Page 115 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

The outfit is beyond absurd—emerald-green velvet and embroidery and…completely out of my comfort zone.

River would love it.

Because I know Pascal—and my other fairy godmothers, er, fathers—would have picked something she loved, something that went perfectly with her gown, something that would make her proud to have me standing beside her.

My chest tightens.

Because suddenly I can picture her face.

Not crying.

Not flinching back.

But smiling, happy, and…stepping into my arms.

And I think of the king in her book?—

I’d rather spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness than another minute pretending I don’t belong to you.

Yes.

That.

But I won’t ever earn her forgiveness if I’m not at her side.

If I’m hiding and avoiding and just giving up.

Sucking in a breath, I release it slowly.

Then I pull out the jacket.

Because I’m going to a fucking ball.

Thirty-Four

River

I’m just hugging Briar, my goodbye and her protest telling me to stay just a little bit longer hanging in the air when her eyes widen and she gasps.

Nope.

Not going there.

Someone probably just fell.

Or maybe a rogue said something saucy and got a face full of punch in his face for his impertinence.

Or someone proposed.

Or…a hundred other things, none of which require me to turn my attention to the doors for the umpteenth time this evening and battle through my crippling disappointment again.

I’m okay.

I’ll be okay.

But I don’t need to be a glutton for punishment.

And I don’t need to be standing on the sidelines waiting for an idiot man to get his head together. I’m going to go to the penthouse and make him see sense—even if I have to thump him upside the head with it.