Page 48 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

thirty-three

Tia’s eyes flew open. None of the shock or horror she’d thought she’d find in Henry’s face was there. Instead, she saw ruefulness.

It made her want to punch him but that was her issue.

She drew back. “What do you mean you know?”

“Research. From when the companies joined. I was thorough.”

She shook her head, dazed, focusing on the question she needed to ask. “You get what that means, right? I’m not a true Legacy.”

He made an “ah” noise, rocking back on his heels. “You mean, you’re beneath me.”

Now she really wanted to punch him. “It’s not funny.”

He lost some of the humor. “I know.” His gaze was excruciatingly tender as he watched her carefully. “How’re you doing with it all?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic, thanks.” She put her hand to her head, massaged her temple. “I’ve been lied to by people I trusted, who insisted I be the perfect Hightower, and now I have no clue who I am.”

“C’mon.” His eyes flickered but he nudged her chin up. “You know who you are. Who you’ve always been.”

“Don’t give me that crap. This changes things.”

“No,” he challenged. “Not you. We are who we are. What does finding out you have a different sperm donor change? You’re still the defensive, arrogant, prickly witch you’ve always been.”

She glared at him. “Thanks.”

“And when you peel all that back,” he continued, lifting her hand and nipping at the soft skin. “The kindest, most loyal, most generous woman.”

She didn’t like the weakening happening in her body, like a toughened clifftop crumbling away. “Henry—”

“And sexy,” he added with a growl. “Especially in red.”

“Your dad won’t like it.”

He hummed. “My woman in my color.”

She shouldn’t like that as much as she did. She snapped her fingers in his face. “Pay attention. We won’t be allowed to be together. When you remember that you want your dad’s approval, you’ll be forced to choose.” She lifted her chin. “And I’m not waiting around to not be picked. Again.”

His forehead creased. “I don’t— That’s not…” His frown lingered as he said forcefully, “I don’t care what he thinks.”

“You say that now.” She slipped past him, unable to stand still. “But when you—” She stopped when he let out a deep groan and spun back. “What?”

His eyes were on fire as he traced her body. “What happened to the back of your dress?”

“Focus.”

“I’m trying.”

When he moved forward, she moved back, heart in her throat. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He caged her against the dresser, dipping his nose to her neck and inhaling. “I don’t care what made you, Celestia Hightower. I know what you are. What you’ve always been.”

“And what’s that?”

He lifted his gaze. “Mine.”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find her balance. She found herself gripping his arms for it. The fucked-up thing was, even with everything, he did that for her. Grounded her. Her safe space.

She tried to find her arguments. His memories, his dad…

But they paled when she saw the resolve in his face.

“You won’t change your mind?” she whispered, naked, truly naked for the first time in front of him. And terrified.

He feathered a touch along her cheek, visibly softening. “We’re inevitable, little moth. I wouldn’t change it if I could.”

She was scared to hope, scared to believe, but maybe…

The blood drained from her head. “What did you call me?”

He was quick to hide it but she saw when he knew he’d slipped up. Her hands slid off his arms and she braced heavily against the dresser. A hollow ache spread through her until she felt numb. “You remember.”

When his lips pursed, she knew. And that quickly, rage burned through the nothingness. Ready to incinerate him.

* * *

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The word echoed around his mind, rebounding with greater force with every second that passed. He hadn’t meant for it to come out this way. He’d needed this final night. One more night to lock everything down and he’d have told her everything.

Now she was pale with anger, the green-and-brown flecks in her eyes incandescent with it.

“Tia,” he began, not having one fucking clue what would come next. “I can—”

“Get away from me,” she hissed between her teeth. “That’s the first thing you can do.”

He wanted to argue. He wanted to hold her tight, sensing her slipping through his fingers like sand. But nobody could hold what didn’t want to be held.

He let his arms fall and took several steps away.

She was every inch a queen in that red dress she’d worn for him, her chin tipping up as if to take a punch. “How long?”

“Can I just—”

“ How . Long ?”

He flexed his hands, feeling useless. “It started after we kissed. Gradually at first and then—then everything, the other night in the snowman field.”

She nodded. As he braced, she turned to the mirror and slid a strand of hair back into place. Then she picked up her clutch from the dresser and walked to the door.

It chilled him to the bone. Tia didn’t take things quietly. She raged, she stormed, she threw every speck of herself into an argument. She was passion unleashed.

Real panic galloped through him and he acted without thinking, locking the door with a band of fire. “Wait.”

“We’re late for Siddeley’s ball,” she answered evenly.

“We have to talk.”

“Why?”

He swallowed. “Because… I have to explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it. It doesn’t make any difference.”

“Don’t say that.” Flustered, he dragged his hands through his hair. “Just…let me explain why.”

“I get it. You win.”

He frowned, confused.

“You wanted to get one over on me and you did. Well done. Now, we need to go.”

