Page 55 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

thirty-eight

It was almost midnight and he hadn’t shown.

She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. Tia fingered the glass beads, listening to the notes of music as they soared and dipped like the couples on the dance floor. Above, the fireflies had retired, candles in their place, flames capped so no sparks drifted down to burn.

Too late for that, she wanted to say, even if it was melodramatic. Because she had been burned, yet again. By him.

Heart and head put up their fists and duked it out as she watched Emma laugh into Bastian’s face as he spun her in circles. As Gabriel held Leah at a precise distance even as her friend’s hand slid to his ass, making his lips twitch.

Head said he’d been all talk again, trying to lure her back with pretty words and clever phrases.

Heart said this time was different. She couldn’t even say why, but it was why she’d accepted the invitation, why she’d dressed up, why she’d worn his glass beads. She was on a precipice, the wind a song in her ears that threatened to tumble her over if she just let go.

She’d taken one step.

Where was he?

A commotion by the doors drew her eyes from the dancing couples to where a crowd had gathered. Some kind of entertainment, maybe, though she was mildly surprised it wasn’t being unveiled at the witching hour for maximum effect.

Gasps and shocked titters got louder as the crowd thickened, some couples halting on the dance floor. A few witches headed in that direction, craning their necks, hands over their mouths.

Then the crowd parted. And her brain flatlined.

Because it was Henry. Henry striding into the ballroom wearing a determined expression, a pair of black boxer briefs—and that was it.

That was fucking it.

She blinked. Blinked again. How much had she had to drink? Was she dreaming?

But she heard Bastian choke out a laugh, watched Gabriel blink even faster than she had. He was real. This was happening.

Henry saw her then, eyes alight with ferocity that turned pale green into shimmering pools of color. His lips curled into a smirk and he spread his arms wide, putting himself on display. For her.

She could only stare.

She’d expected him to make his way to her; instead, he angled toward the stage, ignoring the shocked glances—and fluttering fans. Tia had enough mind to scowl at those witches.

He jumped up, crossing to the musicians, who nodded like this was planned. The music stopped, leaving only the titters and murmurings of the crowd. Above them, Henry stood as relaxed as if he were in full armor. Or, you know, any clothes at all.

“Evening, everyone,” he said, and his voice was everywhere, that smooth baritone with a nudge of Southern, deeper than anyone might expect. She had no idea how he was projecting but she drifted forward as if pulled by it.

“I’d say I’m sorry to disrupt it,” he continued, surveilling the crowd. “But that’d be bullshit. Especially since the reason you’re all here is to gossip and spread rumors about the Hightowers.”

Tia stiffened as gazes slid her way.

“Personally, I don’t get it,” he said conversationally. “Tearing someone down to make yourselves feel better is something children do. You’re all grown-ass adults. Fucking act like it.”

Expressions around her soured. Tia’s hands came together and she squeezed. His dad would shit wands when he heard about this.

“Anyway, I came here tonight for one reason. One person. And that’s Celestia Hightower.

” She swore even across this distance, his eyes glowed as he arrowed in on her.

“The witch y’all are delighting in tearing to shreds, because you know she’s superior to you in every way.

Just gossip, right? Wrong. Gossip hurts people. We’ve learned that.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Tia saw Emma wince. Bastian slid his arm around her waist.

Henry rocked onto one bare foot. “It’s funny.

I’ve always put a lot into words, the power of them.

Hell, society twists words into games that cut and stab and bleed.

Words can hurt.” He nodded slowly. “But they can also mean everything. Like, when I say I love you, Tia—” Gasps exploded around the room and Tia swayed.

Henry never moved his gaze off her. “—it means I love you. That I adore every disagreeable, prickly, passionate part of you. That I will be your rock, your safe space. Your quiet .” He swallowed, memory flickering over his face.

“It means I will stand by your side, behind you when you need backup, in front of you when you need checking. It means I’ll probably screw up and hurt you because an idiot in love isn’t logical.

And I am so fucking sorry for every moment I’ve ever hurt you. ”

A tear dashed down Tia’s cheek and she couldn’t move to hide it. She couldn’t breathe.

Henry watched her, his face taut with emotion.

“You own me, Tia. My heart, my soul, my magic, body and bone. All of me. No matter how we fight and rage and make mistakes, no matter how much we push each other away. Just know I’ll always come back.

Because all I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is you.

