Yes, my heart whispers.
No, my brain shouts.
When I withdraw, I’m breathless, panting. My cheeks redden. I’m making a fool of myself in front of Callista and Perdita, but it’s impossible not to when he kisses like that. I can’t bear to look at them. I don’t want to know what they think of me.
I can’t do this. I’m too twisted up. I don’t trust myself with him, and I can’t trust him when there’s a secret between us.
Callista makes an aggrieved sound in her throat. Alaric whispers, “I will be with you as soon as I can get away. We need to speakurgently.”
I nod, swallowing against the stone. I tear myself away from him and run from the room before he can see the tears beading at the corners of my eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
WINNIE
Ihead straight to my room and sit heavily on the side of the bed. Despite the thick walls of the castle, I can hear Alaric and his mother yelling at each other. At the words “She’s not one of us,” fresh tears stream down my cheeks.
I’m still the dirty girl, the one who wasn’t good enough for her mother to love more than her stuff. But through my humiliation, fresh questions flood my mind.Why is Alaric’s mother so young? Why did Perdita call me “human” like it was an insult? What was Alaric about to tell me before Callista interrupted?
My infatuation with Alaric has stopped me from seeing this situation clearly. I ball my hands into fists and shove them in my eyes, trying to force myself to stop crying.
And then I glance at my phone and notice the date and time.
It’s Wednesday, 6.22 pm.
I’m supposed to be going to the weekly meeting of the Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven.
I don’t know any of the women that well. It’s too soon to say we’re friends, but right now all I want to do is be surrounded by their bubbly energy. I imagine Celeste plying me with delicioustreats and Mina handing me a tea. I imagine telling them about Alaric’s mother showing up with his future wife, and him pretending that we’re engaged, and all the weird stuff that’s been going on. I imagine how they would listen and hug me and argue over exactly what I should do.
They would tell me tonotbe like the heroines of many of our favourite novels and rush off without letting Alaric explain.
Even though my skin crawls with invisible bugs and I have the same desperate need to flee that I had when I lived with my mum, I decide it’s time to make Alaric tell me what’s going on in his own words.
I’m not a prisoner in this castle. I can leave.
I hunt around for an outfit that might stand up against Perdita and Callista, eventually throwing on a wrap dress in a bright purple. I then relight the candles in my candelabra, shove my feet into a pair of patent leather ankle boots, and clomp downstairs.
As I pass by the arrow slits in the walls of the tower staircase, I see Callista and Perdita walking around the courtyard outside, their heads bent together in secret conversation, while the two young guys they brought with them walk a few steps behind. I wish I could hear what they’re saying.
I check the sitting room and Alaric’s study. He’s not there. Nor is he in the ballroom. I contemplate heading up to his family chapel when I hear a squeaking noise coming from the drawing room where he keeps his potter’s wheel.
“Damn you, Alaric.” I don’t want to go in there and remember when he straddled the wheel behind me and I leaned back against his hard chest and …
Nope, not thinking about it. I’m going to be strong. I’m going to getanswers.
I cross the cluttered hallway and peer through the crack in the door.
He’s bent over a wheel that’s not spinning, his strong hands digging into a ball of clay, moulding and shaping it to his will. His brow furrows in concentration and I freeze, transfixed by the sight of him utterlyenraptured with his art.
Mirabelle darts between my legs and leaps onto his lap, scattering tools and tubs of glaze. Alaric wipes his hands on a nearby towel, before reaching out and scooping her against his chest, his head lowering so she can nuzzle his chin. Their tenderness makes the butterflies in my belly dance, but I have to be strong. I can’t break my resolve just because he’s kissing the top of her little head?—
“Alaric.”
His head jerks up, his eyes reflecting the dancing candlelight. Mirabelle glares at me, as if confirming that I don’t belong as part of their family.
“Winnie.” His voice is clipped. “You are still here?”
“Shouldn’t I be here?” My harsh voice echoes from the vaulted ceiling.
