Chapter 26
“Is it a little too obvious?”
Rhys twisted around from his spot on Vivienne’s couch to see her standing in the doorway to her bedroom, one hand on her hip. No polka dots or cherries tonight; she was wearing a black dress that emphasized every curve, her purple-and-black-striped tights peeking out from tall black boots and a witch’s hat perched on her hair, which fell loose to her shoulders.
In the past week, Rhys had seen her naked multiple times, had had her over him and under him, in his bed, in hers and, in one very memorable encounter, on the stairs at his house, but he still sucked in a breath looking at her there, so bloody beautiful and, even more deadly, adorable that he was very tempted to suggest they just stay in tonight and not go to the Fall Fair, whatever the fuck that was.
“I think you should wear that every day,” he said now, rising from the couch to stand in front of her, bracing his hands on the doorframe above her head. “Or at least every night.”
“I could maybe be talked into that,” Vivienne replied, lifting her face to kiss him. “What would I get in return?”
“I could give you a preview,” Rhys suggested, letting go of the door and moving his hands to her dress, slowly dragging it up her thighs as she laughed.
“If we’re late to the fair, Gwyn will kill us,” she said, but she was already unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt, her nails dragging along the chain he wore around his neck.
“Can you kindly explain yet again what this actually entails? Am I going to have to bob for apples or something?”
“That’s certainly on the agenda,” Vivienne said, “along with drinking cider and helping me and Gwyn sell witchy things at the booth. She and Aunt Elaine make a killing at this thing every year. And we get to eat Mrs. Michaelson’s caramel-apple hand pies, which are so good, I think she might actually be a witch, even though Elaine swears she’s not, and it’s just all the butter she uses, and—oh!”
Rhys had slid her dress up high enough to dip his thumb between her legs, barely brushing against the damp silk of her underwear, and as he moved his hand, he brushed warm, bare skin.
Groaning, Rhys dropped his head to her shoulder.
“I would’ve been bobbing for apples without knowing these stockings weren’t tights after all? You are a truly cruel woman, Vivienne.”
“Nah, I was gonna let you feel me up on the hayride.”
“I’m not even completely sure what a hayride is, but I think it might be my favorite part of this Fall Fair already.”
Leaning in, Rhys kissed her again, capturing her lower lip between his own lips and sucking gently, making her sigh against his mouth and press closer.
The high neck of her dress prevented him from touching as much of her as he wanted to, but he settled on brushing the backs of his fingers against the curve of her breast, and dimly, he wondered how long he’d have to touch her to get his fill of it. He’d had her for three months that summer, and hadn’t even begun to slake his thirst for her, had still felt as in her thrall that last day as he had the first.
And he knew that when he left this time, it would be the same. They could talk about “getting it out of their systems” all they wanted—this wasn’t the kind of thing one got over.
You did it before, you’ll figure it out again.
Because he would have to. They’d agreed there was no future for them, that they got to just enjoy the present for now, but every time he touched her, every time he kissed her, it was hard to remember that.
Vivienne drew back from the kiss now, and eyes bright, she urged him to his knees.
Rhys went more than willingly, pushing her dress higher, taking in the lacy borders of her stockings just there at the most bitable part of her thighs. And bite it he did, gently, loving the ragged sound of her breathing as she reached out to steady herself there in the doorway, the almost painful tug of her fingers in his hair.
He looked up her body at her, grinning as he pressed a kiss to the spot he’d just bitten. “Still care about being late?”
“Not even a little bit.”
Vivienne may not have cared—and Rhys sure as fuck did not—but she was right about Gwyn. When they eventually arrived at the Fall Fair, nearly an hour later than they’d said they would, Vivienne’s cousin was waiting for them in the parking lot, her arms folded over her chest. Like Vivienne, she was decked out in full witch regalia, although she was wearing a bright orange pair of ankle boots, and her tights were green.
“We’re in trouble,” Vivienne said, and Rhys shrugged as he unbuckled his seatbelt.
“I’m blaming it on you. Telling Gwyn you demanded I service you before we left.”
“You are laaaaate!” Gwyn sang out when Vivienne stepped out of the car, and Vivienne waved her hand.
“Yes, I know, we—”
“Vivi, you’re glowing brighter than a jack-o’-lantern, so I think I know what you were doing.”
Rhys had to fight very hard not to look smug as Vivienne threw him an almost shy smile, but he clearly didn’t succeed because Gwyn rolled her eyes at both of them, turning away.
“Y’all are gross,” she grumbled, but Rhys saw the way she grinned at Vivienne as she hooked her arm through her cousin’s, tugging her close as they made their way toward the field where the festival was being held, their hips bumping.
Rhys watched them, their heads close together, and there it was again, that sort of tug in his chest, reminding him that this was Vivienne’s place. She’d made a home in the small town her family had lived in for ages, made a life here, while his own hometown had nearly suffocated him.
Another reminder of how very different they were.
But when she looked back over her shoulder and smiled, that warm, sunshine smile that made his heart trip inside his chest, he wasn’t sure he cared.
The Fall Fair had always been one of Vivi’s favorite things in the days leading up to Halloween in Graves Glen. It was always held in the same field, nestled in a valley between the hills, the whole thing ringed in fairy lights and paper lanterns, the air smelling like fried food, popcorn and cinnamon. And while people definitely brought their kids, it didn’t have quite the same family vibe as Founder’s Day always did. There was something a little wild about it, something more than a little pagan.
Tonight, the sky was mostly clear, just a few clouds scuttering over the moon, and as Vivi wrapped a set of tarot cards in silk for a woman at Gwyn’s booth, she hummed happily to herself.
“You have the annoyingly cheerful manner of a woman having an absurd amount of awesome sex,” Gwyn said as the woman walked away. There was no one else in line, so she hopped up on the counter of the booth, long legs dangling.
