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Pascal walks in. He must have just gotten back. “That guy’s a pussy. How did you ever end up with someone like that?”

I open my mouth, then shut it. I know he’s defending me, and he’s not wrong. But it just makes me feel worse for falling for Reid in the first place. I don’t want Pascal thinking I’m a bad judge of character. And I don’t want any of them rejecting me the way Reid did. I don’t think I could survive that again.

So I do what the scandal taught me. I avoid it. I head for my room without answering.

“Nina?” he calls after me.

“All good!” I call over my shoulder so he won’t follow. “I just remembered I have a call to make before six. See you at dinner!”

It’s a thin lie, and I hate lying to Pascal. He has more honor in his pinky finger than Reid has in his whole body. I just can’t deal with this right now. Not after last night, and all the plans we made for the next couple of weeks.

Reid turned my private pain into public entertainment, and now his followers will pile on me all over again. There’s nothing I can do to stop him. But I refuse to let him ruin what I have here. Even if I fall apart in private, I’ll keep it together in front of the guys.

In my room, I silence my phone and take a hot shower to clear my head. I’ve barely wrapped a towel around myself when someone knocks.

“Nina?” It’s Zander.

I steady my voice. “Yes?”

“We all saw the video.”

Devastating.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I say, pouting even though he can’t see me.

“Understood. But you’ve got enough on your plate. We talked, and you’re taking tomorrow off.”

I rest my hand on the door. “That’s really not necessary. I’m fine. But thank you.”

“We insist,” Zander says. “We’ll split your tasks. Do something fun, or stay in bed all day. We can manage for one day. We don’t want you burning out.”

Zander isn’t a man you argue with. And honestly, I could use a day.

“Okay,” I concede. “Thank you.”

“Take tonight off too. We can do that walk another time. Read a book. Relax. There must be something in the study you’d like. What do you like to read?”

I snort. I doubt these guys have my kind of books on those shelves.

“Shakespeare,” I say. “And before you call me a hopeless romantic, I prefer the dark ones.”

“Good to know,” he says, and his footsteps fade down the hall.

I take him up on the night off. I don’t leave my room until a few hours later, when hunger sends me down to the kitchen.

The house is quiet. Either the guys have turned in, or they’ve gone out. On my way back upstairs with a plate of food, I pass the study. The fire is crackling. And a book is sitting on the end table by the couch.

I haven’t seen a single book off those shelves since I got here.

I walk over and read the title on the leather cover.

Macbeth.

I tuck it under my arm and head back to my room. Tonight, I’ll eat, read, and rest. Tomorrow, I’ll start over.

CHAPTER 17

PASCAL