Page 9 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Then I eat with my friends Princess Buttercup and Westley—and best of all—Inigo Montoya.

After justice has been served and true love saved, I decorate the cookies.

And though I’m telling myself it’s not for him, I pick the best daisy and decorate it to perfection…including using tweezers to place the sprinkles.

“Dumb,” I whisper as I bag it up.

But dumb or not, I still place it carefully aside as I finish off the rest of the cookies, clean up, and retire to the couch. I’m not feeling another movie, so I grab my kindle and see about getting lost in a different fictional world.

Alas, it doesn’t help that the hero is tall and broad with a thick brown beard, a soft Scottish accent, and a penchant for well-fitting suits.

Ugh.

I flop back on the couch, stare up at the ceiling. “I am so totally messed up,” I inform it.

Unfortunately, the ceiling offers no useful feedback in return.

With a sigh, I flop to my side.

Thankfully, my phone buzzes and I seize the distraction, snagging it from the table and looking at the screen.

Briar’s name on the front makes me smile.

Her message even more so.

BRIAR: Look what I did!

The picture beneath shows a loaf of bread. It’s slightly misshapen and maybe a bit burned in spots, but my heart still squeezes with happiness.

RIVER: The looks awesome, sweetheart. Great job!

BRIAR: Definitely far from awesome, but it smells edible.

I laugh then type out,

RIVER: Maybe find out if it tastes edible too, honey.

BRIAR: Planning on it.

She sends a picture of a knife and a bowl of whipped honey.

My lips twitch and I roll back over to my back again, waiting for her to reply.

As I do, there’s a loud thunk out in the hall, one that has me jumping, my pulse speeding, my lungs seizing. I freeze, falling silent as I wait, every muscle tense. But there are no further sounds and the resultant silence settles in around me, the quiet becoming heavy and stifling.

My gaze drifts automatically toward the locks on the door.

Deadbolt engaged.

The chain in place.

A sturdy wooden chair tucked under the knob.

Old habits.

Open this fucking door right now, you stupid bitch!

I jerk at the sound of Preston’s voice in my head, but as hard as I try to force the memory away…it lingers.