Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“This is the best cake you’ve ever made,” Prim says, moaning, her eyeballs rolling around in their sockets like she’s close to having a food-induced orgasm.
“Oh … kay,” I say, peering from my older sister to my best friend. He’s poking the cake with his fork as if he expects it to come alive at any moment. He obviously disagrees with her assessment. “You usually hate cake,” I point out.
“I’ve never hated cake,” Prim says. “I’ve always loved cake. But Norman–”
“Norman,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this next bit?”
“He had us on a healthy-eating diet.”
“Ugh,” I say.
“I’m so glad you dumped that boy,” Tiggie pipes up, wandering round Horatio’s living room with a large glass of wine in her hand, examining all the stylish furniture and accompanying decor. “Molly, why doesn’t your flat look like this?”
I point towards the kitchen with my fork. Horatio and Alex are currently in there together, apparently concocting complicated-sounding cocktails.
“Because Horatio’s a banker,” I remind her, “and earns a lot of money, and I do not.”
“I don’t see why,” Prim says, pinching crumbs from her plate between her finger and forefinger and eating those too. “If your cakes are this good, how is your cupcake business not making a fortune?”
I feel my cheeks burn.
“Yeah, Molly,” Damien says with a wicked grin. “Why isn’t your cupcake business making a fortune?”
“Lots of competition,” I say. “It’s a hard business.”
Prim, who knows nothing really about the civilian world, accepts this answer without further question, and I suppress the urge to let out a big sigh of relief.
“I don’t know why you don’t just get a regular job,” Tiggie says, flopping down on the sofa beside me.
“What kind of regular job could I get? I’ve got no witching qualifications.”
“You could be an influencer. Like me,” Tiggie says, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Or, you know, Mum would love you to take over the family business.”
“Oh my sweet pumpkins! Can you imagine me spending all day cleaning?” I actually shudder at the thought.
Damien cackles because he has seen the extent of my messiness – he once had to come and rescue me from a pile of dirty washing that had gotten totally out of control.
“No, I’m perfectly happy with what I do. ”
“What do you do?” Alex says, walking into the living room alongside Horatio, who has a tray full of cocktails balanced in his hands. “I don’t think I ever asked you that.”
I swallow, my eyes darting first to Horatio and then to Damien in desperation. While my cupcake business cover story is enough to fool my family, I doubt it will hold up to scrutiny by an actual civilian who knows how things work in the ordinary world.
Luckily, Horatio has no desire to torture me like my demon best friend does and comes to my rescue, deftly changing the subject.
“Spicy Pineapple Margaritas,” he says. “Careful, they’re very strong. They’ll probably knock your socks off.”
Damien snorts at that idea, grabs one from the tray and knocks it straight back. Once his glass is drained, he shrugs nonchalantly. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Whoah!” Alex eyes him in an impressed manner. “There’s a lot of spice in those.”
Damien simply shrugs again and leans back on the sofa.
Horatio offers me a glass and I take it from his hand, sipping at the yellow-coloured liquid. Immediately I’m blinking back tears.
“Holy hexes!” I exclaim. “Why would you make something like that?”
“Ooo, you’re not one of those masochists, are you? Into BDSM?” Damien leans forward again, his eyes suddenly alight with curiosity and interest.
“Are you?” Prim asks, eyeing the glass in her hand and hiccuping.
“Shit, are you?” Alex says.
“No,” Horatio exclaims. “Bloody hell, no. That’s how rumours start.”
“Are you a dom, then?” Damien asks.
“No!”
“It’s just you are very clean cut,” Tiggie points out. “And your shoes are exceedingly shiny.”
“And you do have that sort of authoritarian manner about you, Horatio,” Damien adds, everyone nodding in agreement.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Horatio says. “I’m pretty vanilla.”
I’m halfway through a sip of my cocktail and I have to stop myself from choking.
Okay. He might not be kinky, but the things that man did between my legs were definitely not vanilla. Anything but.
