Page 20 of The Witch’s Shifter (Season of the Witch #3)

It wasn’t my intention to bring this up. My relationship with Aurora is complicated and hard to explain to someone on a good day, and I certainly never expected to be asked about it by my ex-fiancée.

I quickly ask myself, Am I ashamed? And the answer is no. I’m proud to love Aurora and to be loved by her in return; no one’s judgement is going to change that.

After swallowing my bread and taking another drink, I sit back from the table and level a look at Belinda. “No, it’s not my child.”

Now it’s Belinda’s turn to be confused. A furrow forms between her dark eyebrows, and it’s still there when the tavern maid returns with two big bowls of steaming potato soup.

“It’s hot,” she says while setting the utensils down. “Don’t burn yourself, hon.” Then she’s gone, leaving the two of us in uncomfortable silence.

I let Belinda work through what I’ve said and focus on my meal instead.

It looks rich and hearty, with big chunks of carrot, celery, and potato floating in the creamy soup.

Tearing off a chunk of the cheesy bread, I dip it into the soup and put it in my mouth, and though I burn myself a bit, the flavor is worth it.

Potato soup has always been my weakness.

That and little green-haired witches, it seems.

“I don’t get it,” Belinda finally says. She’s not yet tasted her meal, too focused on staring at me. “You’re with this woman, but she’s carrying another man’s child? And you’re okay with that?”

I shrug. “It was surprising at first, but we’re all working through it.”

“All? Who’s all ?”

My sigh is heavy. “Me, Aurora, and Rowan, the baby’s father.

” Saying it, I remember Faolan standing in the parlor, announcing Aurora is his mate .

I think I’ll keep that bit of information to myself though.

I’m not even sure how I’d explain it if Belinda asked.

“It sounds odd,” I admit. Then I take a bite of potato soup and shrug. “But it works for us.”

Belinda picks up her spoon and stirs her soup with a furrow in her brow—and if it’s the same furrow I remember, it’s one of annoyance, which annoys me in return.

“Why do you care?” I ask. My grip on my spoon tightens.

That draws her sharp gaze back to mine.

“Because I think you deserve better than that.”

“ Better meaning . . . ?”

Belinda rolls her eyes like it should be obvious. I’d almost forgotten how much that used to irk me. “A woman who doesn’t need to sleep with other men to feel satisfied in her relationship with you.”

Her words pierce me through the chest, but perhaps not in the way she intended.

I know how Aurora feels about me, and I know how I feel about her. Belinda knows nothing about it, yet she feels certain enough in her opinions to pass judgement, and that stokes an ember of anger deep inside my chest.

“That’s bold,” I say, “coming from the woman who left me, married another man, and then invited me to dinner without her husband.”

The soft honey in her eyes turns molten. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And neither do you.”

Her scowl intensifies. But I’m not taking my words back. It’s all true.

A few minutes pass in bitter silence. I tear bread from the loaf and chew it with more exertion than necessary. Belinda slurps her soup quietly and then glares out the window.

“Now what?” I ask. “Is that the real reason you asked me to join you tonight? You wanted to know about Aurora?”

She doesn’t answer, and knowing her, I’m aware that means yes .

“Why do you care about her?” I press. “Why do you care about me?”

Still, she doesn’t reply.

“Belinda!”

She jumps at the intensity in my tone, but it finally gets her to reply. “Because I think I made a bad choice, okay?” she snaps, voice so loud and cutting that the people at the table near ours glance in our direction. When her eyes meet mine, they’re brimming with tears.

I’ve always hated seeing her cry. But it’s different now. I don’t reach out, don’t try to pull her into my arms or wipe her tears away. And when one streaks down her cheek and slips off her chin, I just sigh.

“A bad choice in leaving me? Or in moving here and marrying your husband?”

She shakes her head and bites her bottom lip.

“I don’t know... Maybe both.” Using one hand, she wipes her tears away.

