Page 51 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

It perked up.

“It’s not a good thing!”

It sank back to the floor.

I started pacing again. “We had a deal. This was supposed to be simple. Pretend to date. Get people to like me. Get his mother off his back. He wasn’t supposed to go and kiss me like that!” My fingers floated to my lips as I remembered his warm mouth coaxing mine open.

It had been the best kiss of my life, which only made this so much worse. It wasn’t even that Ambrose was a bad kisser. I loved kissing Ambrose. But the way Nevan had so thoroughly taken me apart with his lips . . .

Vine touched my heart, and I swatted it away again.

“He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even know me.” Nevan only knew pretend me. He had no idea I was a godwitch, had no idea I was the one who’d created all the monstrous plants that terrorized his town.

Outside, music played and voices filled the street. The festival was starting, and I had to meet Nevan shortly, which meant I needed to get myself together.

Vine wrapped around my shoulders, giving me a hug.

“I know you love me, but you have to. I created you.”

Vine squeezed me tighter.

“I have to go.” I shot it a look. “Do you want to come?” Vine nodded, and I exhaled a shaky laugh. “Then, let’s get this over with.”

* * *

Nevan stood near the front doors of the castle as I approached. The sun lit his face in its warm glow, highlighting his pale skin and parted brown hair, the waves almost auburn under the direct light. His usual suspenders and trousers over a plain tunic were gone, and today he wore fitted pin-striped trousers with a green shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal his muscled chest. He turned as I approached, a hesitant smile tipping up his lips.

“I told you to wear green,” he said, eyes traveling over my black dress and sending waves of heat through my belly.

I gestured at my face in response.

“That’s cheating,” he pointed out.

I rolled my eyes.

“Hey, stop poking me!”

Vine jabbed Barty in the chest, and the gargoyle scowled down at it.

“I think it’s trying to tickle you,” I said.

“I’m made of stone,” Barty replied. “I can’t be tickled.”

“Really?” Tal asked from the other side of the door, reaching over and poking Barty in the side with a talon.

Barty yelped while Nevan just smirked. “Ow! What was that?”

“I was testing to see if you’re ticklish.”

“I just told you I’m not! Do you ever listen to me?”

“Not really.” Tal stared at his talons. “You jabber on about so much, it’s hard to keep it all straight.”

Vine slithered up and stretched between the two gargoyles, hanging over their shoulders.

“Uh, what is happening?” Tal glanced at the heavy vine draped between them.

I raised a brow. “Vine wants you to stop fighting. It doesn’t like conflict.”