Chapter 23

I didn't pass out. I was swaying on the spot, gasping for breath when Alexi pinched my leg. The pain startled me and forced me to concentrate. This was not the time. And how was I going to explain this one? When Bryce advanced the next time, I let him catch me.

"Someone grab a glass of water," Bryce barked. His hands were on my arms, steadying me. "That's what you get for not eating."

"I ate," I snapped. Knowing I had to save the situation somehow, my most basic reflex kicked in. "So since I'm so injured and weak, are you going to do whatever I want? Like let us finish the game?"

Everyone suddenly perked up. Bryce didn't believe it was a ploy—I doubted even the children believed it—but it was an excuse and that was what mattered. He sighed and gave in. I hoped no one noticed how he had to hold me up.

"It was my turn!" Alexi reminded us.

The game would be over soon but I had to struggle not to panic, not to spill my supper on top of the most expensive pool table I had ever played on. Because witches couldn't have sons.

Witches had daughters. Sorcerers had sons. That was the way it had always been and would always be. There was one exception, of course. Savannah. Kristof Nast, sorcerer, had a daughter. So I could have a son. If his father was a sorcerer...

I knew two sorcerers well enough for that, three if you counted Sean and I didn't. Mr Cortez, who was married to the woman I looked up to beyond all others and Bryce—who I had just screwed without much thought to birth control.

It wasn't just the thought of having a child that was making me weak in the knees, even though I was far from ready to take care of anyone. But I could hear the words in my head too clearly. If your father was still—your father loved you very much too...and if he was here I wouldn't be in this mess... Bryce couldn't die. I wouldn't let him. Not if there was anything I could do about it. I mean, I had already gotten the guy shot. I couldn't let him die, too.

I could not handle having more blood on my hands.

Savannah and I had dismissed the portal as some sort of fear induced unreality or a distant future. But it suddenly seemed that much harder to believe that it wasn't true. But Bryce had been alive for Savannah to bitch about so he couldn't—she hadn't called him by name. We had assumed it was Bryce, because I knew Sean even less...but maybe giving birth to his nephew made me his responsibility. And Bryce had done a pretty good job of watching out for me, a better one than most people managed—I couldn't see him not taking care of me properly if he set his mind to it.

It partially explained why Leech was a wreck, too. I still didn't understand half the other stuff, but I was becoming increasingly afraid it had been true. Just because I didn't think I could get pregnant, didn't mean I was right.

We won, in part because Bryce insisted on taking my turn. I couldn't have made a shot with my hands shaking the way they were and so I let him. But Alexi's face lit up as he rubbed his victory in his older cousin's face. It was hard to believe this smiling boy was going to grow up and despise me (and my entire race) completely. So I smiled at him and he even gave me a hug and told me he hoped I was okay.

Our departure was quick. Bryce was eager to yell at me in private. We slipped into another room, a quiet sitting room. It was actually much smaller and less opulently decorated than anything else I had seen so far. There was only two chairs with floral patterns in front of the fireplace and few portraits on the walls.

Bryce didn't exactly give me time to admire the scenery. He dragged me to the chairs and practically threw me into one.

"Do you need a doctor or something?" he snapped. "If you're not feeling well you should have fucking said something. God, Gillian, those are my nephews. I don't want them worrying about anything and there you are collapsing—"

"Can I explain yet?"

"No." He threw himself down on the armchair across from me. Then he ran a hand over his face, calming down. "All right, go."

"Do you remember how in the time tear Savannah and I saw the future?"

"What you suspected was the future," Bryce corrected absently. What a distinction to make. But I couldn't take that chance.

"In the future...or maybe they were all different futures..." How was I supposed to know? I dealt with spells in foreign languages, not time travel. "It doesn't matter. There was a kid. I had a kid."

"Did you have a sudden desire to adopt one of my nephews? If so, take George. I can't stand teenagers."

"No. Bryce, shut up, this is important. I...I didn't pay very close attention, seeing me with a kid. It was—it was hard and weird and so I didn't look too closely and Savannah really couldn't because it was my future, not hers, but...I assumed I had a daughter. But I think I was wrong. I think I had a son."

I could see the exact moment when it dawned on him, because that was the moment the Cabal mask slipped on and I was staring at a vacant facade. Bryce leaned back in his chair and regarded me coldy.

"I'm sorry the idea of our reproducing is that repulsive to you, but I'm not going to bother worrying—"

"Was the sex really that unforgettable? Because otherwise, why the hell aren't you more freaked out about this?"