Again, the ring on her finger catches the light, like it’s aware of this entire conversation and is mocking us.

“I was just thinking about my life today, about how it may have been different if I’d stayed in Faunwood.

And then there you were, like a... like a sign.

” A humorless laugh slips from her lips. “It sounds stupid now.”

“No,” I say softly, setting my spoon down. Some of my anger ebbs away. “Not stupid. I understand. And if we’d met like this last year, maybe things would be different. But I love Aurora, and I’m comfortable with our situation, though I know it’s strange.”

Seeing Belinda like this, sitting across from me with tears in her eyes, I’m reminded of a recurring dream I used to have back before I met Aurora.

I’d dream of Belinda begging me to take her back; sometimes we’d make passionate love while she still had her wedding ring on, and I’d feel vindicated when I woke.

I thought it impossible for those dreams to play out in real life, but here she is, gazing at me with a mess of emotions dancing in her eyes and streaking down her cheeks.

And I never thought I’d turn her down. But despite her smooth dark skin and gleaming hair, despite her pink lips and the softness that I know is her body, I’m not tempted. Not one little bit.

Because I already have a woman. I have my little witch.

One of Belinda’s hands is clenched into a fist on the table, and I gently reach out to place mine atop it. She flinches, then softens.

“I’m sorry, Belinda. Truly.” My anger has fully dissipated now that I understand what she’s going through.

“Don’t be.” She shakes her head, sending her hair dancing around her shoulders.

“It was foolish of me. And... And I’m sorry for what I said.

About Aurora.” Her hand moves in mine, and then she twines our fingers together.

Though familiar, it’s not as comfortable as I remember.

“I suppose it just made me jealous, hearing you speak of her that way.” She squeezes my hand in hers.

“You’re a good person, Alden. A much better person than I am. ”

The rest of our dinner is quiet. We don’t speak much, and even the potato soup seems to have lost some of its taste.

Every time I look at Belinda, her gaze is faraway, and she scarcely meets my eyes.

I try to pay for the meal when we’ve finished, but she doesn’t allow it, insisting she was the one to invite me out.

And the next thing I know, we’re standing on the cobbles outside, our breath steaming in the cold autumn air.

“Can I walk you home?” I ask.

Belinda shakes her head. “No, better we part ways here.” She looks up at me, and though she’s smiling, it looks sad.

I’ve dreamt of this too, of breaking her heart the way she broke mine. But right now, it doesn’t feel near as good as I thought it would.

“Can I ask you for one last thing?” she says, voice barely a whisper.

I nod.

“Will you kiss me? Just one more time?” When she meets my eyes again, hers are glassy in the moonlight.

Softly, I reach out, and Belinda releases a breath when I wrap my hand around the back of her slender neck.

But when I pull her in, it’s only to press a kiss to the soft spot between her brows.

She reaches up to put her hand on mine, her wedding ring cold against my skin, and quietly, she starts to cry.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, lips still skimming her brow.

Pulling away, she breaks free of my touch. “Thank you, Alden. For everything.” A few tears snake down her cheeks. “I hope you find everything you’re looking for.”

I’ve already found it , I think, though I don’t say it aloud.

“Good night, Belinda.”

Her chest hitches with a sob, and she reaches up to cover her mouth with a hand. “Good night.”

Then she turns, dark emerald cloak whipping in the breeze, and she strides quickly away from me, though I can still hear her cries as she goes.

It doesn’t make me feel good, not one bit, but I still can’t find that I’ve done anything wrong.

And even as I stand here watching Belinda melt into the shadows of the night, my mind tugs me back to Aurora, back to that cramped little cottage with too many men, and a tingle of excitement goes through me at the thought of seeing her tomorrow, of pulling her into my arms and feeling the beat of her heart against mine.

I wasn’t sure what I was looking for when I met Aurora, but now that I’ve found it, I realize everything else pales in comparison.

Even the beautiful woman I used to call my love.