“Revenge,” I murmur.
“Just as long as you don’t get attached,” he adds, shooting me a pointed look.
“If you’re worried about me falling in love, don’t. That’s off the table.”
Wait.
The puker’s a witch, which means she might be at the ball. Seeing her again, along with the idea of dragging my lips down her neck, might be worth dressing up for.
I lean back and stretch my legs in front of me. “Why’re they holding a ball? It can’t just be to marry off a daughter.”
He smirks. “Word is they’re losing magic and getting her hitched, as they say, will restore it.”
Thisisnews.The Thornroses are weak.Huh. “What should I wear?”
“A tuxedo? Hell, how should I know?”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
He runs a hand down his face. “Fine. I’ll find out and let you know. Does that mean you’re going?”
“It means,” I say, crossing one ankle over the other, “that I’ll think about it.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “I know you too well. You’re going. Come on. Let’s see what you’re supposed to wear to a witch ball.”
He gets up and heads inside, recruiting Ryals along the way. Unlike Trawick, I’m in no hurry to sort through my closet for a tux.
I watch them go while tapping my fingers against the iron table. Who would have thought the Thornroses would be desperate to pawn off their daughter? This opportunity’s too precious to let pass by.
It also means I can finally get what I want.
To destroy them.
7
“Why is this entire dress made of lace?” I demand, plucking at the purple fabric that’s clinging to my arms, throat and back. It feels like the whole thing’s made of tags, and all I want to do is rip it off.
“Because,” Ovie replies, her fingers smoothing the shoulder seams that refuse to lay flat against my skin, “this is what the witch who’s being presented wears.”
My reflection tells the tale of a woman forced to do the opposite of what she wants. My hair’s pinned high on my head, with only a few strands cascading to my shoulders. The dress is beautiful—purple lace with a black sweetheart-necklined bodice underneath and a full bell-shaped black satin skirt with a slit up the side.
Beside me, Blair runs a hand over a silky lavender strapless gown that ripples like water when she walks. My other sisters are also wearing dresses similar to Blair’s. Jealousy is a prickly barb that seems to be growing exponentially in my gut.
“It’s only for one night,” Blair says to me.
I tip my face to hers and grimace. “One night of sheer torture.”
Ovie rolls her eyes. “Fine. See if this helps.”
She taps my shoulder with her finger, and golden magic spills over me, wrapping me up in a shimmering cocoon before it vanishes. The itchiness immediately eases.
I exhale and my red, irritated skin calms. “Better,” I confess.
My aunt smiles. She’s wearing an emerald-green, high-necked dress that cinches at the waist and splits at her hips, revealing silk pants beneath. How I wish that I was wearing that.
But a minute after she spells me, the itchiness returns and all I want to do is tear the dress off.
“Girls!” Ovie claps above the chatter and rustling of fabric. My sisters turn to give her their full attention. “It’s almost time to go out. All of y’all may dance with whomever asks, but remember—this is Addie’s night. She’s supposed to find a suitor first.”
