Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Thorn
The fantasy ball begins at seven.
I know this because I’ve checked the invitation in my inbox six times.
Not because I’m going.
I’m not. I won’t ruin River’s night by forcing her to interact with me.
Even though I’m sure that she’ll look beautiful.
Fuck, what if she’s so beautiful another man asks her to dance and touches her and—
“Then she would be better off,” I grind out.
At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself.
She’s better off without me, without my life poisoning hers, without—
“Meow?”
I exhale, pushing away from the windows, from the sparkling city beyond, from my attempts at staring through the darkness, like I can spy on River at the ball from here.
“What do you want, little cat?” I ask, crouching down and scratching her behind her ears.
“Meow. Meow. Meow!”
“Right,” I mutter at her aggrieved tone. Yet another person—er, creature—telling me what an idiot I am.
Sighing, I scoop Violet up, walk over to the couch. There’s a book laying open on the arm, the same book I began reading with River asleep next to me a few weeks—a fucking lifetime—ago.
But even with Violet’s criticisms my apartment is quiet.
Too damned quiet.
Groaning, I pick up the book and start reading.
The king dropped to one knee.
Not because anyone demanded it.
Because it was all he had left to offer.
She stood across the throne room, tears shining in her eyes, and the sight nearly destroyed him.
“I told myself I was protecting you,” he said quietly. “Every secret. Every lie. Every terrible decision.” His throat tightened but he forced the words out. “I convinced myself it was all to protect you.”
She was silent. Unmoving.
“I was wrong. It was cowardice,” he said. “I thought you’d turn away.”
The words echoed through the empty hall—a simple truth.
Yet, it was one that didn’t change anything.
Because she didn’t move.
“I should have trusted you,” he rasped.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
He saw it and felt something inside him break open.
Because there it was. The look he’d feared. The one he’d expected.
He’d broken her.
A sad smile touched his mouth. “If you send me away, I’ll go.” His voice was gravel. “But I’d rather spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness than another minute pretending I don’t belong to you.”
For a long moment neither of them moved.
Then, heart shattered, he rose.
Preparing to leave.
Preparing to lose her forever.
Only for her hand to close around his wrist.
“You’re a fool,” she whispered.
His breath caught. “Probably."
“No." Her voice broke. “Definitely, my love.”
And before he could mistake her tears for rejection again, she stepped into his arms—
I slam the book shut because that’s far too fucking close to home, and it makes me wonder if I should have—
My phone buzzes.
I ignore it.
Then it buzzes again.
And again. And fucking again.
“Christ,” I mutter, picking it up and looking at the screen.
PASCAL: Thorn, this is your daily reminder you’re being an idiot.
PASCAL: Snap out of your moping and don’t make the biggest mistake of your life.
Then,
PASCAL: I hope you’re not jerking off.
Scowling, I start to type back a reply, telling him to fuck off…
Then hear the elevator.
Violet lifts her head. “Meow?”
The doors slide open just as I make it to my feet.
Violet’s ahead of me, sprinting over and then skidding to a stop in obvious disappointment that the intruder isn’t River.
Instead, it’s Pascal.
Who’s standing there holding a garment bag.
For a moment neither of us speaks.
Then I find my voice. “No,” I growl.
He sidesteps me, walks down the hall, and disappears into my bedroom.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
“Meow?” Violet asks, trailing him.
By the time I follow, he’s tossed the bag on my bed. “No what?” he asks innocently.
I glare at the garment bag. “No that.”
“If you’re going to the ball, you need something to wear.
” He brushes his hands together. “So consider me your fairy godfather.” A shrug.
“Well, me with help from Rory, Marie, Tiff, Chrissy, and Briar, of course. The guys couldn’t give two fucks about your”—he makes air quotes—“outfit. Though Jean-Michel told me to tell you he’s still the best fairy godfather around. ”
I close my eyes.
An outfit?
And fairy godfathers?
Jesus fucking Christ.
“I am not going.”
Pascal just smirks. “Yeah, you are,” he announces.
I open my mouth to protest.
“You know how important this is to her. You know you love her. You know that if you don’t step the fuck up right now, that you’ll lose her forever. So yeah,” he says, turning for the hall, “you’re absolutely fucking going.”
“I—”
He gestures toward the garment bag. “Get dressed.”
Then he’s gone.
I stand in my bedroom, staring at the garment bag like it’s a rattlesnake poised to strike, trying to will myself to go to the living room and forget Pascal was here at all.
But I can’t make my feet move.
And, eventually, curiosity wins out.
I walk to the bed, unzip the garment bag.
The outfit is beyond absurd—emerald-green velvet and embroidery and…completely out of my comfort zone.
River would love it.
Because I know Pascal—and my other fairy godmothers, er, fathers—would have picked something she loved, something that went perfectly with her gown, something that would make her proud to have me standing beside her.
My chest tightens.
Because suddenly I can picture her face.
Not crying.
Not flinching back.
But smiling, happy, and…stepping into my arms.
And I think of the king in her book—
I’d rather spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness than another minute pretending I don’t belong to you.
Yes.
That.
But I won’t ever earn her forgiveness if I’m not at her side.
If I’m hiding and avoiding and just giving up.
Sucking in a breath, I release it slowly.
Then I pull out the jacket.
Because I’m going to a fucking ball.