Page 43 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

twenty-nine

She knew she couldn’t avoid people forever. There was still a week to go on the house party and she was finally gaining ground with Siddeley. The finish was in sight and all she had to do was stay the course. Be a fucking Hightower.

The thought jabbed straight into her chest.

Still, it took all her energy not to flinch as Siddeley called her name from the sitting room. Out in the corridor, she took a moment, one moment to pretend she wasn’t holding everything together with glitter glue, before she walked in with a smile.

Most of the party was there on the two couches, marshmallows bobbing in mugs of hot cocoa on the coffee tables.

“Lady Tia, we haven’t seen you all day,” Siddeley exclaimed from his wingback chair, a jaunty tartan that complemented his pants. “Sit, catch up.”

A red mug appeared for her on the coffee table as she eased down next to Henry. He gave her a lopsided grin, dropping an arm around her shoulders.

She stiffened.

He frowned. He shifted his arm to the back of the couch, respecting her boundaries but still there for support. She reached for her mug, staring in at the marshmallows masquerading as tiny snowmen and tried to ignore the burning in her gut.

A fire crackled in the hearth and Rudy sprawled in front of it, his tail thumping in greeting. Siddeley’s enormous cat lay next to him, head cocked and tail upright, two seconds away from sinking its claws into the blissfully unaware dog.

Enjoy the ignorance while you can , she thought, steeling herself as she turned her attention to their host.

He settled back, glancing at the doorway. “Lady Isabella didn’t come with you?”

“She portaled back to London, but she wanted me to pass on her well wishes.” Tia blew on her drink to avoid Henry’s questioning stare. He’d always been able to read her if he’d bothered to look and lately, he hadn’t stopped. Like she was all he wanted to look at.

It stuck in her throat. They were both fools.

Siddeley beamed. “Capital, capital. A joy that one, so sweet and amiable.”

Right. That was Isabella. “I took her to Pie Hard.”

“You…took her to Pie Hard?”

Sawyer snorted from where he lounged, a glass of something amber in hand. “Ten pounds says Damon didn’t give a fuck who she was.”

Siddeley’s neck descended into his shoulders as if his mother would hear, relaxing when she didn’t burst in. Probably organizing stuff for the Snowflake Ball that was only days away, or maybe off in London. She seemed to spend a lot of time there.

Next to Sawyer, Mina crossed her legs in consideration. “I’ll take that bet. Even being in the same room with her for an hour left me unsettled half the night.”

“You could’ve come to my door,” Sawyer offered with a lazy grin.

“I needed comfort for more than five minutes, darling.”

Annaliese’s laughter and Chrichton’s snort didn’t faze Sawyer. He shrugged easily.

Henry grinned. “I’ll put my money on Damon being his usual charming self.”

They all looked to her. Tia’s skin itched under the scrutiny and she watched the marshmallows in her mug dance. “He told her she might be a High daughter in America, but he was the High baker in Pie Hard and she could damn well wait her turn.”

Siddeley murmured something, practically making the sign of the Goddess.

Everyone else laughed.

Henry settled back, thumb grazing her shoulder. “Told you. We are who we are.”

Tia’s breath hitched.

Luckily, the conversation managed without her input, most of it focusing on the Snowflake Ball, an annual tradition the whole town was invited to.

It was relaxed, casual, like everyone had given up trying to win points with Siddeley and was enjoying the lack of pressure.

Tia wished she could say the same. She was just glad Griffith hadn’t put in an appearance.

He’d have spotted her weakness and leaped on it, predator tearing apart prey.

She waited thirty minutes before making her escape. “I’m a bit tired,” she said with a strained smile, setting her mug down. “Think I’ll go have a nap.”

She barely waited for Siddeley’s, “Of course, of course,” before scurrying off as fast as her high heels could carry her.

She hadn’t even made it halfway up the staircase before Henry’s tread sounded below.

The vulnerable parts of her, the shadowy places she didn’t want exposed to the light, cringed. She took the valuable seconds before he caught up to buckle on her armor. It was harder than she remembered, not a perfect fit now she’d left it off for so long.

“Hey.” His hand cupped her elbow as he drew her around. She didn’t resist. That would be too obvious. “You okay?”

She produced a thin smile. “Just tired. You know Isabella, like boxing with a rosebush. Gotta watch for thorns.”