“That is disappointing.” Damien flings himself back against the cushions. “Not even a little bit?”
“Nope.”
“Not even a teeny tiny bit?”
“Not even spanking?” Tiggie says, looking slightly outraged.
“I don’t know,” Horatio says, staring into his drink. “I’ve never tried it, but–”
“Have you tried it, Molly?” Damien says, making all the colour return straight up to my cheeks.
“You should,” Tiggie says, leaning in and attempting to whisper. However, in her drunken state her words are louder than her normal speaking voice. “It’s really good.”
“You’ve tried that?” Prim asks our little sister, shocked and scandalised.
“Yes,” Tiggie sits up straight. “And so should you,” she says, pointing at Prim. “And you,” she says, pointing at me. “And you,” she says, pointing at Horatio.
“And that,” I say, placing my drink on the coffee table in front of me, “is probably our cue to leave.”
“Why are you being such a prude, Molly?” Tiggie asks. “Prim’s the prude, not you.”
“Hey,” Prim says. “I’m not a prude.”
“I bet you have sex with the lights off,” Tiggie mumbles.
I can see this is going to spiral into a sibling argument, so I stand up, tugging on Tiggie’s sleeve and forcing her to her feet too.
“Thank you for the nightcap,” I say to Horatio. Then I turn to Alex. “It was lovely to meet you.”
“You’re not really going, are you?” Alex asks.
“Yep. We’ve already created enough carnage tonight. Prim and Tiggie have a tendency to wrestle when they’re drunk and I don’t want to trash Horatio’s apartment.”
“All lies!” Tiggie insists.
“The party’s just getting started,” Damien moans, “and things were just getting interesting.”
I throw him one of my don’t-mess-with-me looks – the one Damien knows I only use in emergencies and when I am deadly serious. He doesn’t want to provoke me when I’m in one of those moods.
He jumps to his feet. “Okay, I’m coming too.”
All four of us march towards the door, Horatio following after us. The three of them head out into the hallway, but I linger in the doorway, turning to face the birthday boy himself.
“Again, I’m really, really sorry about tonight.”
“How sorry?” he asks teasingly.
“Very,” I say, unable to help smile when he has that glint in his eye.
His hand’s on the door handle. He leans forward so that his mouth is right by my ear.
“Then hopefully you’ll make it up to me.”
“I’m not sure I’m that sorry,” I point out.
“Oh, I think you should be. I’m really devastated about the whole evening, especially the cake. I don’t know how I’ll ever get over it.”
“Good night, birthday boy,” I tell him.
And then, because everyone’s watching and I’m required to maintain the whole dating-charade, and for no other reason at all, obviously, I reach up on the tips of my toes and kiss his mouth. His sensual, soft, warm mouth.
He kisses me back, and for a moment I forget about everyone else around me. I’m so lost in this dizzying kiss.
But then Tiggie calls out, “Get a room, you two!”
I jolt backwards, give him a little wave, and shove my two sisters and my demon best friend further into the hallway.
Once the door shuts behind us, I round on the three of them.
“Oh, Satan’s Cock, could the three of you be any more embarrassing?”
“Us?” Prim says, finger pointing to her chest, innocence written all over her face.
“Yes, you, and you, and you,” I say, addressing each of them in turn. “This is why I don’t introduce you to boyfriends.”
“Bullshit,” Damien says. “You don’t introduce them to boyfriends because usually your boyfriends are totally unsuitable.”
“Exactly,” Tiggie says. “Horatio is the first non-arsehole boyfriend you’ve ever had.”
“And you’ve just embarrassed the heck out of me in front of him.”
“Hey,” Tiggie says. “It was you who dived headfirst into his cake.”
“Firstly,” I point out, “I didn’t dive headfirst, and secondly, that was totally your fault.”
“My fault? I was just sticking up for you in front of that bitch who was trying to steal your boyfriend.”
“She wasn’t trying to steal my boyfriend.”
