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Hell-bent on revenge, it had been a conscious decision to disregard her sister’s wishes and selfishly plunge ahead, thereby setting events in motion that had forced Ronan to make an impossible choice.
Because he knew her better than she knew herself — she would not have backed down, listened to reason.
Her desire for revenge had been all-consuming. It had nothing to do with protecting Raegan and Jack. That had simply been her excuse. Blinded by her hatred — both inward and outward — she had turned her back on everything good in her life.
And made a choice.
Revenge.
There was nothing altruistic about that.
She had done it before.
Ronan had acted on instinct. Pure. Selfless.
He had gone to extraordinary lengths to save her from herself.
How was she ever going to face the man again?
Or her sister, for that matter.
Night had fully fallen, and a light breeze drifted through the open rear doors of the van. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Felicity stared out at the moonlit waves lapping against the rocks, hoping the nicotine would calm her nerves. Maisie’s head rested on her thigh, while Maggie and Millie sprawled on either side of her.
She idly stroked Maisie’s head. “I really messed up, girls.”
Sleep did not bring her any closer to an answer, and after a cursory drive through the old part of town, she put Key West in her rearview mirror.
She escaped Florida in a single day.
Well, almost.
Mid-afternoon found her inching north along the Atlantic coast, the endless ribbon of highway beginning to wear on both her and the pugs. When a weathered roadside sign announced Flagler Beach — Old Florida at Its Best, she signaled, left the interstate behind, and followed the road toward the ocean.
Felicity parked near the beach, let the pugs stretch their legs, and decided there were worse places to spend the night.
She woke the following morning to a text from Rae.
Please come home for Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving.
Four weeks away.
Was she ready?
Felicity pondered the question over breakfast at a beachfront café, staring at her dark phone lying beside her plate.
The word home lodged somewhere beneath her ribs.
Home.
Strange how it wasn’t Galina’s little house that came to mind.
Instead, she saw the man standing on the veranda of the stately Victorian.
Waiting.
Maggie stretched with a groan and lumbered to her feet, abandoning her post-breakfast snooze. She sat in front of Felicity and fixed her with a baleful stare.
