Page 21

Chapter Twenty-One

W hit clenched his jaw. It wasn’t his habit to turn his back to someone who was showing him clear hostility—especially a summer sorcerer who’d threatened his life. But as Clover started up the staircase, he went against his instincts and followed her deeper into enemy territory.

He hadn’t heard the whole argument, but he’d heard enough. He’d heard her mother tell her that if she hid their marriage, it was because she knew it was wrong, and he’d heard Clover assert that she felt it was right.

Despite the clearly tense atmosphere, the fact that Clover believed marrying him was the right thing to do had made his heart flutter. And when she’d stepped in front of her brother and called Whit her husband, he’d thought his heart might explode. Whether she actually believed her words or was just saying so to defend her position hadn’t factored into his physical reaction. At the very least, her words in the face of her family’s reaction told him she was committed to this decision.

Whit watched Clover’s back as they climbed the stairs. Her shoulders were tight and her footfalls heavy—stomping with every step. She practically vibrated with anger.

He frowned. This was one of those situations he’d promised to help her through in his marriage vows. And maybe if he knew her better—if they loved each other and had gone about this whole thing the proper way—he would know what to do. He would know what she needed. Did she need comfort? Did she want him to fight back? Let her handle it? Be angry along with her? Calm her down? He just didn’t know.

On the second floor, they traveled down the hallway to a door, which opened to a set of stairs. She stomped loudly up these stairs as well.

The attic bedroom—Clover’s bedroom—was a quiet haven. He took in his surroundings, trying to learn everything he could about her from how she chose to live.

Drying herbs hung from the rafters, and there were bookshelves full of neatly labeled jars. A door led to a small bathroom, and another set of stairs climbed to a loft bed. The place felt magical, like the cottage home of a kindly witch in a storybook.

It will take a lot of boxes to move all these jars.

She stopped before two large suitcases and a few milk crates filled with jars. She didn’t turn to face him.

“I’ve already packed all of my clothes and anything I’ll need right away,” she said softly.

Whit couldn’t decipher the emotion in her tone.

“Do you think we’ll be able to move the rest of this out this weekend?”

He glanced around the space more critically. “You won’t need to bring any furniture, so yeah, I think we can get it all in a few trips especially if we use both my truck and your van. I’ve brought some boxes. Do you want me to go get them?”

She spun around to face him. “Let’s go down together.”

He wanted to reassure the worry in her eyes. Did she not think he could take her brother should it come to a fight? But then he thought better of it. This was a no-win situation for her. She would lose no matter who won.

He took up the heavy suitcases, and she lifted a milk crate into her arms, the jars softly clinking together.

When they reached the ground floor, they found Clover’s mother and father sitting on the couch. Her brother and her friend—whom Whit had recognized as the fairy from the party—were nowhere in sight. Her father was speaking quietly to her mother. They both stood when they saw Clover and Whit.

Her mother’s expression was much tighter as if she was damming up a flood of emotions. She held out her hand palm up. “Give me the keys to the van.”

The blood drained from Clover’s face. “Are you firing me?”

Her mother scowled. “How is Llew going to make deliveries without the van?” she snapped.

After lowering her crate to the floor, Clover produced her keys and removed the key in question.

Whit tried not to squirm in the uncomfortable atmosphere. Clover’s mother refused to look at him, but her father leveled a serious yet inscrutable stare at him.

“I’m… Well, obviously I’m moving out. I should have everything done by Monday, so I’ll be back to work then.”

“Maybe you should take more time,” her father said, his tone hard.

Clover blinked, and her mother’s expression saddened as she looked at her husband.

“What do you mean, Dad?”

“What I said. Don’t come to work Monday. We all have a lot to think about, and some time to ourselves will only do everyone good.”

Clover bit her lip. “So you are firing me.”

“We’re not—” Clover’s mom started.

“Actions have consequences, Clover,” her dad cut in.

Clover lowered her eyes to the floor. Without another word, she picked her crate back up and went out the front door.

Whit hesitated, meeting both of his in-laws’ eyes in turn. This isn’t the time for a discussion, he decided. Dipping his head at them, he followed Clover outside.

After loading her suitcases and crate into the bed of his truck, Whit turned his gaze to Clover. Her hands clutched her elbows, and her shoulders were hunched. She seemed very small to him in that moment.

“Do you want to take these boxes upstairs and fill them?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Do you mind”—her voice broke and was shaky as she tried again—“Do you mind if we just take this stuff and come back when they’re gone?”

His eyebrows crinkled. And when she looked up at him, her eyes shimmered with tears like fresh rain on cornflower petals.

His heart squeezed, and his stomach rolled. He didn’t like that look on her face at all. Everything within him screamed to do something. But what? He stood frozen.

Finally, swallowing a lump in his throat, he nodded.

But his response did not seem to relieve her. Tears spilled down her face.

Hesitatingly, he reached out and brushed his fingers against one of the hands that clutched her elbows.

Without warning, Clover burst into sobs. Throwing herself at him, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.

A flurry of emotions cycloned inside Whit as his heart raced. Gently, he encircled her in his embrace, hoping this was what she needed.