The thought circled through her mind, unable to find purchase. She kept replaying his words, the fierce certainty in his voice. *She rises.* He'd said that about her. In front of everyone. In front of her mother.
"Well." Daisy's voice cut through the silence, brittle with forced lightness. "That was dramatic."
Marigold turned to look at her. Her mother's face had gone pale beneath her expertly applied makeup, but she still managed to look like the victim.
"Really, Mari, I don't know what you've told that man, but he clearly has some very strange ideas about?—"
"He's right."
The words came out before she could stop them. Quiet but clear. Her own voice sounded strange to her ears—steadier than she felt.
Daisy's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"He's right." Marigold pushed back from the table, her legs trembling as she stood. "About all of it. About you. About me."
"Sweetheart, you're being ridiculous. I was only trying to?—"
"Humiliate me?" The word tasted strange on her tongue. She'd never said it out loud before. Never named what her mother did, not even in her own head. It had always been easier to call it concern or honesty or just the way Mom is. "Have you forgotten your own part in these little stories you like to tell? Simon didn't steal my credit card. He stole yours. And I was the one who had to work out a deal with the creditors. That high school boyfriend of mine? He also told the whole school that you seduced him. My fiance said the same thing?"
"I would never do such a thing! They completely misinterpreted my intentions. Really darling, do you have to bring this up now in front of all these people?"
Daisy looked around at the silent restaurant and gave her another wounded look. Marigold would have laughed if she wasn't so completely, utterly done.
"You know I never realized I could just… walk away before. Which is precisely what I'm going to do."
"Walk away? How can you, Marigold?—"
"Why can't I?" She turned back, meeting her mother's gaze directly. Something was unfurling in her chest—something that felt terrifyingly like freedom. "Because you'll be disappointed in me? You already are. You always have been. Nothing I do is ever good enough, and I'm done killing myself trying."
Daisy's mouth opened, but for once, she had nothing to say.
Marigold walked out. The evening air hit her face like a blessing—cool and sweet, carrying the scent of jasmine from the planters that lined Main Street. Her legs were shaking so badly she had to stop on the sidewalk, one hand pressed against the brick wall of the restaurant, just to breathe.
*I did that. I actually did that.*
The enormity of it threatened to overwhelm her. Twenty-six years of swallowing her mother's criticisms, of making herself small, of accepting that she would never be enough—and she'd just walked away. In public. In front of witnesses.
Her phone buzzed in her purse. She ignored it.
Thallos. She needed to find Thallos.
The vineyard was a twenty-minute walk from Main Street, but she barely felt the distance. She moved through the familiar streets on autopilot, her mind churning with everything that had happened. The things her mother had said. The way Thallos had looked when he'd defended her—fierce and certain, like her worth was obvious, like anyone who couldn't see it was simply wrong.
No one had ever looked at her like that.
No one had ever chosen her like that.
The Bloom & Vine sign came into view, its elegant script illuminated by the last light of sunset. But the shop was dark, closed for the evening. Of course it was—Thallos had been at dinner with her. He wouldn't have come back here.
*The cabin.*
The thought crystallized with sudden certainty. After what happened, he'd want privacy. Space. He'd be at the cabin. She hurried down the street and through the vineyard. The rows of grapevines stretched out on either side of her, their leaves rustling softly in the evening breeze. The sunset painted everything in shades of gold and amber, and for a moment, the beauty of it caught her off guard.
The cabin emerged from the trees like something out of a fairy tale. Warm light spilled from the windows, and smoke curled from the chimney even though the evening was mild. The front door stood slightly ajar, as if he'd been too distracted to close it properly.
She climbed the porch steps, her heart pounding.
She found him standing by the fireplace, one arm braced against the mantel, his head bowed. The firelight caught the curve of his horns, the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand was clenched into a fist at his side.
