Page 55 of Hexed Up

We reach the long laid-out table and I glance down and groan. There are little place cards identifying where each of us is required to sit. I’ve been placed next to handsy cousin Jack and Horatio right next to my mother.

I consider spinning right around and dashing for the exit, but my mum already has a hold of Horatio’s arm and is leading him to his seat.

Chapter Seventeen

The good thing about having a fake boyfriend who is a giant and built like a brick house is it deters my handsy cousin from his usual creepy behaviour. In fact, for the first time since I met him a couple of years ago, he behaves like an actual gentleman who has a wife.

The downside is being required to gaze hopelessly from the other side of the table as my fake boyfriend swerves my mum’s usual inquisition with charm and humour and then turns to my sister Tiggie on his other side and charms her too.

Honestly, how the hex did Tiggie end up next to my supposed boyfriend and not me? And why am I feeling so jealous about it? I’ve been used to Horatio’s undivided attention for the last few days and I realise how special that has been – how special that has made me feel. But maybe my sister and my cousin are correct. Dating someone like Horatio for real would be one constant battle with my own jealousy and internal insecurities. After all, he’s bound to have girls hitting on him all the time.

I saw away at my steak as my sister tips back her head and titters at something Horatio has said. She’s much more his type – tall, willowy, model looks with a fashion-taste that matches his own sense of style. They’d make much more sense as a couple.Maybe once this potion has been reversed, I ought to set them up for real.

A sense of sadness sweeps through me, and I lower my knife and fork and push my plate to one side. Almost immediately it’s whipped up into the air and floats away and more wine is added to my nearly empty glass. I take a sip and glance back up the table to find Horatio watching me. When his gaze meets mine, he smiles and those butterflies respond immediately as if he has them trained. I manage a wobbly smile back and he winks at me before re-engaging in conversation with my uncle across the table.

“I think he really likes you, Molly,” Prim says from next to me, leaning in so the others around us can’t hear. “It’s like you’ve bewitched him or something.”

“Wh-what?!” I gasp, nearly spitting out my wine for the second time this evening, ice-cold fear descending my spine. Am I that obvious? Has my sister worked it all out? Is she about to arrest me in front of all my family?

“He clearly likes you a lot,” she says so sweetly I realise she doesn’t seriously think I’ve bewitched him. My shoulders relax. “He can’t keep his eyes off you.”

“Or Tiggie,” I say a little more bitterly than I intended.

“Oh, Horatio’s just being polite and Tiggie flirts with everyone, you know that. Have you spoken to her tonight?”

“Not really,” I admit.

“She’s totally heartbroken over this thing with the vampire.”

“And on the rebound,” I mutter.

“I don’t think so,” my sister says seriously, “she’s pretty desperate to make things work between them but you know how things are between vampires and witches.”

“The old prejudices?”

My older sister nods gravely and I feel guilty about thinking ill of my younger sister, especially when, on closer inspection, I can see her smiles are looking pretty fragile.

“Well, at least one of you is happy,” my sister says.

“For now,” I mutter.

“What do you mean?” she says, her brow wrinkling.

“I mean look at him, Prim,” I gesture in Horatio’s direction, “it’s not likely to last.”

“You shouldn’t listen to Cousin Eva,” Prim whispers, “just because she married a jerk, doesn’t mean every man is a cheat.”

“I know. I just think he’ll eventually wake up and realise I’m not the girl for him,” I say thinking that point will come sooner than my sister could imagine – e.g., when he drinks that antidote.

“Of course, he won’t. You’re gorgeous, Molly, and funny and clever and quirky.”

I can’t help laughing because we all know what quirky means – bonkers, unhinged, unstable, and not capable of running her own life.

“I’m serious,” my sister says.

“Clever?” I reply. “I didn’t finish the academy.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not clever. Some people aren’t made for rules and structure. They need freedom and spontaneity and a chance to be themselves!” she says glancing down the table towards Norman who is once again more engaged in his phone than the conversation around him.