Fire burns in her dark irises, but she doesn’t scold me, doesn’t make a mad dash for the ladies’ room. Just shakes her head, like,could this stepchildbeany more ridiculous?, and digs into her handbag for the tissues.
“You’ve got about ten minutes before the ceremony starts,” she says, raising her voice above the hissing downpour. “I need to go check in with the High Priest. Your father and I will be right up front, watching the whole thing.”
Making sure you don’t screw it up.
She doesn’t say that last part, but she’s definitely thinking it.
Because if I can’t keep it together tonight, the deal will be off and my father will end up on the streets—or worse.
And where would that leave his doting little wife?
As Eloise furiously blots her face with a tissue, I turn and glance out the stained-glass door, searching the storm-soaked streets of lower Manhattan for...
What, exactly?
Not awhat, girl,I remind myself. Awhom.
A strong, protectivewhomwho’s name I don’t even know. A stranger whose cobalt-blue eyes and devilish grin have haunted my dreams for weeks.
My stomach fizzes at the thought of him, at the memory of his black-pepper-and-candle-flame scent. At the memory of all those nights I spent in front of my window, pretending the fingers trailing over my bare skin were his.
Wishing my soft moans would float out on the night breeze and find their way to him.
Wishing he was out there in the darkness, watching me. Waiting for me.
I know I said my story doesn’t have an avenging knight, but if it did? Well. He would definitely get the part, no audition necessary. I only met him once—he chased off some creep trying to get a little too up-close-and-personal with me last month in Madison Square Park—but it felt like I’d already known him a lifetime.
Also? He gave me his latte.
Yeah, I know. A latte. Big deal, right? As pathetic as it sounds, it was the kindest thing anyone’s done for me in years.
But despite the butterflies he unleashed inside me, I didn’t stick around long enough to catch his name. Just long enough for a little chit-chat and a few laughs. I told him I liked his accent—London, rough around the edges, just enough bad-boy charm to make a girl swoon. Then I thanked him for the coffee and the save, made my excuses, and headed back home to Dad and Eloise.
I knew he wanted me to stay.Iwanted me to stay. But I left him anyway, because I also knew if I lingered even one more minute, I’d do something incredibly stupid and mortifying. Something like… barnacle myself around his legs and beg him to save me from my own ridiculous life.
A fantasy. That’s all it was. All it evercouldbe.
Since our Magical Midnight Meet-Cute, as I’ve come to call it, I’ve been trying to forget the man who showed me that small kindness and convince myself that Hunter Forsythe will be kind, too. That just because I don’t love him now doesn’t mean I never will. That just because his familyboughtme doesn’t mean they won’t treat me with respect.
That my father, for all his obvious failings, wouldneverhand me over to a monster, no matter how much cash and political clout his parents offered up in return.
But all that self-talk never works. Because no matter what our magical customs dictate or what backroom deals our family members strike, I keep circling back to the same question:
What the hell kind of a man allows his parents to buy his bride?
“Eloise?” I turn back toward her, my eyes glazed with tears that have nothing to do with the flowers.
She sighs and waits for me to speak, and the useless self-talk kicks in once more.
I tell myself her pinched brow is out of concern for me. I tell myself that underneath the gruff exterior, Eloise is a decent person. A woman who knows a thing or two about living in the shadow of powerful men, and might offer an encouraging word on her stepdaughter’s wedding night.
Lightning flickers, bringing the shadows between us into sharp relief.
Blinking back the tears, I whisper, “I drew a Tarot card tonight.”
“Oh?” Her brows lift. No witch can resist the pull of the Tarot. Not even a witch who believes she’s already got all of life’s mysteries figured out.
“The Moon,” I confess, and the furrow between her brows deepens. Forcing a laugh, I say, “I know it sounds nuts. Paranoid, even. But I can’t help but feel something’s not right. I don’t mean the arrangement part. Marrying Hunter like this… I know it’s what’s best for the family.”
