Chapter Thirty-Bella
The Castor’s Corner Summer Solstice Festival was the kind of event that made outsiders shake their heads and locals beam with pride.
By mayoral decree—Evie’s own, which she announced with all the pomp and sass of a royal proclamation—Main Street was blocked off, transformed into a kaleidoscope of color and chaos.
Rows of tents spilled over with carnival games, glittering jewelry, magically-infused crafts, and enough fried food to tempt even the most iron-stomached Werewolf.
Hangman’s Field was decked out like a midway fever dream—Ferris wheel glowing like a halo, tilt-a-whirl flashing in rainbow bursts, and every supernatural—even a few members of the giant race, the Dark Elves, relatives of townsfolk who’d been accidentally invited—out enjoying themselves.
The festivities had started at noon and wouldn’t stop until the moon was kissing dawn.
My bakery had a prime tent spot, and I had six employees scheduled—two inside the bakery for the stragglers who wanted their pastries “fresh from the oven” and four manning the tent.
Mira was in charge, clipboard in hand, ponytail bouncing like she was auditioning for “Most Enthusiastic Witch Alive.” Girl had stepped up in a big way.
By eleven-thirty, my role shifted from vendor queen to mission critical maid of honor.
I had just thirty minutes to get the pièce de résistance—the final cake for Evie and Donny’s joint wedding ceremony—delivered to the clearing before the vows began.
The cake was a towering vision of sugar and artistry—too many tiers to count, white fondant so smooth it could’ve been sculpted from porcelain, piped lacework, pale blush sugar roses climbing up the side like a romantic fairytale vine.
I wasn’t nervous about the cake. The cake was perfect.
No, the nerves were about what came after.
“You ready, my Witchy?” Petyr asked, appearing at my elbow in his best magical formalwear—a tiny waistcoat and a bow tie so sparkly it might have been enchanted to outshine the moon.
I nodded, my stomach twisting in excitement and panic.
Ivan and Gryn joined him, both with the smug expressions of magical familiars who knew exactly how to pull off a high-profile pastry delivery.
In a coordinated shimmer of teal, gold, and pearl light, the three Domovyks whisked the cake away, reappearing seconds later beneath the designated wedding tent.
I rattled off last-minute instructions to my crew, then took a deep breath and headed for the clearing alone.
Somewhere out there, Conrad was with Jaxson and Ryan, the two grooms-to-be.
I could picture him—broad shoulders, that easy green-eyed grin, probably making some low rumble in his chest that I’d feel in places no rumble had business reaching.
And if the Goddess was kind, he wouldn’t object to what I was about to do.
The clearing opened up before me in a whirl of music, laughter, and the shimmer of fairy lights strung through the trees.
Evie and Donny stood at the edge of the aisle, resplendent.
Evie’s gown was rockabilly perfection—a halter-top bodice, crisp white with a bright aqua petticoat peeking out beneath the mid-length skirt—and it completely disguised her tiny baby bump which I still didn’t know if she knew about yet.
But that was for me to find out later.
Her hair was swept into victory rolls, and her accessories matched down to the enamel pin on her bouquet handle.
She looked like she could strut straight from the altar to a pin-up calendar shoot.
Donny’s gown was the polar opposite—a sleek, mermaid silhouette with a train so dramatic it needed its own zip code.
Chantilly lace veil.
Red lips.
Red nails.
Glittering shoes.
And her hair—blonde waves so perfect it looked like every shampoo commercial ever filmed had been distilled into one Witch.
“Well?” Donny arched a brow at me. “Aren’t you going to put it on?”
I stared at the white-and-pale-pink confection she gestured to, my heartbeat doing double-time.
This was it.
My moment of truth.
Was I the timid baker who hid behind her counter when things got too real?
Or was I the woman who took a leap of faith, consequences be damned, and went for the gold?
The first strains of the wedding march drifted over the clearing. I swallowed hard.
My hands trembled.
“I won’t know unless I try,” I murmured.
“Great! No time to do this the old-fashioned way,” Evie said with a wicked grin.
Her fingers wiggled, and before I could protest—shoomp—magic wrapped me in a shimmer of gold and rose.
When it cleared, I gasped.
I was a walking, talking wedding day fantasy.
Full skirt, sweetheart neckline, bodice hugging my curves like it had been stitched there by the Goddess herself.
My hair was a cascade of glossy curls, a delicate circlet nestled like it had been waiting for me all my life.
My cheeks flushed, my lips tinted the perfect pink, and my neckline, well.
Let’s just say Conrad was going to need a moment.
“Buxom beauty at its best,” Donny said, smirking.
“Oh, I needed to apologize for something,” I began, going for broke, “I mean, I’m so sorry I never made it—”
“Never made what?” Evie asked, brows arched.
“A guilt-free goodie for us,” I admitted, my voice wobbly. “But I wanted you two to know I’m proud of us. I’m done trying to change what we look like to suit anybody else’s expectations. We are the Trifecta, dang it, and the Goddess gave us our curves for a reason.”
“Damn straight,” Donny sniffled.
“It was sure fun trying out all those recipes though!” Evie snorted a laugh.
“I love us,” I said, my chest swelling, my magic humming in agreement.
And somewhere out there, I could feel Conrad’s answering warmth through the bond, like a promise that he was already on his way to find me.