"Gillian, you can't be pregnant."

"Just because you say something can't happen doesn't mean—"

"Even if the potion hadn't worked, you just hugged the most powerful shaman in the western hemisphere. Alba would have known, Gillian. She would have known and said something, even if it was only to congratulate me. So you are not pregnant right this second. Now, all we have to do is be a little bit more careful and that's that."

"I didn't take a potion."

"Yes, you did. When Leech and I made dinner...I thought it wouldn't hurt. It probably made yours taste better, even."

And here I thought I had been throwing myself at him with some subtlety. I chose to blame it on his determination to be prepared and not his certainty that I would be a sure thing. "So I shouldn't worry about birthing your spawn because you've been drugging me behind my back?"

"It was only a couple of times. And I had no choice. Just because you have absolutely no survival instincts doesn't mean I have to let you get yourself killed."

"Killed?"

"You think you know how much my kids would be worth? I don't think you do, Gillian. I think you have grossly underestimated how valuable they'd be—and how fast my grandfather would kill you if he found out you were going to be the mother of the next generation of Nasts."

"So...you were protecting me?"

"He'd definitely try and kill me too," Bryce defended himself.

I rolled my eyes. "Next time you want to violate me in order to save my life, just give me a heads up, okay?"

"It's not like there were any side effects."

"I get it." I hated myself for it, but I understood. If I had been responsible enough to remember I hadn't bothered with precautions, I would have realized a whole lot sooner that Bryce must have already done something to guarantee there were no negative repercussions from our night together. When he hadn't forcibly shoved the potion down my throat, I should have known he had made sure I had consumed it another way. I was the one who threw myself off roofs—Bryce just liked people thinking he did. It hadn't taken me long to notice it was just an act; he always had a safety net. He couldn't afford not to. "But whatever you think you gave me, I still saw myself with a kid in the future."

Just saying the words made the fear from the billiards room return, as the memory began repeating itself in all its horrific desperation. Just five more minutes...

"Our children wouldn't be that scary."

"Yes, they would." A child with my ability to lie and his ability to read people, his ability to get things done and my desperate desire to prove something? The thought was terrifying. "We'd breed cult leaders."

He laughed at this, actually laughed, like this entire situation was funny and not completely horrific. To my surprise, however, he stopped when he saw my face. "You're still freaked out."

"You're the only sorcerer I've ever slept with...probably the only one I ever will. So that means it's your kid, too." I was going to hurl. "Only...you weren't there. I told my son his father was dead. I mean, I could have been lying. You could have left—"

"I wouldn't have left."

Call me a fool, but I believed him. Not just because his face screamed there was no way in hell he would ever be even the tiniest bit like his mother, but because of more practical reasons. I had felt her pain when she said those words—more pain than I felt comfortable remembering. She—I, whatever—had been speaking about someone who was dead. I knew it. That wasn't the reason I gave Bryce.

"I know. You'd have to have been dead. Otherwise, I wouldn't have..." I took a deep breath and went on with it. "I'm not the idiot you think I am, you know. If you were to knock me up—or if it turns out you were wrong about Alba knowing—if I was...the first thing I would do—well, the first thing would be to get completely hammered. But after that I'd go and take care of it. Savannah's the best case scenario for a Cabal bastard, and I really doubt there's another Paige and Lucas Cortez out there. I couldn't keep it. Unless...unless you really were dead. If it was...it was the only way for you to...I hate your family, but I couldn't take away their last bit of you."

God, I was a sap.

"You'd murder your own flesh and blood?"

This time I was the one who was laughing. Here I was being all touchy feely and Bryce looked like he wanted to strangle me with his own hands. "You do not get to be morally opposed to abortion, you jackass. Your entire life is financed on the misery of others."

"So, I can't ever make moral judgements?"

"Pretty much. Yeah."

He rolled his eyes, but changed the subject because I think he got that we weren't ever going to agree on this one. "So my death has been predicted by an unexplained supernatural phenomenon? That might have been nice to know yesterday. Did you see anything else I might consider vaguely important?"

"Besides you being dead?" Stalling wasn't going to work, so I spat it out. "Your grandfather is dead. Savannah says she got Lucas killed and Leech...Savannah finds him dead in his house. Old-fashioned noose. She and Sean seem to hate each other and my kid is getting raised by Nasts. And then I slit my wrists."