He reared back. “I wouldn’t do that to you. It’s not like that.”

She still refused to look at him.

“Tia, I would never hurt you.”

The beautifully exposed line of her back stiffened. “I wouldn’t let you hurt me.”

But he knew it was a lie and so did she. She’d all but admitted it not even two minutes ago when she’d asked him not to break her heart.

Shit . He licked his dry lips. “At first, it was confusing,” he told her, determined to have it out, “like the memories were resettling and I had to wait for the dust to clear. Then, I don’t know, it was like getting a free pass to…

figure stuff out without the pressure.” Someone who didn’t always have to be wands at dawn with her.

Someone who didn’t have to deal with all the bullshit that’d haunted them for eight years.

“Let me out.”

He pushed. “We’ve never talked, not really, not since that night.”

“Henry.” The warning couldn’t have been clearer, but her voice brimmed with heat. He was ridiculously, knee-weakeningly glad to hear it.

“I never knew why you’d walked away.”

She rounded on him then, a flush staining her cheeks. “If you don’t stop talking, I’m going to portal out.”

But she hadn’t yet. “I needed to know,” he pressed. “I needed to know so we could fix it. So we could have a second chance.”

“You don’t get to say that.” She stalked toward him, silky material rustling around her legs. “You don’t get to pretend you weren’t a lying asshole these past few weeks. You don’t get to pretend you haven’t been manipulating me this whole time for your own amusement.”

“I have never manipulated you.”

“ Why did we break up? ” she asked, affecting his voice. “ Tell me a good memory. Tell me if you’ve ever thought about me, dreamed of me, wanted to fuck me again .” Her voice went shrill and magic sparked into existence, flecks of red around her hands.

He winced at the echo of his questions. “I was trying to understand.”

“To humiliate me.”

“ No .” He struggled for words. “You always accused me of walking away but to me, it was you who walked. I needed to see it from your side. If we were going to have a chance—”

“We don’t,” she hissed, slicing a hand down. “Because the Henry I thought you’ve been this past month, the Henry I thought I knew, he’s just an illusion. You’ve been playing me this whole time.”

“Everything’s been real. Everything I said, everything you felt.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. We were supposed to fake it and I did.”

“Celestia.”

The curtains ripped off the wall in a violent clatter. “ You don’t get to call me that. ”

“Don’t you get it?” he said, urgency tearing through him. “This is what always happens when we try to talk about it. We fight, we walk away. You never let me in.”

“Why should I?” She shook her head. “You want to know why we broke up? Why I don’t regret it? Because you can’t be trusted.”

His jaw set. “That’s bullshit.”

Her laugh was bitter and so sharp, it should’ve left him bleeding. “You’ve lied to me for weeks. What part of that screams trust ?”

“I told you, that was so—”

“And I never let you in? When I begged you to stay that night?” Her breath came in ragged bursts. “When I made myself weak for you and you— you , Henry—walked away?”

He came forward to meet her. “You gave me a bullshit ultimatum about choosing you or my dad. You know I’d have been there for Emma. My dad just asked me to wait a week.”

“Well, if Richard asked.”

“Don’t be a brat. It’s not as simple as that.” Her voice when she’d recounted her memory of it made him falter but he shored up his resolve. “The truth is you can’t let yourself forgive.”

Her voice went deathly quiet. “Don’t you put this on me.”

A rush of fear and determination and anger seared his veins, his magic reacting.

He talked faster. “You’re too hard on people who make mistakes.

You don’t accept weakness in yourself so you don’t accept it in others.

Well, we make mistakes, Tia. We fuck up.

It doesn’t mean you get to kick us out of your life. ”

“I’m done with this.”

“I know you. I know you better than anyone. You push people away so you don’t have to be vulnerable and I make you want to be. Me. You’re scared of what I make you feel.”

“You arrogant, condescending, conceited—”

“But when you thought I was safe, when you thought you might not have to deal long-term, you made a hole in the wall. You let me in. But now, now that I’m me and I’m asking for a real chance, you’re shoving me out again. That’s all you. Not me.”

“How convenient I’m the bad guy.” She looked stricken, lines around her eyes, her mouth. It made him sick. “That even though you’re the liar, I’m the one who’s messed up.”

“Fuck, do you even hear yourself? Putting up the bricks so fast you can’t hear me. I’m trying to tell you something.”

“What? What are you trying to tell me?” she yelled.

“ That I love you !” he shouted back, immediately regretting it as her face went slack with fear. It blanked out a second later and she shook her head.

It made bitterness swell in his chest. “Of course,” he retorted, feeling utterly exposed. He swept a hand mockingly. “Shouldn’t have said that. We don’t say what we’re really feeling. We just fight and pretend we don’t care about each other. We don’t forgive.”

She smoothed a hand down her dress. He thought he saw it tremble but her face was rock steady when she turned it to him. “No,” she said, heading for the door. “We don’t.”