Page 7 of Enduring Magic

“Right. As a child, Tristan lived in the shadow of Phillip and Marianne. Phillip mellowed after meeting and marrying Kiera, but as you know, their sister Marianne went the opposite direction.”

Aurora shuddered and met Alastair’s sympathetic gaze. “Evil minger is what I’d call her.”

“That, too.” He looked toward Knox and Spring. Both had been scarred by Marianne’s single-minded devotion to her lover, Robert Knox, and the Thornes’ longtime enemy, Zhu Lin.

“Thank the Goddess she’s dead.” Summer held up her piña colada and silently toasted Isis for gifting Knox the magical power and emotional strength to do what was necessary when it came to his mother and father.

“When Marianne ran off with Robert, Tristan was free to be himself. He came out of his shell, married Glory Ashbrooke, and had Zane.” Alastair shrugged.

To him, it was the end of the story.

For Summer, it raised more questions, but there would always be time for things like that later. She was on vacation with her loved ones, life had reached a level of calm new to the Thornes, and she had an announcement to make.

After another sip of her drink, she cleared her throat. “Coop and I are getting married.”

Her mother patted her arm. “We know, dear.”

“No. We set a date. The spring equinox—at Thorne Manor.” Holding her breath, she watched them both register her news, not failing to note her father’s self-satisfied smile. Yep. He’d definitely had a hand in fixing them up.

“I think that’s a fine idea, child,” he told her.

“I thought you didn’t necessarily care for Coop,” she taunted, carefully gauging his response.

“I like him well enough… now. The boy had some growing up to do.” Glancing around in what Summer assumed was his way of making sure the coast was clear, he conjured a drink that, based on the color, had to be his standard Glenfiddich.

“He was a grown man,” Summer said dryly. “But I understand your reasoning. Besides, he’s a great father.”

“That’s open for debate.” He raised an arrogant brow when she smacked his arm. “The man has some cockamamie idea about encouraging Olivia to go through life suppressing her gifts. She’s aThorne!”

With a shared look of amusement and a hearty laugh, Summer and her mother shook their heads in unison.

“Oh, Dad.”

Alastair grinned behind a sip of his scotch. After taking care to set the tumbler on the patio table, he uncrossed his ankles, placed his feet on the deck, and leaned forward. “Am I to assume you want Preston to walk you down the aisle?”

For someone who always held his cards to his chest, Alastair was as transparent as Saran Wrap.

“Actually, I want you both to, if you’re okay to share the duty.”

Again, she held her breath, awaiting his response. Her comment hadn’t been to insult Alastair, but she’d grown up believing Preston was her father, and in every sense of the word, he’d been the perfect daddy to the insecure little girl she’d been. Summer didn’t want to exclude him from the ceremony.

“I think that’s a fine idea,” Alastair said gruffly as he reached for her hand. “I know he’ll be as honored as I am.” With a quick squeeze of her fingers, he released her. “Who do you have in mind to officiate?”

“I hadn’t gotten that far. Someone from the Witches’ Council to make it official, I suppose.”

“I know either Georgie Sipanil or Damian Dethridge would be willing.”

“I don’t know Miss Georgie as well as the rest of you, but I’d love it if Damian would.”

“I’ll give him a call.” Alastair nodded as if it was a done deal. “You may need to make Sabrina one of your flower girls. That child won’t take no for an answer.”

Summer laughed. “She and Chloe can share the job as long as their parents are cool with it.” The girls had become good friends over the last year, with Chloe teleporting to the Dethridge estate in England to have sleepovers with Damian’s daughter, Sabrina. The two were thick as thieves and would get a kick out of being flower girls.

“And Olivia?” Aurora asked.

“She’s too little, but I’m sure she’ll be happy to sit with you and Dad.” Summer cast him a side glance. “His little poopie-doop.”

He groaned. “You were spying!”

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