He was slightly paler when I finished, but he kept his voice composed. "You didn't think I might find it important to know my best friend kills himself? Or that my grandfather could die? Christ, Gillian."

"I'm sorry, all right. I just..."

"Think there's no better way to deal with shit than to pretend it doesn't exist and then lie about what you can't ignore?"

I flipped him off. There wasn't really any response I could make that wouldn't make me sound overly defensive.

"We need to talk about what you saw," he said finally. It almost sounded like he was trying to be sensitive about it—just what I needed, something else I couldn't handle. But just like the first time, he didn't push when I so obviously couldn't handle it. He didn't dare try in his grandfather's house. "We can do it tomorrow. In the meantime, Alba..."

"What about her?"

He shook his head. "I never thought I'd have to go that far, but if I did, it's not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all."

"I don't want to know." He ignored me.

"If I had a bastard out there, even if you were the mother—especially if a Cortez witch was the mother—he'd have to listen to me. Actually listen to me, for a change. Hell, he'd have to do everything I wanted."

"I am not having your spawn, idiot. Even less now that you just pointed out that Thomas would kill me for it."

"That's only if I wasn't on board with it. But if I asked you, I'd make sure he didn't kill you. Hell, it might even be better if I married you. That way the kid would be the legitimate heir and even he wouldn't touch you then."

"And that is why you don't get to be morally opposed to anything, ever," I snarled. "I may have sold a child I couldn't afford to take care of anyway to the evil half of its family, but I wasn't doing it to make myself more comfortable."

Something that might have been spit flew out of my mouth as I finished, but I didn't have time to be embarrassed before Bryce answered.

"You're right."

"What?"

"You heard me." He stood up, pulling me to my feet, not quite looking me in the eye. "For the first time in your life, Gillian, you are speaking sense."

"Is the world going to end now?"

"Maybe." I closed my eyes, just in case, but the only thing that happened was that Bryce snorted and offered up an explanation.

"It's this room. It was my grandmother's—the only room in the whole house Grandpa let her decorate. Whenever she'd come over, this was where he'd talk to her. Dad always said Grandpa married her specifically because he couldn't stand her, because that was the smart thing to do. No one could get to him through her because if someone tried to kill her he would just ask them to do it sooner rather than later. I never saw my grandfather happier than the day she died."

"See? You can't marry me, even if it's just to fuck with your grandfather. You don't hate me that much."

"I don't hate you at all. But in here I can't stop thinking that it's smarter if everyone I know was just useful and not..." He sighed. "Come on. Let's go get Alba to tell you you're overreacting."

Alba was easy to spot and not just because she was a spot of pink in a sea of black. The crowd had thinned out some since dinner, out into the garden, Bryce said, or to back rooms. I didn't need to be told what was going on in there—there were going to be a few more unexplained disappearances in town tonight.

She was talking to her husband, also a chunky fellow, and didn't notice us approach. I wasn't eager for this to happen, though I knew it would help calm me down. I don't know why I was so nervous but what if she had made a mistake before? What if I was in the middle of a majorly sucky future and I just didn't know it yet?

Alba spotted us first and Bryce and her exchanged glances that went over my head. Evidently, she understood, because she left her husband and met us halfway, along the side of one wall. A few people were sill staring at me, but for the most part the novelty of whispering about a witch seemed to have worn off.

"What is it, my darling boy?" Alba greeted us. "You look..." But she trailed off to nothing.

Bryce lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear. There were too many people around to ask if his pretend girlfriend was pregnant because she was scared because she had seen a vision of a horrible future. Instead, he settled for a brief: "We need to know exactly what you picked up when you touched Gillian before."

"I love it when you run to your Aunty Alba. Now then, you want everything? Pulse? Lung capacity? Those actually quite impressive, though she's deficient for most major vitamins and there's this nasty, unnatural—"

"Is she pregnant?" Bryce spit out.

"No. Bryce, if you're trying—"

"I'm not trying anything. Just double checking."

She did not seem pleased by that. "She's not pregnant. And won't ever be if she doesn't get her weight up."

Great. Alba sounded like my doctor.

Still, I let out the breath I had been holding and glanced up at Bryce. He smiled at my obvious joy—I couldn't help but throw my arms around the pink teletubbie. "Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome. Oh dear boy, I might have to forgive her for stealing you away from me."

"I'm just letting her think that, love," Bryce promised her as I let go. "You're always first in my heart."

