“I do,” I murmur, drugged by her affection.
“And do you want to spend another second worrying about Sev and his deal-making drama?”
“No.”
Her smile is wide as she clasps my hand and draws me away from the gaudy house.
“Good. Because from today forward, I plan to forget about him.”
My feet don’t hesitate to follow, each step lighter than the last as I realize that, finally, I can leave the toxic mess of my past behind.
The future is mine to make what I want from it, with the witch that I love.
47
Bo
Mor saidthe Halloween Ball is a Folk Haven tradition. One she plans to participate in. When I asked Anthony about what I should wear—since he is the most fashionable Shelly—he told me not to worry about it.
I figured that meant that even though it’s called a ball, it’s not actually a dress-up event. Like maybe I should just put on my newest pair of jeans and make sure that I have an ironed button-down. The Shelly sisters, I found out when I officially moved in a week ago, do not own an ironing board. Or an iron.
Or at least, they didn’t. Now, they do.
I showed Mor the closet I stored it in.
“Oh. Thank you. I guess it’s good to have one on hand,” she said.
Maybe she has a spell to do away with wrinkles, but I, a mere monster, do not. So, the day before Halloween, I made sure to iron my dress shirt—and my jeans, too, for good measure.
But the moment I walk into the kitchen to find Jack leaning on the counter, dressed head to toe in a black suit as he eatsstraight from a box of cereal, I realize all my preparation was nowhere near enough.
“It’s, uh … black tie?” I ask, hearing the defeat in my voice.
I’ve never even touched a black tie, much less owned one to wear. Jack might have a spare he could lend me, but not an entire suit. I mean, even if the wolf did, he’s a leaner build than I am. I’d bust the seams.
Gods, I’m going to embarrass Mor. If she’s dressed half as nice as Jack, I’ll still look like a can of Coors next to a bottle of prosecco.
Side note: buy Mor multiple bottles of prosecco to apologize for this.
“Yeah,” Jack says in a disinterested tone, definitely not internally panicking like I am. “Go talk to Anthony.”
I don’t see how that will help. He was the first one I asked. The one who told me not to worry about it. Did the witch just assume I had a suit in my closet? Maybe that’s how fashionable the former model is. He couldn’t fathom my wardrobe wouldn’t have at least one formalwear outfit.
And even if I find the Shelly and explain to him that, no, I don’t have anything nicer than jeans because I’ve only just started to save up enough money to shop somewhere other than a thrift store, it’s not like he’ll be able to do anything about it before the ball. He and Broderick are also slim, compared to me, as well as shorter.
Mahon’s build is like mine, but I doubt that bear shifter has formalwear.
Shoulders slumped in dejected embarrassment, I trudge toward the front of the house, planning on going upstairs and confessing my misstep to Mor.
Will she ask me to stay home?
Not likely. She’ll probably assure me this doesn’t matter. Tell me to come in my jeans and shirt. She might even dress down to match.
I won’t let her do that. I know her fairy-tale-loving heart is probably all about a fancy ball gown. I should’ve known …
“Bo! There you are.” Anthony hustles toward me, dressed in a perfectly fitted crimson suit. “You need to get dressed.”
Once again, I stare down at my perfectly ironed shirt and jeans that I was proud of not too long ago. “I am,” I mumble.
