Page 107 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

“I think I made it clear that the only outfit I’ll be wearing is a suit,” Brooks mutters.

“We’ll see,” Briar says brightly.

Brooks groans.

And he’s not the only one.

Okay, not the only man groaning.

She just waggles her fingers. “Night, sweetheart.” A wink. “Enjoy the powers of that bouquet.”

I snort, shake my head, and make the rest of my goodbyes.

But, it needs to be noted, that I do it with the bouquet in my hand.

A week later, Brooks and Briar are home from their honeymoon…

And Thorn is still MIA.

Sighing, I roll to my side, thinking about my trip to his apartment today. It was empty, silent, as though all the life had gone out of it.

And his phone is shut off.

The only one who can reach him is Pascal…and all he’ll tell me, tell any of us, is that Thorn is alive and working on the stuff with the Lyons.

But alive doesn’t mean okay.

I roll to my back, stare up at the ceiling, wide awake and miserable and worried as hell.

And pissed.

Because he told me everything. Everything.

Not the sanitized version.

His ugly, shameful truth.

And then?—

He left.

Like I had weeks ago.

Groaning, I bury my face in a pillow, wanting to scream.

But it’s the middle of the night and Briar and Brooks are sleeping, so I resist the urge. I do toss back the blankets and head downstairs to the kitchen, though.

If I can’t sleep, we may as well have freshly baked goodies with our coffee in a couple of hours.

I get out the butter, the flour, the milk and yeast, the sugar and salt.

And I start making croissants.

They’re finicky and time-consuming and the perfect distraction from the worry eating at me.

It’s only when I’m putting the first batch in the oven to bake off that I hear Briar through the audiobook I’m playing on my earbuds. “You okay?”

“Yes,” I lie, pausing the book.