Page 56 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

If she could’ve swooned without ruining her badass reputation, Tia thought she’d already be on the floor. He’d taken his step. Actually, he’d taken several. Now, her turn. “Henry, look at me.”

“I am.”

“What am I wearing?”

His gaze slid down admiringly. “A dress.”

Save her from men. “And?”

“And…”

He finally saw the beads. She knew because his whole body stiffened. Hope warmed his face, the sun peeking from under a dark cloud.

She smiled through the suspicious water in her eyes.

“You were right,” she said, willing her husky voice to steady.

“I should’ve talked to you instead of hiding behind arguments.

I felt you pulling away and it terrified me how much it hurt.

Better to quit you before you realized I wasn’t worth the hassle. ”

“Tia.”

She touched her hand to his lips. “Both of us hate losing. It’s why we fight so much, I guess, never wanting the other to have the upper hand.

Love…gives the other person the power, makes us vulnerable, and neither of us is comfortable with that.

But if we’re going to win, we have to stop fighting with each other and start fighting for each other.

Every day. Even if it means risking everything.

Even if it means trusting the other person won’t let go or hurt us.

We’ve both made mistakes.” She licked her dry lips under Henry’s stare, against the building heat as his fire magic flared.

“We both let go, stayed away, because it was easier to protect ourselves. I don’t want to take the easy way. I want to be better than that.”

Behind Henry, Emma caught her eye. Her friend nodded at her, tearfully.

Tia swallowed, heart in her throat as she went over the precipice.

“I choose to love you, Henry Charles Pearlmatter. Even with our past, our mistakes, our history. Because choosing to forgive, choosing to love you every day and giving you that power again, doesn’t make me weak. It makes me strong .”

Henry’s smile was brilliant in its joy. “Say it again.”

It was instinct to make a joke, that she wasn’t about to stroke his ego by saying he was right a second time.

But instead, she breathed out shakily and held on to him. “I’m so fucking sorry. And I love you, too.”

His mouth crashed onto hers and she threaded her hands through his hair, reveling in the feel of him, the beloved taste, everything pure Henry. Her Henry.

Even when his mouth became desperate, when his hands clutched at her, when heat collected under her skin and desire clenched in her belly, they clung to each other.

Finally, she broke away, gasping as she turned her cheek for air. His mouth skimmed it, toward her ear. “Want to get out of here?”

“Fuck, yes,” she groaned and felt his laugh like it came from her own soul.

When they drew back, all the tension had melted from him. From her, too. Instead, she finally felt light. Almost a decade of regret sloughed off like old skin.

He grinned at her, boyish. “Admit it. The nudity won you over.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes like getting him against a flat surface was the farthest thing from her mind. “Put some clothes on, you egomaniac.”

Something lit his gaze, something she didn’t trust. “Right,” he purred. “I should do that.”

She frowned as he swiveled, searching for someone. When he gestured, it was Isabella who walked toward them, a bundle of fabric in her arms.

Tia’s eyes darted from the High daughter dressed in emerald satin to Henry. Light dawned as Isabella reached them.

“You knew about this?” she accused her quasi-friend.

Isabella’s smile was serene. “I know everything.” She handed the bundle off to Henry. “But I may dabble in areas when I know I can help.”

Tia narrowed her gaze. “What did you…?” She cut herself off. “Next tea, you’re spilling it all.”

Isabella’s smile took on a shade of soft delight. “Of course.” Then, in front of society, she took Henry’s hand in one of hers and Tia’s in the other. “Better entertainment than I could’ve hoped for,” she simpered. She squeezed once, glanced around at the gaping witches and left them to it.

“She gave us her seal of approval,” Tia murmured, watching Isabella’s white curls bob away into the crowd.

“Well, you’re friends, right?” Henry unfolded one T-shirt, slipping it over his head.

Tia’s smile was soft as she watched Isabella disappear into her role. Whoever she ended up with would need to be light on his feet to keep up. “Yeah,” she agreed. “We are.”

Really freaking happy, she turned back to Henry—and stopped dead. Bold text stretched over Henry’s chest, black on white.

DADDY.

“What the…?” Sudden comprehension gripped her. She stepped back. “No.”

Henry waggled the other T-shirt. “A bet’s a bet, Celestia. Or are you a welsher?”

Damn it all to hell.

Henry watched with obvious amusement as she ripped the T-shirt out of his hand and yanked it over her head. She smoothed out the words as if they didn’t make her spine tingle with embarrassment.

Henry was pure male satisfaction as he examined her. “Daddy’s girl,” he read, deep and on the edge of laughter. “I like it.”

Ugh. “I’m on top when we get home,” she grumbled, trying to save face.

“Whatever your fragile female ego needs.”

He grabbed her, narrowly avoiding her fist, and kissed her. She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him back, ignoring that all of society was watching her give in to him. They gave in to each other.

She had Henry and he had her. That was all that mattered.