It was the love potion talking, she knew, though Maeve had little doubt that Skeeter could have been stupid enough to believe the words coming from his mouth, given the right incentive. Regardless, it was as plain as the freckles upon her cheeks that he was not going to see reason.

Fine, the witch thought, perhaps more smugly than the situation called for. A slap upside the head it is.

A not unpleasant tingle worked its way through the palm and fingers of her dominant hand as it made contact with the soft, meaty flesh of her husband’s cheek.

“Snap out of it,” she commanded calmly, her grey eyes meeting his own as she willed him to see the truth.