Page 81 of Hats off to Love

Train horns could be blaring, the building could be on fire, the world could be ending, infested with zombies, and I wouldn’t know it. At this moment, I’m not sure I care. I’m so hurt all I can do is shut it all off while I walk away with my head held high.

Turning around, I move to quietly slip away, but a woman I don’t recognize bumps into me. She apologizes, and with the movement, Christopher spots me over Stokes’s shoulder and calls my name.

I freeze.

I can’t breathe and feel like hyperventilating.

“Hey,” Stokes says to me. I can’t look at him, can’t see his handsome face, so I fumble in my clutch as he approaches cautiously. Yeah, he should be wary—at this moment I feel like a Tasmanian devil and am two seconds from whirling into a chaotic mess that takes out everyone around me, most especially him. “Did you hear what we were talking about?” he asks.

“No. Should I have?” I ask point-blank, pulling out some lip gloss I can smear over my lips. Distraction, that’s what this is.

He reaches for my arm and gently pulls. He wants me to look at him, and when I do, I see his eyes narrow at my tone. Whatever—he doesn’t get to look at me like that. Should I confront him? Maybe, but even I know this isn’t the time.

“You were gone for a while . . . you’re leaving again?” he asks, and all these years of knowing him instantly come crashing down. He might have tricked me over the last couple of weeks, luring me into donning rose-colored glasses, but he isn’t deceiving me right now. I see him for what he is: a snake. Every bit of his posture, the wrinkles around his eyes, the color on his cheeks—it all screams guilty.

He is guilty.

If I had a shovel, it’s quite possible I’d cut off his head.

“I walked around to look at the hats since you were busy. Now I’ve decided I want a drink. I’ll be right back.” I don’t ask him if he would like one, instead pulling free to just turn and walk out of the suite.

Quickly, I make it to the restroom, find a stall, and close myself behind the door. I might have run just like I did at the bourbon tasting, but there was no way I could stand there in front of him for one moment longer. Closing my eyes, I fold over, and my beautiful hat drops to the floor.

What am I doing here? I silently ask myself. Grabbing two pieces of toilet paper, I press them to my eyes. There’s no way to stop these tears, but I refuse to let them mess up my face.

Five minutes—that’s all I’m going to give myself here. After that, I’m going to pull up my big girl panties and do what I always do when it comes to him. For years, I’ve found a way to push back at whatever he’s thrown my way, and once I walk out these doors, I’ll do the same. He may think he’s pulled one over on me, but he’s got another thing coming.

By the time I make it back, more people have come to the suite. We’re getting closer to the time Ace runs, and it can’t get here fast enough. His mother has arrived, along with Grayson, my mother, Molly, Austin, and other people I recognize but don’t know, and everyone is so happy.

Everyone but me.

I feel like I am dying on the inside.

I make my way to Molly and use her to run interference. She chose a royal blue fascinator today and looks so lovely; it hurts to see her enjoyment in all of this. Then again, this is her family. None of this is mine. We talk about who we’ve seen and hats we’ve loved, and several times she asks me if I’m okay. Of course I nod, but anxiety has crept onto her features. Although I’m doing my best to ignore Stokes, he’s stayed close by, and I’ve caught him eyeing me suspiciously. I let him in and he knows how to read me, which has me feeling completely exposed.

Glancing at my phone, I see it’s five thirty. Any minute now, Stokes, his mother, and Grayson will head over so they can make the walk in with Ace from the barn to the paddock. It’s a chance for the owners to show off their contender for the year, and it’s a really big moment. They should be so proud.

I’m proud for them.

And now I feel like a traitor to myself.

I can’t be here.

I grab Stokes’s arm to get his attention, and when he faces me, his expression drops.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

I know I should and eventually I’ll need to, but I just can’t right now. I am not going to cry in front of him, not going to embarrass myself or him. I’ve worked too hard this season for today to be recorded in the history books as the day I had an epic meltdown at the Derby.

“I think I ate something bad, or I’m coming down with a stomach virus. I’m so sorry, but I have to go.”

He looks confused as his gaze bounces back and forth between my eyes. He’s trying to figure out what is wrong and what to do. Unfortunately, he’s done enough.

Enough of this.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll touch base later.” I take a step away. I’m fighting tears, but again, he doesn’t deserve to see them. None of these people do. With the number of cell phones up and taking pictures of every little detail, I’m certain someone would capture my humiliation and heartbreak and share it with the world, a world whose business none of this is.

“Rosie . . .” His brows pull down, concerned, and at the same time his mother calls him to go.