring girl was gone. After everything, she’d had to be stronger, so she’d carved Emma out of Emmaline. For Sloane, for herself.

He stared at her. “I’m not him.”

The ring of truth made the words hard to hear. They also lent her a touch of sadness. A kind of mourning for them both. The kids they’d been.

He was right. He’d been young—they both had.

Selfish. But young. A mistake. They’d all made them.

She hated that he knew how hurt he’d made her. But now he knew, it was kind of freeing. Like she didn’t have to hide as much. Like she didn’t have to lock up the bitterness.

She didn’t think they’d ever get to where they’d been, where she trusted him with all her secrets, but this was as clean a slate as she could give him.

“I really did hate you,” she whispered into the unsettled silence.

Navy eyes stared back at her wordlessly.

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