Page 63 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Because I’m just as bad.

It’s why I say what I say next, “I’ll drop River off, order you all in some food, then make myself scarce so you can cackle and fuss and drink wine and talk about those smutty books you guys like.”

Smutty books it turns out I like. But that’s beside the point.

“You what?” River exclaims.

“Girl’s night,” I tell Briar and her both, “starts now.”

Then I pass back the phone and drive us to my place.

“Have fun at work Thorny Thorn!” Rory calls, bouncing baby Mia on her lap.

Violet’s beside her on the couch, watching the little girl’s pigtails bounce and taking the occasional gentle swipe.

Marie’s busy inspecting the apartments new layout—I bought hers and Jace’s places and combined them into one last year.

Chrissy is talking on the phone, likely with her husband, Rome, considering how soft her face is.

And Briar’s watching me.

Or rather, watching River and me.

River, who’s shifting from foot-to-foot beside me. “You don’t have to let us run you out of your house,” she says uncomfortably.

I ignore those watchful eyes and touch River’s cheek. “Have fun,” I say. “I’ll be back later.”

“Thorn,” she says as I reach for the button to call the elevator.

“Little hen”—I spin back, cup her cheek—“have fun.”

She leans into my touch and I’d let myself get kicked out of my home a hundred times over if only she continues to look at me like that, continues to lean into my touch, continues to be here.

“I…” She closes her eyes for a beat. “Well, thanks,” she whispers.

“You’re welcome.” The elevator chimes and I turn for it, the sound of laughter following me onto the car.

And as the doors close, I hear the best thing of all—River’s laughter joining in.

Fuck, I love that.

Love her.

Which means I go from being relaxed and happy and in fucking love to scared to fucking death in a fraction of a second.

Fuck. Fuck.

Head spinning, heart twisting, bile burning the back of my throat, I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone, and call Pascal.

“I need you to beef up security at my place,” I tell him the moment he answers.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” I say instantly. “Except that River was fucking kidnapped and that woman approached her at her apartment and all the women are at my place, and River—” I suck in a breath. “River,” I rasp, trying again. “I?—”

He curses. “You love her.”

“I—” The doors open, and I stalk through the lobby, wanting to deny it, almost desperate to. But I can’t force myself to say the words. “What I am doesn’t matter. I need you to?—”