Page 37 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

I scoop her into my lap automatically, ignore the fact that my hands are shaking.

I hate that.

Hate how fear settles into my body and lingers there long after the danger passes.

Slowly, I press my forehead against Violet’s tiny body.

She purrs loudly in response.

A quiet knock sounds against the partially open bedroom door, and I turn to see Thorn standing in the hall. “River?”

Tension knots my shoulders before I can stop it.

Last night was…

Amazing. Awkward. Terrifying.

And I don’t mean the kidnapping.

I stifle a snort, fully aware that I’m losing it—either that or channeling Westley from The Princess Bride.

“I’m awake,” I call, pushing away fiction and focusing on the present.

Yet another terrifying prospect.

Thorn steps into the room, carrying a tray, the scent of coffee reaching my nose. “Figured you might be hungry.”

My breath catches.

At the kindness. At the sight of him.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him not in a suit, and he looks absurdly gorgeous in the fitted T-shirt and gray sweatpants. His beard is thicker than normal and his feet are bare.

Why does that feel strangely innocent? To discover he has nice feet?

Clearly, I’m losing it.

“Little hen?”

“Thanks,” I say. “I am hungry.”

He nods and drifts over, settling the tray over my lap. “You should eat. You look pale.”

“Honest as always,” I tease.

One corner of his mouth twitches faintly then he nudges the tray closer. “It’s not something you made, but it is from Molly’s so it’s pretty good.”

My heart squeezes. “You got me Molly’s?”

“No.”

I blink.

“I sent one of Pascal’s guys out to get it.”

“Why?” I ask, the question feeling suddenly important. Very important.

He frowns. “Why?”