Page 105 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

“Honey—”

I turn, walk toward the house, releasing a breath when she hurries to catch up to me. But when we reach the French doors, I don’t follow her through them.

Instead, I turn and disappear into the shadows.

“Thorn!”

I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

Because I already know how this is going to end.

Thirty-One

River

The problem with Thorn Wilkenson is that he’s an idiot.

A wonderful, protective, gorgeous idiot.

But an idiot, nonetheless.

I chase him into the shadows, but it’s like he’s disappeared, and eventually I stop, not wanting to venture further away from the house.

The last thing I need is to get kidnapped again.

So I go inside, slip up to my room, and pull out my phone.

The call goes straight to voicemail—which isn’t exactly a surprise.

“Stupid man,” I whisper, typing out a text. Okay, more like a series of them.

RIVER: Please come back, honey.

RIVER: Or at least call me so we can talk.

RIVER: What you told me changes nothing.

RIVER: Please call me. I love you.

But the idiot man doesn’t answer.

Sighing, I walk back downstairs, force a smile through the cake cutting—that peaches and cream cake was definitely the right choice—and spend the rest of the night accepting glasses of champagne Rory passes me and dancing with Marie and Mia and Tiff and…

Pascal.

Who takes one look at my eyes and murmurs, “He told you.”

I nod.

“What happened?”

“That’s not really any of your business,” I murmur.

“You rejected him?” There’s a thread of frost in Pascal’s normally gentle tone.

“No,” I say. “But he didn’t give me the chance not to.”