Page 58 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

River

My apartment looks exactly the same.

Vanilla lingering in the air.

Cheerful curtains hanging on the windows.

Books on my bookshelf, containers of flour and sugar on the counter, my Kitchen Aid taking up the bulk of the space beside them. A basket of laundry that still needs to be folded and put away. A few errant crumbs on the table. Some of my bras are hanging over the screen that hides my bed—which is unmade—where I left them to air dry.

Nothing has changed.

Meanwhile…everything has changed.

I exhale and move through the space, tugging the bras from the screen and stuffing them into the laundry basket, wiping the crumbs from the table, automatically checking the level of the air freshener to make sure it’s topped up.

My blue mug is still in the sink, so I rinse it, put it in the drying rack.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I say softly, glancing to where Thorn is standing by the door.

Staring at the chair I keep there. Or maybe glaring at it.

“Do you want me to wait in the hall?” he asks, looking up at me and there’s something in his expression I don’t like, something that has my stomach knotting.

I’ve been in knots all morning. Ever since?—

“River?”

“Wh-what?”

His expression stays steady but the cool distance in his tone makes my temper spike. “Would it be easier if I gave you space to gather your things?”

“Have I asked you to give me space?”

A long pause. “No, little hen.”

“Exactly,” I mutter, picking up the laundry basket even as my insides twist, my temper grows…both of which are making me second guess far too much. “If I’ve overstayed my welcome, and you want me to go live with Brooks and Briar?—”

“No, I don’t want that.”

“Then why?—?”

Biting off my words, I shake my head and turn to the laundry basket again. I’m making something out of nothing. Who cares if he’s been off this morning?

Who cares if I woke up alone and then the first thing he asked when I came out was if I wanted to come back here?

Who cares if I thought it meant or means or?—

Suddenly, he’s right in front of me. “Little hen,” he says quietly. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, start folding clothes.

He settles his hand on the side of my neck and I don’t flinch, don’t feel the slightest bit of fear.

I do, however, blurt out the idiocy in my brain. “I thought it was unsafe.”

His eyes widen. “What’s that, little hen?”

“I thought it was unsafe to leave the penthouse,” I whisper. “To come back here. So, I thought you bringing me meant…”