His expression didn’t change. So casually open, so concerned for her, so different from the warlock she’d had to guard her heart against for years. And now would again.

Pain stretched its claws inside her and she cleared her throat, skirting around him.

She didn’t make it two steps. “Something’s wrong.”

She couldn’t stop. If she did, she was scared it’d be over. “No.”

“That wasn’t a question.” He jogged to catch up, sliding in front of her. “Talk to me.”

The burning in her throat was back and she kept her head down as she veered around him. “I’m in a mood. Don’t push.”

“Like that’s going to work.”

Fire burst into her path and she squeaked, throwing herself backward, tripping on her heels into a painting that wobbled precariously. A wave of embarrassment crashed with flickering bolts of wrath, both fueling her as she whirled on him. “What the hell ?”

“I’d never have hurt you.” He strode to her, too fucking relaxed for her liking.

“You don’t have full control yet,” she hissed. She let the anger flow, relieved to welcome it. “Just because I want some space doesn’t mean you should give me third-degree burns.”

“I’d never hurt you,” he repeated, insistent.

“Well, that’s not true, is it?”

He visibly drew back.

She swallowed the urge to apologize and turned on her heel. “Just leave me alone.”

He didn’t. “What happened in town?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.” He kept pace with her, refusing to budge even when she shot him a deadly look. “Something’s upset you.”

“No.”

“I want to help.”

“And I want you to leave me alone.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“ Do you? ”

“Yes!” she shouted, turning on him so fast, his back bumped the wall. “That’s what your dad wants, right? Do what you did before and leave. Stop pretending you’re going to choose differently. Stop acting like this.”

His jaw firmed. “Like what?”

“Like you were before… before . Like…” Her chest was heaving and she realized with horror that the burning in her throat had moved to the backs of her eyes. “Like you…like you…”

“Like I care?” he challenged. He stepped off the wall, into her. His hands came up to cup her shoulders. She shoved them off. “I do.”

“No.”

“Stop being a brat.”

“I can’t do this. Not now.”

His voice thundered down the hall as she took off. “Celestia, don’t walk away from me.”

Her laugh cracked through the air, broken as she felt. “Might as well do it first.”

He cursed. “You know, I used to think you were hard to read but this, what you’re doing, it’s textbook Tia. You’re feeling vulnerable, so you lash out.”

Panic surged up her throat. “What, you’re some kind of shrink now?” she mocked, trying to hide the hitch in her breath. “You don’t know jack about me.”

“I know more than you think.”

“Says the amnesiac,” she returned, hating herself.

“Why can’t you talk to me? What do you think’s going to happen?”

It was a question she didn’t want to answer. So she marched instead. He followed, catching up to walk beside her.

They went to their room in the kind of silence that weighed down every step. Worse was the look in his eyes—like she’d hurt him. Before, that would’ve made her happy.

Now it just made her feel like peeling off her own skin.

Her entire focus was getting into the bathroom, into the shower, turning on the jets and washing everything away.

She was halfway to the bathroom when he said softly, stubbornly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

She braced a hand on the doorjamb, staring blindly forward. The words stamped on her skin, sank beneath it. Words, she told herself. Just words.

“I can’t,” she heard herself say, those words falling almost desperately into the air. She didn’t look back.

His steps sounded over the carpet until she knew he stood behind her. “I could ask a question.”

She shook her head, mute.

His hands braced on the jamb above her, so close she felt his heat through the thin material of her dress. “At least tell me you’re okay. I need to know you’re okay.”

It broke her. Resistance crumbling, she angled her head up. He watched her, concern etched into his brow. Concern even after she’d been such a bitch.

He hadn’t walked away.

Hope glimmered before she immediately shut it down. Like a small fire, too dangerous not to snuff right out.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to walk away again. “Distract me.”

“From what?”

She stayed silent.

“Tia…”

“Please.” Her voice sounded foreign to her. “I… Not now.”

He stared down, lifting one hand from the jamb to cup her cheek. “Later.” It was more demand than question.

She couldn’t promise that. Because as stupid as it was, as reckless and as idiotic and as fucking foolish as it was, part of her couldn’t snuff the flame all the way out.

“Just distract me,” she whispered. Begged.

Now his other hand cradled her cheek and he lowered his head so his breath brushed her lips. “One day,” he murmured, “you’ll let me in. And I won’t fuck it up this time.”

Before she could think of a response, he kissed her.