Alba pulled him to her, enveloping him to her. She said something, softly in his ear, and when he stepped away, he was blushing. He wouldn't look me in the eye, but he took my arm with a quick word of thanks.

"Cougar," I muttered under my breath. She should keep her damn claws to herself.

Bryce just laughed. I could hear his relief, even though we couldn't exactly say anything on the crowded dance floor.

We went back through the hallway, though it was deserted by now. Bryce pulled me through a door. There was another huge room on the other side, more doors and eventually we came to the library.

It was perfect. Exactly what a library should look like. The shelves were made of an old wood that had recently been polished, gleaming in the firelight. There were plush dark green chairs nearby so you could read in comfort. The carpet was smooth but not distracting. And the books! Old and battered, they went up two stories. There was a small balcony on the second floor, and a twisted old staircase opposite the fireplace that led up to it. Sitting in one corner was a huge grandfather clock and the other had an old upright piano.

Bryce shut the door behind me and burst out laughing. Turning to me, he asked: "So?"

I threw my arms around him. "Thank you."

"Not that I did anything, but you're welcome. Just don't—no more hyperventilating in front of the impressionable nephews, okay?"

Bryce leaned into me, trapping me between him and the couch. When I nodded, he kissed me hungrily, lifting me up until I was sitting on the back of the couch, making it easy for me to wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer to me.

He broke away laughing. "Remind me to kill George. I swear the little punk kept trying to look up your dress."

"It's very nice under my dress," I said, raining kisses along his jaw.

A hand ran up my legs and disappeared under the hem of my dress. "I think I'm going to have to agree."

"It's so nice when we get along."

"Thank you for coming tonight," he said sincerely. "Did you see Grandpa's face? I thought he was going to have a heart attack.

I giggled even as I said: "You're horrible."

"You get off on it."

And he could tell. My dress was going to be a wrinkled mess in the morning. It was bunched too far up to be safe, as Bryce stood between my legs and kissed me.

A sudden bang caused me to jerk in his arms. "What the hell was that?"

"It's an old room. Things squeak," Bryce dismissed, but he took it as a sign and pulled away. It was the smart thing to do, considering we shouldn't do anything in his grandfather's house. I was still disappointed. So I got stupid.

"If the idea of bastard children hadn't occurred to you before tonight, did you bring me here just for fun? Or do you just want your family to hate you?" I asked as I smoothed down my dress.

"Sean doesn't hate me. And everyone else already hates me. It's what I'm good at."

He said it proudly, but it was so obviously false I had to say something.

"Those kids love you. And you have been known to have other good moments."

"They're family. I have to be nice to them. They're the only ones."

"What about me?"

"Because I've been so fabulously nice to you."

"You did save my life. You even ignored how I got you shot, remember?"

But he didn't match me teasing tone. "I needed you to save Savannah—and only because my father was there."

"Well, you did buy me this pretty dress that everyone but you thinks looks lovely on me."

"Just so you would look the part, to piss Grandpa off."

Now I was beginning to get annoyed. Why couldn't he just take a damn compliment already?

"Apologizing after you were a jerk?"

"Leech made me—and it's the only way to deal with your hysterics."

I was on the verge of yelling and he had taken a step back, nostrils flaring. "Taking me to Alba?"

"Like I could stand the thought of having offspring with you."

"Why are you so defensive about this?"

"Why are you pushing it?"

My hands were on my hips and I was turning red in anger. It was a stupid, silly compliment. Was it that hard to accept? Why did everything have to turn into some sort of epic power struggle around him?

I was trying not to scream when I told him: "I'm not saying you're a nice person or—heaven forbid!—a good person. I'm just trying to say you're not a completely abhorrent monster twenty-four seven. What's the problem here?"

Maybe he didn't have an answer; maybe he didn't want to share it. But all he said was: "We're dropping this."

"So declares the almighty Bryce Nast," I snarled.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up everywhere, but I didn't say anything. He could go to hell for all I cared.

He ignored me and walked over to the upright piano in the corner. It was a deep brown, almost black, but the ivory keys were a blinding white. Someone had taken great care of the instrument. The minions, probably. Bryce shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie. He turned to hand me the jacket but decided the couch was the safest. When his sleeves were rolled up, he put his hands into position.

Bryce was good. He was better than good. He might even have been better than excellent.

