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Whatever he says next doesn’t register because, by the time I stand, Molly’s already pushing through the exit doors.
“Where are you going?” Sam asks when I shove my chair back from the table.
I don’t bother giving him a response as I move through the room after her.
The temperature has dropped significantly outside when I descend the steps leading from the banquet hall, and a harsh breeze brings a spray of droplets from the dimly lit fountain in front of me.
In the darkness, a shadowy figure darts through the cypress trees lining the stone walkway, and I might be amused by her poor attempt at being inconspicuous if it weren’t for the trail of sobs following her.
I jog over to her, which only makes her barefooted steps quicker.
“Molly, wait,” I whisper, trying not to draw attention from the guests loitering on the grounds.
Her tear-filled gaze floods with anguish when she halts between two trees long enough to look at me. “Please, Rowan. Just leave me alone.”
No fucking chance I’m leaving her alone in the cold like this. “I just want to talk.”
“Thanks for the pity bid, but I have nothing to say to you.”
Heels dangling from her fingers, she tip-toes across the gravel drive leading to the front of the main building, wincing with every step, but refusing to slow.
Frustration builds, getting the best of me. “Don’t force me to stop you.”
Half-dried tears are matted to her cheeks when she whips her head my way, and I nearly stumble into her. “And you think you can because I’m weak, is that it?”
“You’re not weak,” I say, more roughly than intended, but then, I understand what it’s like to lash out from hurt and anger.
When she steps on a jagged rock sticking out amongst the pebbles, she staggers, crying out before falling to her knees at my feet.
I’m gutted by the way she scrambles backward, jerking her face away from me. Tiny scratches pucker with streaks of blood around the gray-tinged dirt that coats her shins.
Slowly, I crouch before her and lower my voice. “I was only trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help,” she spits.
My brows pinch at the way she’s curled in on herself, breaths ragged. It ignites a blistering hot fury within me, yet my tone is frigid when I ask, “That man in there, Wade. Do you know him?”
Behind the tears coating her lashes, I catch a flash of hatred. “Yes.”
“Why does he pick on you?”
Her lips thin in defiance, and despite myself, I smirk. This little kitten does have claws, and that’s good, because I plan to push her.
“What do you care, anyway? The two of you looked awfully chummy back there while you were pretending that you didn’t remember me.”
“I wasn’t pretending,” I argue. “But what was I supposed to think after you all but ran away from me?”
“Whatever.” She attempts to stand, one hand yanking the hem of her dress down while she braces herself with the other. “I should’ve known you were just like them. You’re all the same.”
I’m not sure what she means by that, but I’m not the kind of man who sits idly by while a wounded woman struggles.
I reach for her. “Let me help you.”
“Don’t.”
Glowering, I try again, and I’m powerless against my protective instincts when, this time, she allows me to take her into my arms.
I pull her to my chest as I rise, and my nostrils flare when her intoxicating, fresh-cut-flower scent fills my lungs. “Your pride’s been hurt, I get it. But there’s no reason for you to fight when I can easily carry you to the edge of the lawn.”
