Page 23 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

“They’re not perfect,” I murmur, opening the container and holding it up.

“Doesn’t mean they’re not beautiful,” he says, taking one. But he’s looking at me.

Telling me.

I take a cookie and snap the lid back on, putting it back in its spot and bustling around the small space doing God knows what.

Well, doing God knows everything to avoid looking at Thorn.

“River.”

The velvet rasp in his voice has me glancing up at him.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay around me.”

The words are nice. But they’re not reality.

Because pretending is how I survived—pretending to be calm, to be happy, that I wasn’t afraid.

“That sounds nice in theory,” I say.

“It should exist in reality too.”

My chest aches unexpectedly.

Because Thorn saying things like that with complete sincerity—like safety should simply be normal, like gentleness should be expected…

Is terrifying.

But the most terrifying part of all?

Is me wanting to believe him.

Eight

Thorn

I wait until dawn to slip out of River’s apartment, but I don’t head for my car.

Instead, I linger in the hall until I hear her alarm go off inside.

For one, I was only able lock the doorknob.

For another, I’m not ready to leave yet.

Once I hear movement, I walk to my car, pulling out my phone when it buzzes. I see that the pet sitter I now employ has sent me a picture of Violet, along with a text telling me she’s had breakfast.

Good.

Violet’s taken care of.

Now for River.

As I wait for her to emerge from her apartment, I make a call to Pascal. “We need to talk about River,” I say quietly.

He pauses. “What about her?”

“She’s uses a fucking chair under her doorknob to secure her door.”