It was a jazzy piece, nothing I could identify though it was vaguely familiar. It was all flats and off beats. His hands danced up and down the keys, fingers stretching over huge expanses of notes. I found myself wanting to smile. And then he began to sing. The lyrics were truly ridiculous and I allowed the smile to come out.

He noticed and grinned back, like a kid a candy store and then smashed his hands on the keys. Abruptly he switched songs, something a little slower. I recognized this one. Somewhere Over the Rainbow.

He tilted his head, inviting me to sit down. I was still too pissed, so he played some Coldplay. When he couldn't remember how the second part of Clocks went he switched to something classical. "Chopin," he said, but I was ignoring him. When he started playing Hit Me Baby (One More Time) I sat down.

Now that he had me, he asked: "Do you know to play Heart and Soul?"

"I've never even touched a piano," I admitted.

"Shocking. Alright, Piano 101. Put your hands like this." I copied his movements, but he wasn't satisfied. "Arch your hands, elbows higher up. Shift the left hand over a two keys. Good. And put the right...here. Now pay attention."

It wasn't an easy instrument to play, that was for sure. Bryce made fun of my much smaller hands continuously. But, strangely enough, he was actually a good teacher and eventually I could do all the chords he wanted me to.

"Okay. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Four. Go."

I dutifully began playing. The notes didn't come out in the crisp way they did for Bryce but they were the right notes. I slipped a little when he began playing beside me, but I fudged my way back on track. It was the same chords over and over again, but he managed to make it sound actually good.

Finally, he started hitting random keys and I stopped. "You're amazing."

He laughed in my face. "Everyone can play Heart and Soul. It's to the piano what Happy Birthday is to songs. Even if you've been living under a rock, you know it. Which says something about your childhood, but I'm not going to go there."

"I meant the way you play. It's just...it just looks natural, that's all." I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You are something else, I'll give you that. What's your plan when insulting me to my face stops working entirely?"

"You'll be getting a lot more jewellery then, probably."

"Thousands of dollars just to make me feel inferior. Not much of a bargain, is it?"

"Half a million, actually."

"What?"

He glanced down pointedly at the large rock around my neck. "Diamonds aren't as cheap as you."

"You're insane," I said, almost impressed. "You better have been serious about letting me keep it."

"Of course I was."

"Of course. Because you can afford it. And I can't. Can't afford you at all. Bryce? A friendly warning—I hated you more when you weren't trying to make me. I guess I'm just difficult that way."

"Very difficult," he agreed. He didn't stop playing, but he didn't take his eyes off me either. "Not that I'm complaining."

"You would never do that," I said. And because we were getting along again, I switched to something less explosive. "I didn't peg you as the piano playing type. I wouldn't think you'd have the patience."

"I could play this old thing blindfolded. I've always hated these damn things so when I was little my dad used to let me sneak off and he'd send Sean to get me if it was really important. I practically taught myself on this baby."

"All by yourself?" The Nasts and their modestly.

"I might have taken some lessons." When I gave him a look, he shrugged. "For years. But it was on and off. I kept changing my mind about which instrument I wanted to play. At the end I knew how to play a lot of things decently and nothing great."

"What else can you play? Besides the guitar." I could just picture him, in high school, some eyebrow piercing, guitar on his back and scowl on his face. It was too easy.

"Shut up."

"You're so predictable. What else?"

"Drums. Piano. Trumpet. Harmonica—don't make fun, it's counts. And the mandolin—don't ask."

I laughed. "I can't believe you didn't try and become a rock star."

"I did," he said without embarrassment. "I mean, I was biding my time 'studying' music in college, but Rock God was definitely the goal. But it was cool. You learn loads of useless shit at college."

The way his expression fell, there was practically a neon sign saying that had not ended well.

"What happened?"

"My dad died."

He was playing something old and fast—so fast that I could barely see his fingers moving. So instead of watching his hands—no wonder they were so talented—I watched him instead. He seemed different and I took me a while to figure out why that was.

He asked: "Do you play anything?"

"I wish. Dana had a bass. She wouldn't let me near it. I did take recorder lessons for some school project or something. I wasn't any good."

"You should try one of the brass instruments. The rest of you is too small, but you do have great lungs. Maybe the trumpet."

"You offering to teach me?"

He smiled down at me and then it occurred to me why he seemed so changed—for the first time since I'd known him, Bryce actually seemed happy. Not just amused, but content. I ran may hands gently on top of the ivory, careful not to disturb him as he played The Sun Will Come Out (Tomorrow). Bryce and show tunes—not something I would have pictured. I didn't feel like explaining my epiphany, but I had to say something.

