Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(32)

Yay!

And yet, slightly worried I’m having my first date in England with the wrong guy.

Superhunk or no.

16 March

My life is too… freaking… crazy.

I mean, get this:

I was in my bedroom totally freaking out because I was about to go on my first date in months with a genius professor from Cambridge University who happened to watch witches in his spare time.

And.

I was a witch.

And.

I was supposed to have superwitch powers.

And.

I couldn’t figure out what to wear!

Viv and Su showed up being all naggy, annoying sisters, “Aidan’s waiting,” yadda, yadda, yadda and half my hair was straight, the other half was out-of-control and I was standing in my underwear amongst a mountain of discarded clothes that was up to my knees while waving around a pair of strappy, champagne satin sandals with rhinestones and shouting (hysterically), “All I know is the shoes!”

They jumped into action.

I mean, they’d seen Aidan – this whole outfit was a delicate maneuver. There weren’t many genius doctors out there who looked like movie stars who wanted to go out with me and this had to be right.

Su took control of my hair and makeup (scary thought) and Viv took control of the wardrobe (even scarier) and, believe it or not, they totally kicked in for me.

Su did this part-straight, part-mess, part-braid up-do gig with my hair (very Bo Derek meets Demi Moore meets Bob Marley but blonde) and went heavy on the black eyeliner making me look all 70’s-flower-child-with-an-attitude.

Viv put me in a pair of low-rise, ass-hugging, black, wide-legged trousers, my rhinestone sandals and a filmy black tunic-slash-caftan thingie with a sexy, skimpy black camisole underneath (who knew she had it in her?).

I looked hot.

* * * * *

I know this because when I walked into the lounge, Gran was talking to (raving at?) Aidan who was nodding, his expression polite.

When he looked at me, well, he didn’t look polite anymore.

At all.

In fact, whatever was going on behind his eyes was nowhere near polite,

More like  p**n ographic.

Of course, being the cosmopolitan girl around town, I blushed.

Ack!

“Ready?” I asked.

* * * * *

Get this Part Two:

He took me to the Swank Italian Place on the seafront.

This is proof positive that he is in cahoots with the Queen because only by Royal Decree could one get a reservation at the Italian place. At short notice, impossible, unless you make a deal with the devil or are in good with Liz.

I tried to be cool – but it was hard.

I was with Aidan.

I looked the shit.

I was with Aidan. (Did I say that already?)

He always looked the shit.

We were at the Swank Italian Place and I had hopes they’d be able to make me a martini.

Aside: England doesn’t do martinis. The Land of Bond had forsaken shaken and stirred. It was criminal (but not as criminal as their lack of understanding behind the concept of not parking on double yellow lines. It was their rule, why didn’t they follow it?).

Aidan left me in a comfy seat on the front patio and went to see to our drinks.

I took the time to take a deep breath, calm myself and get into Glamour Girl Mode by looking at the sea.

I must admit, I spent a lot of time homesick and longing for America’s king-size bags of chili cheese Fritos; our entire grocery store aisles dedicated to cake mixes; my book club who spent more time scarfing down brie, tapenade and French bread, drinking wine and dissing the men in our lives than discussing the book; and ready-to-wear Ralph Lauren in any upscale department store but most of all, a life without cauldrons and prophesies.

But I never longed for home when I looked at the sea.

England may not have king-size bags of chili cheese Fritos but it had some incredible views.

“You smell fantastic.” I heard Aidan murmur in my ear.

And England had Aidan.

Shiver.

Mm.

I was in The Zone.

I was all cool, calm, Glamour Girl.

I’d become one with the sea and was ready to hear about Aidan, Sebastian and me, The Prophesies, just how ravishing I smelled (was wearing the scent Mom created for Viv, smelled like gardenia and baby powder on her, smelled like neroli and jasmine on me, magic) and most of all, I was ready for some dedicated flirting – the kind that led to something.

He came with a waitress who handed me my drink.

Ah, a martini.

I couldn’t wait.

I was prepared for the chilled, smooth, taste of vodka.

I drank it.

And gagged.

Not a little bit, a lot.

I barely saved myself from spewing it on Aidan’s trousers.

Ack!

So much for cool, calm, Glamour Girl.

Hovering waitress spoke in a thick accent, “You don’t like?”

Uh.

Duh!

She was Italian, gorgeous and I hated her on sight.

“What is that?” I asked, still half in gag mode, talking through the sloshing liquid in my mouth.

“Martini,” she answered.

“That… is not… a martini,” I answered, trying not to drool the sick-sweet liquid on my sexy, see-through tunic and instead allow it to slide down my throat.

“Yes, martini, martini,” she said in a panic, grabbing my glass and running away.