Page 75 of The Witch is Back

Why was it that when she was alone with him she could fire back sassy rejoinders, but when faced with his parents, her brain glitched and suggested I like pudding as an acceptable comment?

“I don’t know.” Her hands squeezed each other as she frantically tried to think of something to say. “He usually tried to get me to go to Bourbon Street.”

Bastian winced. “Traitor.”

Diana faced him. “I knew it! I knew you used to sneak off there.”

“But with Emma.” A winning smile. “A good influence.”

“Sounds like she was just as wild as you were.”

Emma found she liked the idea of that. Wild Emma. Better than serious. People never seemed to realize that what they took for seriousness was shyness. And fine, there was some practicality in there, too. Still. It got old.

Wild Emma.

Diana suddenly coughed, a hard, wracking sound that came from her lungs. Alistair immediately smoothed a hand over her back, soothing her as he came up with a handkerchief. Diana pressed it over her mouth. Her eyes watered.

Bastian’s thigh was rigid. Emma angled a look at him, skated her eyes over the tight corners of his mouth, the stiffness in his jaw as he stared at his mom.

Diana finally took in some breaths, raw ones that had Emma wincing. Diana’s water glass flew from the side where she’d perched it to hover in front of her. She took it with a murmured thank-you to her son, sipped.

Alistair rubbed her back. “Always one for the center of attention, my wife.”

Emma stared in shock. How could he make light?

When Diana gave a choked laugh, when Emma saw the shadows in Alistair’s eyes ease, she understood.

They were a unit, she thought, longing she didn’t acknowledge wisping through her. A true partnership. More, they were a love match. Something she’d constantly marveled at as a girl and more than one family had sneered at—behind their hands, naturally, as nobody wanted to offend the Truenotes.

What would it have been like growing up with parents like these? Would she have yearned for a love match of her own instead of a cold, practical arranged marriage?

Had Bastian?

“Why don’t we have dinner?” Diana said, voice only slightly hoarse. “And turn the focus back on Emma and Bastian’s wedding.”

“Mom...” As his father had done, Bastian acted normal. And whined.

“There’s a lot to plan.”

“We’re going with one of your names.”

“But she’ll still want to know your preferences. A venue.”

“We’ll have it here.” Bastian turned to Emma. “That is, unless you’d prefer it somewhere else? The Bluewater manor?”

She quickly shook her head. Twice. “Here’s fine.”

Undaunted, Diana pushed on. “Flowers, cake, music, guest list. All to be discussed over a nice roast.”

Emma and Bastian shared a look of quiet suffering as they all rose to walk to the dining room.

Well, she thought, at least they weren’t asking her questions about herself anymore.

Dinner lasted for two hours, with conversation flowing like the wine Bastian’s dad poured with abandon. Maybe too much abandon—his voice got progressively louder, and toward the end he’d started to profess a desire to see the Grand Canyon that same night.

They’d finally made an escape from the table when Bastian had stood and tangled his hand in Emma’s, saying that they’d walk off some of the meal in the gardens before they went home. She’d finally relaxed, no longer as jittery as she’d seemed at the beginning. True to his mom’s nature, Diana had clearly read Emma’s nerves and had kept up the conversation, including her but not putting her on the spot as she’d unintentionally done at the beginning.

Now they headed for their old place in the gardens at a slow, easy pace. They were out of sight of the house, lost in the folly. Their hands brushed as they walked side by side and neither moved farther away. The stars were easy to see out here, diamonds spread out on black velvet, and he lifted his face appreciatively to take in the sights and smells of a home he’d put to the back of his mind for seven years.

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