"Why didn't you go back after your father died, since you love music so much?"

Even if I hadn't known the song, his mistake would have been obvious. But he didn't stop, forged ahead even if the song had lost most of its previous polish.

"Grandpa thinks it's because I wanted to be like my father. So does Sean—and probably everyone else." I waited patiently as he finished without much fanfare. "And, yeah, I didn't go to Harvard because I suddenly decided I liked Boston. Who the hell wants to live in Boston? But I stopped studying music because...it's just wasn't fun anymore. Not with Dad..."

"So you decided to join the family business and see how far you could push your grandfather?"

"Contrary to what people believe, Grandpa doesn't really let me get away with anything. There's a bottom line and only when I affect that do I become a problem. Even you—you're an annoyance and a disappointment, but you won't harm the bottom line. You only become a concern when you have a legal claim on the assets of the corporation. So while he might try and buy you off—and you're welcome to whatever you can get out of him—he's not going to try and kill you."

"Joy. So what is the going rate for abandoning a Cabal boyfriend?"

"I think Tyler Boyd's girlfriend got a cool two million, but I think she had a sex tape or something equally stupid. Or her dad was on the board of directors—I can't remember. Since you lack those distinctions, Grandpa'll probably open negations at a quarter million. But if you work hard, you might be able to get the full six zeros."

"I'll have to remember that." The worst part was he seemed serious. Insanely, I wondered how the accountants labelled that sort of expense. "Aren't you worried about disappointing him?"

Bryce shrugged, concentrating on the music. "Grandpa and I...have an understanding of sorts. The only person I ever really worried about disappointing was my dad and that stopped when I found out he was fucking Eve."

I had suspected, from Savannah's comments, but I hadn't thought Bryce had known. Not at all. "Eve, mother of Savannah?"

"No, Eve, mother of the fucking human race." Bryce looked at me like I was an idiot—I had only wanted confirmation so I wouldn't stick my big foot in my mouth. "Of course, I'm talking about Eve Levine."

"How did you find that out?"

Bryce snorted. "There was a reason I dragged you to see Leech and it wasn't because he's a very good necromancer. He could have been, maybe, but not now."

"Why aren't you more freaked out about that?"

"What do I care what Dad does? He might as well be happy. Plus, it's a great excuse to do whatever the hell I want. If Dad's spending his afterlife doing something he never could do in real life, why should I have to listen now?"

"Stop pretending your some sort of rebel. What are you doing that your grandfather hasn't expressly approved of?"

"You."

I elbowed him, but he just laughed. "That doesn't count."

He switched to something from Star Wars, what I think was Darth Vader's theme as he easily replied, "It's close enough."

"Bryce? Why did you bring me here tonight? Why a witch?"

"To prove a point. And it was funny. In his own way, Grandpa got a kick out of it, at least until—he didn't want to have this stupid party. You gave him an excuse to be a bastard the whole night."

"He enjoyed it until I started talking in German." I wasn't about to be distracted this time. "That's what set him off, wasn't it?"

"Gillian..."

"Does he not like thinking about the Old Country, or whatever?"

Seeing how I was not going to let this go—and maybe, possibly, feeling a little bit guilty about snapping at me earlier—Bryce relented. "It wasn't...not how you said it, but what you said."

"You don't even know what I said."

"I got the 'fear God' part. I could guess the rest." He sighed. "Only three or four people at that table would have realized what you said was significant in anyway. And I'm one of them."

"So? I'm sorry that it's sort of private information, but he—"

"You heard Austin. They know why I brought you here. They know it's bullshit. Grandpa did too; and then you had to ruin it."

"Because I knew something that most of those self-important assholes don't know?"

"No. Because I told you something..."

Finally, I understood. I hasn't crossed a line—I had just told them Bryce had. They didn't realize he had done so as part of a fucked up sex bet, they just knew he had done it and would draw some unfortunate conclusions from it. He had told me something personal; now they thought it was personal. A tiny shudder ran through me. Because there was only one thing more dangerous than being dragged to Thomas Nast's birthday party as his grandson's fake girlfriend.

Having Thomas think I was his actual girlfriend.

"Bryce? Why would it freak everyone out that your girlfriend was a witch?"

"Because when my children inherit this company, they better not be girls."