Page 104 of Unwritten Rules

I just need to be brave, like Wetherby said. Brave enough to stand up once more and take what I want. What I deserve.

Because I deserve happiness. We both do.

Having searched nearby, I deduce that she’s undoubtedly left the ball, so, making my way back to the library, I slide my phone from my pocket to order an Uber, only to spot Phillippe’s familiar figure across the street.

A lightbulb goes off when I realise she must have come from Hawthorne House earlier this evening, and my intuition is proved correct when I cross over to him.

“Let’s get out of here, Phillippe.” I climb into the back seat of the car just as Zara races down the library steps, waving her hands above her head.

“Shall I wait for her, sir?” Phillippe’s low question is accompanied by a wry grin in the driver’s mirror, and I shake my head once as I roll my eyes back in my head.

Lowering the window, I shout, “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

And Phillippe pulls away as she stops and stomps her foot like a petulant child.

I don’t know what I ever saw in her.

The drive back to Hawthorne House is in-fucking-terminable.

As Phillippe pulls onto the private lane leading to the house, I shuck my tux jacket and toss it beside me in the backseat, when my phone chimes with a text.

CHARLOTTE

Have you seen Mila? She ran off so quickly, and now I can’t find her.

Christ on the Cross, I want to kick the snot out of Taylor Jameson for whatever fucking game he’s playing at.

ME

She’s at my place, Lottie. I’ll get her to call you in the a.m.

The reply chimes in immediately.

CHARLOTTE

Thanks, Nate. Please tell her to check her phone.

Noted.

When the house comes into view, a flash of red draws my attention and my forehead puckers in confusion to see Mila’s Corvette Stingray speeding in the direction of the Lake House.

Is she running from me after what we did earlier? Does she think I won’t want her now that I know the truth about Jameson?

My jaw tics as I clench my teeth. I’m not fucking having it.

Once the car has parked out front, I slip from the backseat and stride with purpose in the direction the Stingray went. As I close in on my quarry, the clouds unleash a torrent of rain without warning, and the sky rumbles dangerously overhead.

I break into a jog, heading for a thicket of trees I know lies ahead, just by the Lake House. By the time I’ve entered the tree line, I’m soaked from head to toe and steaming fucking mad when I see her car sitting stationary just ahead.

I slam on the driver’s side window with more force than necessary, making her jump.

“Get out, Hellcat. Right. The fuck. Now!”

Without so much as opening her eyes, she shakes her head vehemently. “No, just leave. Go home, Nathaniel. I can’t look at you right now.”

“You can, and you will, Hellcat.”

Remembering Henry’s idea last year to have the automatic locking disabled on all DeMarco cars, I quickly grab the handle and tug the door open, intent on getting to her.