” His smile was crooked, rueful. “Just words, though, huh? You don’t believe in words alone.

So. I’m baring it all for you.” He glanced down, an eyebrow raised. “Literally. I’ve quit PH Inc.”

Tia barely heard the crowd’s murmurs as her stomach dropped to her feet. He… what ?

He cleared his throat. “Turned in my resignation today. Unemployed. No longer shackled to the chains of my family’s company. I’m done with making it a priority. It’s not worth the effort. You are. And you always will be.”

It was official. She was going to faint.

Henry tore his gaze off her and examined the crowd.

“Thanks for listening. I’m here all night—try the champagne.

” He began to walk away and stopped, snapping his fingers.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Anyone who thinks they can talk shit about Tia or her family will find themselves on the wrong side of the Pearlmatters, so if I were you, I’d be very fucking careful before I start getting fire-happy. ”

“That goes for the Truenotes, too,” Bastian called out, grinning foolishly.

Emma glanced at Tia, shy but sure. “And the Bluewaters.”

“And the Goodnights.” Gabriel nodded at her, stern with soft eyes.

Leah danced on the spot, clapping her hands, tears spilling over her cheeks. “And the Turners!”

“Uh… Leah…”

She rolled her eyes at Gabriel. “Whatever. We’d still bring it hard.”

Tia’s chest felt too full, pressure building behind her eyes at them all standing up for her, even Leah, whose human status wasn’t worth anything to these people but everything to her.

Back on the stage, Henry arched a single eyebrow at the shocked audience. “You’ve been warned. Happy New Year, y’all.”

He jumped off stage to a few stray claps. The crowd parted as he came for her, all bemused at what to do. One of its leading sons had told them to fuck off. Did they snub him? Did they pretend it never happened?

They were nothing more than ghosts as Henry stopped in front of her. This close, there was so much skin on show it was distracting, muscles under taut flesh and a smoky scent that sank into her lungs.

They stared at each other for a solid thirty seconds before he finally spoke. “Hi.”

“Hi?” she repeated, voice strangled. She tried to form words. “Henry. What. How. You.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “I’ve finally made you speechless.”

A noise left her. “What the hell?”

“What?”

“You’re naked.”

“Not really.” He looked down as if to confirm. “This was the original consequence of the bet, right?”

Loser has to attend a society ball in their underwear .

Her jaw literally dropped. Then she shut it with a snap. She’d forgotten about the bet; it felt like a thousand years ago. “You didn’t lose the bet.”

“No.” Emotion moved in his face, dark, anguished. “I lost something much more important.”

Her breath stuttered.

He hesitated before reaching out and lifting her hand. His touch sparked embers under her skin, spreading heat where she’d felt only cold for days.

“Did you get my gifts?” he asked softly. “My notes?”

She nodded.

“I meant every word in them. And I meant every word up there, too.” His thumb brushed her knuckles, unlocking feelings she’d tried to bury since the night of the Snowflake Ball.

“I’m fighting for you, Tia. And now I’ll have a lot of free time to show you I couldn’t give two shits what last name you have. Just as long as I can call you mine.”

She would not cry. She would not fucking cry.

Her voice was thick, more breathless than angry as she concentrated on the part of his sentence she had issue with. “Over my dead body are you quitting the company.”

“It’s done.” He nipped his way down her knuckles.

“No,” she denied stubbornly, warning her knees to hold their ground as they softened like butter.

“Yes,” he countered. “I told my dad. Twice, in fact. Once when I resigned and once at the house when he came after me.”

She hesitated. “Are you…okay?”

“It’s weird,” he answered after a pause. “Like I feel like I should be doing something. Conditioned, I guess. But I’ll be okay.”

He’d quit. Told his dad. She dragged in a breath. “You stood up to your dad. For me?”

“For you. And for me.” He squeezed her hand. “It was time.”

“I can’t believe you quit.” She shook her head. Gripped him. “Take it back.”

Humor lightened his face. “No.”

“Yes,” she hissed. “You love working. You’re the heir.”

“Now I’m not.”

“Henry Charles.”

His eyes gained a deep cast. “I love when you call me that.”

She felt panic pinch her insides as he tugged her, drawing her close. “You didn’t have to quit. I don’t want that.”

“I know. But you needed to know that I’ll always choose you. That you’re worth that.” He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “I’m all in, little moth. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to trust me again.”