Page 82 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

I drop it back into the container, my stomach suddenly churning. I can’t eat it. Not when it’s the only evidence I have left of River existing here, existing in my life.

Her perfume has faded from the pillows in the guest room (where I’ve still been sleeping every night, like a fucking idiot).

Her books are gone, so’s the mixer and the spices and the special measuring cups she brought over.

No movies. No makeup on the counter. No purse on the hooks by the elevator.

Nothing except for that cookie.

Carefully, I snap the lid on.

“Meow!”

I lift my brows at Violet. “You already got fed. And your maxed out on treats, little cat.”

She meows again, louder this time.

I glare at her.

And…standoff.

“Fine,” I grumble. “One more treat.”

“Meow,” Violet says politely.

I can almost hear River laughing at me being a such a softie.

And that fucking hurts too.

My phone buzzes, thankfully snapping me out of my misery…for a moment, anyway.

PASCAL: Have you come to your senses yet?

THORN: No. Because I haven’t lost them.

PASCAL: Dumbass.

THORN: Go away. I’m working.

PASCAL: You mean you’re going over the same shit we’ve gone over a hundred times already.

Sighing, I ignore him and go back over to my laptop. We’re so fucking close, I can taste it.

My phone rings almost immediately.

Of course it does.

I debate letting it ring, but the fucker would probably just show up here if I do.

So, I answer with a sigh. “What?”

“What you’re doing is stupid.”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear.” I shove my laptop away. “But why do you care, man?”

“You love her.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Pascal?—”