Page 84 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Of course that’s what the house is modeled after.

And it also helps that every path eventually circles back to the house.

Even the large hedge maze that I’m currently wandering through has discrete cues for the proper path.

But I’m not interested in going back to the house, to the looks Briar and Brooks keep exchanging.

Poor River. She has shit taste in men. Let’s treat her like she’s fragile…or just one unrisen loaf of sourdough away from snapping.

They don’t get it.

That I’m not hurt. That I’m Mad. Yup. Still with that capital M.

And it doesn’t help that Thorn keeps showing up to discuss things with Brooks.

I wish I could say all that Mad means I’ve faced him with my head held high.

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

Instead, I hide in the kitchens—and when my bread isn’t cooperating or I burn the sugar cookies I stupidly keep making, I abandon baking for the outdoors.

I want to wander and get out of my own head, my own thoughts.

Want to stop missing him.

Want to stop chastising myself for standing back and letting him decide we were done.

Because I’m Mad at him. But…I’m Mad at me too.

“It’s my life,” I whisper. “I should get to decide too.”

Yet, all of that brings me right back here?—

To walking along winding gravel paths periodically dotted with stone benches, passing beneath trellises adorned with fragrant wisteria, and navigating old hedges strengthened by years and years of growth. When I reach the center of the maze, the flower beds spill over with lavender, foxglove, and pale English roses that look like they belong in the pages of a novel instead of real life.

It’s beautiful.

Lush.

Overgrown in that deliberate way wealthy people somehow manage to make look effortless.

I love it.

The garden.

The quiet paths.

The fresh air and sunlight.

The chance to think—and while absolutely none of that has been productive, at least I’m getting some Vitamin D.

I sink down onto the stone bench and close my eyes, tilting my face up to the sky. The morning sun is warm against my skin and the light breeze ruffles through my hair.

Then I sigh in contentment.

Because even though things are messed up, I still have this—quiet, sunshine, peace. And good friends, a safe place to land, freedom to take this time for myself.

A couple of years ago it was tension and fear, looking over my shoulder and trying to be perfect for Preston. Scared and small and not aware of the birds singing or the warm sunshine or the gentle, caressing breeze.