“I am,” Vivi said happily. “Both annoyingly cheerful and having the absurd amount of awesome sex.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” Gwyn replied, but she was smiling, and she reached out, kicking Vivi gently with one orange boot. “You deserve it.”
“I kind of do, actually,” Vivi agreed, her eyes already scanning the crowd for Rhys. And as soon as she saw him, making his way toward her with several wax paper bags in hand, grinning the second their eyes met . . .
Oh god, she felt that grin everywhere. She and Rhys had spent the last few days indulging in anything they could think of, anything they wanted, their bodies picking up right where they’d left off nine years ago.
But at moments like this, her stomach full of butterflies, her cheeks aching with her smile as she watched him amble his way toward her, she worried that maybe her heart had picked up right where it left, too.
“I hope this is what you wanted, cariad,” he said, handing her one of the bags. “You would’ve thought they were made of solid gold from the line for them.”
“Thank you,” Vivi said, giving the bag the kind of look she usually reserved for Rhys. “I dream of these all year.”
“And for you,” Rhys said, handing one to Gwyn, who took it with only slightly narrowed eyes.
“You’re making my cousin very happy and bringing me caramel-apple pie? Clearly working hard at getting another nickname besides ‘dickbag,’ dickbag.”
“I live in hope,” Rhys said, leaning against the counter as he folded down the wax paper and bit into his own pie.
Vivi waited, watching him, and smiled smugly as his own expression went a little dreamy. “All right, I understand the line now,” he said, then took another bite. “Vivienne, I’m so sorry, but I’m leaving you for the woman who makes these pies.”
“She’s ninety.”
“Even so.”
Giggling, Vivi finally took a bite herself, her eyes fluttering shut at the mix of salted caramel, butter pastry and cinnamon apples. “Okay, yes, marry Mrs. Michaelson. Just make sure you invite me to the wedding and serve these, okay?”
“A deal,” he said, then reached out to shake her hand. When Vivi took it, he tugged, pulling her up to the counter so he could kiss her, and Vivi laughed against his mouth, tasting sugar and salt.
When she pulled back, Gwyn was watching them, a strange expression on her face, and suddenly a little self-conscious, Vivi wiped a stray crumb of pastry from the corner of her mouth. “What?”
“Nothing!” Gwyn said, raising both her hands, but she was smiling in a way that Vivi knew from experience meant they’d be talking later.
Finishing his pie, Rhys dusted off his hands, and tapped one of the sets of tarot cards sitting on the counter of the booth. “Are these your creation?”
Hopping down from her perch, Gwyn nodded and went to stand across from Rhys. “We sell lots of decks in the store, but my handmade ones are our biggest seller.”
“She says modestly,” Vivi teased, elbowing Gwyn, who elbowed her right back.
“Can you read the cards?” she asked Rhys.
He shook his head, both elbows on the counter. “I have a sort of rudimentary understanding of some of them, but no, not my magical strong suit.”
Their area of the festival was still kind of dead, so when Gwyn glanced at Vivi and said, “Mind if I read for him? Might help with the whole,” she lowered her voice, “curse thing.”
“Go for it,” Vivi said, looking up at Rhys. “If you want to?”
“Might as well,” he said, cheerfully enough. “Vivienne and I haven’t made any breakthroughs on that front.”
Not that they hadn’t been trying. It hadn’t all been sex.
Okay, it had been a lot of sex, but in between, they’d been deep in research mode, mostly on Vivi’s laptop since she didn’t trust them in the study room at the library again. And given how pissed off Dr. Arbuthnot had been about the Eurydice Candle, they probably wouldn’t have been allowed in anyway.
So far, Vivi knew more about curses than she’d ever thought possible. She knew the best moon phases for casting them, knew that wormwood made them stronger, knew that in 1509, a witch had managed to curse not just a town, but six different German principalities at once.
What she didn’t know was how to lift a curse.
Typical that that was the bit witches wanted to be vague about.
Distracted, she moved to the other end of the booth, rearranging the display of candles, making sure the something wicked—come visit us in town! sign was straight, and only when Rhys called her name did she look back over at them.
He was holding The Star, her card, and smiling. “This seems like a good sign.”
Vivi wandered back over, leaning against the counter as she plucked the card from Rhys’s hand. “Depends on where it is in the spread,” she said, and Gwyn tapped the spot where the card had been lying.
“We’re going simple past, present, future. You’re the present, obviously.”
“Obviously,” she echoed, and her eyes met Rhys’s again. He was smiling at her in that way he had that was both sweet and fond, and also somehow let her know every filthy thing he was thinking of doing to her.
It was really one of her favorite smiles on the planet.
Gwyn was turning over the third card, the future spot, as Vivi looked at the past. Rhys had pulled The Lovers there, also not a surprise, but when Gwyn laid the third card down, she scowled at it.
“Ugh, The Emperor.”
“He’s not bad,” Vivi objected, but as she looked at the version Gwyn had drawn, she had to admit, he looked a little foreboding. It showed a man in a dark suit sitting on a wooden throne that looked like it had been carved out of an ancient tree. There was silver in his beard, and he was frowning out from the card, a heavy ebony cane in one hand.
“It’s not bad,” Gwyn agreed, tapping the card. “It’s just, you know. Authority. Rules, structure . . .”
“My father,” Rhys said, and Gwyn nodded, picking the card up.
“Exactly, he totally represents—”
“No,” Rhys said, and something in his voice made Vivi look up at him.
He had turned around and was looking out into the crowd, his expression grim, as a dark-haired man in black made his way across the fairground to them, Aunt Elaine several steps behind.
Rhys turned to Vivi, his eyes serious. “It’s my father. He’s here.”