Although, deep down, I know that she probably was. I also know Horatio’s not interested, particularly in his current bewitched state.
“I was only trying to help,” Tiggie says, crossing her arms and giving me a death stare, and then promptly disappearing from sight.
“Tiggie!” I call after her, but it’s too late.
Prim, who’s swaying a little on her feet, pouts at me.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just been a while since I could let my hair down.”
I sigh. “I know, and I’m sorry. And I’m really glad you did let your hair down.”
Prim smiles. “He was amazing,” she swoons. “I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like that before.”
She does a little spin on the spot and then disappears herself.
I shake my head and look at my best friend.
“What did I do?” he says.
“Nothing, I guess. You want to come in for a final nightcap?” I motion towards the door of my flat.
He shakes his head. “No way, chica! The night’s still young!”
He winks at me and then he’s gone too.
And I’m left alone in the hallway.
I peer over towards Horatio’s flat. I can hear his deep voice, and Alex’s too. I’m severely, extremely, dangerously tempted to knock on his door and rejoin them, but I think I’ve had enough adventures and enough drama for one evening. I think I should retreat to the safety of my bed.
* * *
My head is pounding when I wake the next morning, and I have to beg McGruff not to yap at me because every little bark is like a stab of pain straight through my temples.
I drag myself out of bed and stumble into the kitchen, throwing all the ingredients I need for an anti-hangover draught into the cauldron to start simmering. While I wait for the kettle to boil, I check my messages.
I have one from Tiggie this morning, who in her more sober state is a lot more apologetic, although not completely one hundred per cent so. She reminds me that Horatio is head over heels in love with me and that I could fart in his face and that wouldn’t change.
There are also several from Prim in our sisters’ group chat, wanting to know exactly what happened last night because her memory is a little hazy. Tiggie has helpfully sent her a photo – one of her and the bad boy snogging in the middle of the bar’s dance floor.
I expect Prim’s response to be one of dismay, self-flagellation, and embarrassment. Instead, she simply responds, “I snogged him? Wow!”
I giggle – which makes my head hurt – place my phone to one side, make myself a cup of tea without milk – because I haven’t got the stomach for that this morning – and then continue with my brewing.
Once I’ve drunk the anti-hangover cure, I feel a lot better and like I can face the day ahead, so I pull on some clothes, clip McGruff’s lead to his collar, and head for the door.
I really wasn’t expecting to find anything on my doorstep this morning, but there is something, another little note in that neat handwriting of the man who lives opposite. It sends all those butterflies in my stomach into a giddy frenzy, and I swear even my heart skips a beat.
I bend down and pick it up. And because I have completely lost my mind and my senses and all reason, I give it a sniff. Is it my imagination, or does it smell like him – that deeply masculine scent that does that funny thing to my knees?
McGruff looks up at me in a begging manner, so I dismiss any ideas of creeping back into my flat and reading what’s inside the envelope. I tuck it into the back pocket of my shorts and take him off for a walk.
It’s a quick one. Enough for him to relieve himself, sniff some bushes, and bark at some friends. Not that McGruff’s complaining, his preferred length of walk has always been short.
And then we’re back at the flat, both sitting on the sofa and me looking at the envelope.
Why do I feel nervous? Do I half expect the note inside to tell me that after last night’s shenanigans and the way I embarrassed him in front of all his friends, he’s decided he wants out of the fake dating early – and possibly the whole bewitching thing too?
I take a deep breath, tuck my finger under the flap of the envelope and rip it open.
Inside is a little note.
Hey sunshine, it says.
Thanks for coming along to the bar last night. Having you there was the best birthday treat I’ve had in a long time. H.
And this time, three kisses in a row.
It’s a short note, but perhaps it’s the nicest note a man has ever written to me.
I flop back on the sofa, close my eyes, and bite my lip really hard in an attempt to control my breathing.
It’s not real, I remind myself. All this is not real.