CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Skye
We catch the last of the flying hearts, stuffing them into a large transparent bag, where they continue to flap around like a love-themed snow globe. Hannah checks with Severin about keeping the hearts in the greenhouse. “We’ll try keeping them with the walking tulips and rolling pumpkins, and see if that makes them happy.”
“Oh, god.” Kayla lets out a groan and scrubs at her face. “We’re going to have to look at Valentine’s hearts all year long now, aren’t we?”
“Yep,” Autumn says.
“Well, I like it,” I say. “A few hearts never hurt anyone.”
The purple-haired witch’s lips twitch. “Yeah, well, not all of us can be kidnapped by a dragon and kept in his castle.”
“Speaking of which. I should get back to the castle.” I gesture toward the window table, where Luke waits. “Thanksfor helping me out of the gossip sinkhole.”
“Just don’t go near Bling It On anytime soon.” Hannah grins. “Or the entire town will be convinced you’re shopping for engagement rings.”
The others laugh, and I try to as well. But the gossip network got everything wrong. So completely and utterly wrong.
The photo fills my mind: me smiling with little cartoon hearts in my eyes, while Luke looks like Luke always looks, resting grumpy face and all.
We’re not “in love” like everyone in town keeps texting. In love implies reciprocated feelings, and this is purely a one-way street.
I turn to the table, breath catching as the morning sunshine falls across the beautiful lines of Luke’s face, burnishing his horns and making his hair flare like fire. My heart pinches with the most bittersweet of aches.
He’s grumpy, sure, but underneath all that grump is a man who constantly helps others, expecting nothing but cool disdain in return. He renovated his entire castle just so I’d feel comfortable for a couple of weeks and installed cat doors and cat beds everywhere for Princess Buttercup. Luke’s also the most intelligent person I’ve ever met, his mind so brilliant he takes my breath away every day.
The picture showed it all so very clearly: I love him.
But he doesn’t love me.
Gossip crisis averted, we spend the next day and a half throwing ourselves into our research, clearing shelf after shelf of the witch collection, looking for more books with dark-purple auras.
Luke also refuses to let us slack off on our dance practices, and every moment spent in his arms is the sweetest of tortures. We move together so much better now, our bodies growing familiar with one another in a way that feels almost magical. We even manage to do one successful lift, with me hanging in the air above him, held up by the incredibly strong grip of his large hands on my hips.
By the time the golden sparkles surround us to whisk us into the book, I’m hopeful we’ll ace any dancing we may need to do without too many upsets.
We appear in the middle of the dance studio, Luke already holding me in his arms. His hand flexes on my bare shoulder blade, and I gasp, glancing down to find my adorable sailor jeans and off-the-shoulder sweater combo have disappeared to be replaced by a ballroom dancing dress that has less visible fabric than some of my lingerie!
Ropes of fake pearls hold flimsy scraps of pale pink in place over my breasts and hips, while skin-colored fabric covers the rest of my torso. I glance in the mirror, and yep! From only a couple of feet away, I look like I’m practicallynude.
And Luke! I give another gasp as my eyes drink him in. Luke wears blue satin pants made from a material so thin they beat gray sweatpants for “most likely to show a bulge.” His dress shirt is completely transparent, the gauzy fabric clinging to his muscled chest and shoulders.
“By the goddess, what are you wearing?” He glances down. “Strike that. What amIwearing?”
“Luke, Skye, love the costumes. It’s so good to see you getting into the spirit of things.” Miss Michelle glides toward us. “Are you ready to mambo?”
“Mambo?” I mumble through numb lips. We haven’t practiced that one!
“Hell, yeah, Miss M,” Luke says, the male book character taking over. “Finally a sexy one.”
“Oh, Luke.” My eyelashes flutter furiously as the book takes control of my body. I swat his chest with the back of my hand. “You’re too much.”
“It’s all you, babe.” He picks up my hand and presses a kiss to the palm. “I see you in this dress, and all I can think are sexy thoughts.”
The instructor laughs. “Channel those into your dance, young man.”
Fortunately, this time, the scene starts at the beginning of the dance lesson, and we get a good twenty minutes of Miss Michelle taking us through the basic steps. “One, step forward on two, three, step back on four. One, step backward on two, three, step forward on four.”
