Astonishingly, Ransom didn’t verbally whip me for my last barb. He shook his head, grabbing his phone and wallet. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Finally, we’re on the same page.” I rolled my eyes, stomping to the door. He followed me, his tall, narrow frame shadowing mine.
The drive to my parents’ mansion was silent. Mom and Dad sent out one of their drivers, which meant Ransom and I didn’t have the chance to bicker loudly. Just as well. I was exhausted from overthinking what had happened between us, and wasn’t looking forward to coming face-to-face with The Wicked Witch of the South and her sleek-haired fiancé.
Ten minutes before our scheduled arrival at my parents’， Ransom glanced over at me from the other side of the Escalade. “You’re not to leave my sight tonight, Princess.”
“Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think? After going MIA for seven days.”
His eyes flicked to our driver, then narrowed back at me. “Some of us have real jobs to do.”
“And yours is to take care of me. If you can’t handle it, hand back the monthly checks.”
“Weekly,” he corrected coolly. “And you were in safe hands with Max.”
“They were warm, too.” I let loose a malicious grin. “Not to mention…creative.”
He crossed his legs, looking at me with easy mockery. “He didn’t touch you.”
“Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. You’ll never know.”
“I do know, because there are cameras everywhere. Remember?”
I did now. God, I hated the man.
“Don’t mistake his lapse of judgment for a trend.” Ransom shook his head.
“Was that what Max and I had?” I mused. “And what would you call what you and I had?” I dropped my voice so we couldn’t be heard. “A gap of judgment wide enough to drive a tanker through?”
“A mistake.”
“If there’s one mistake here, it’s you.”
“No doubts there. We all know the story of my origins.”
“Listen here, you ass—”
He reached over, pressing his forefinger to my mouth with a dry chuckle. “What I am is irrelevant. What you are is what’s important. And you’re a client. So let’s pretend that night never happened and move on. Believe it or not, I’m here to help you. Especially as it seems you lack the motivation and resources to help yourself.”
I was about to bite off his finger when the Escalade pulled to a stop in front of the wrought-iron gates.
He unbuckled, sliding out of the car.
“It’s showtime, Princess.”
A dime was not spared on the rehearsal dinner, which consisted of the two lovebirds’ families and close friends. Two hundred people in total.
Security was through the roof. Dozens of black-suited men patrolled the grounds of the mansion, with helicopters swirling low above the rooftop. Pink peonies and white roses poured out of tall antique porcelain vases, bracketing the pathway to the entrance. A wedge of golden light shining down from professional projectors made the open double doors shimmer. Ransom and I walked in to find the open-plan foyer teeming with people in suits and gowns, clutching flutes of champagne, babbling about the upcoming event.
“…heard they’re going to spend 20k on fireworks alone…”
“…the invitations are apparently decked out with invisible ink and holograms to avoid wedding crashers…”
“…gown should be fantastic. The tiara is said to be on loan from the Queen of England herself. Apparently, she is an avid Julianne Thorne fan. Can you believe it?”
Plucking a glass of champagne from a wandering tray, I glided toward the inner rooms, Ransom at my heel. I brought the drink to my lips, only to have Ransom snatch it from between my fingers.
“No alcohol for you tonight.”
“Tell me you’re a petty baby without telling me you’re a petty baby,” I purred, trying not to show him how frustrated I was. I wasn’t expecting a tearful reunion, but why was he so awful to me?
“Bad things happen when you drink,” he reminded me.
“The worst thing that recently happened to me occurred when I was stone-cold sober.”
He didn’t respond. Good. I had bigger fish to fry. One of them stood at the end of the hallway, haloed by a flock of women in evening gowns.
Hera.
She looked tragically stunning. A modern-day Audrey Hepburn in a lime dress, with a boat neckline and a hem that was just long enough to announce she was the star of the event. Her dark hair was pinned up, her side bangs swiped to one side neatly. She wore minimal makeup.
“Oh, yes. It’s been so horrible to lose him.” Hera touched a gloved hand to her chest, presumably talking about Craig’s grandfather. “I kept asking—why me? Why us? It was such a difficult time for me. Still is.”
Me, me, me.
Was that how I sounded? No wonder the tabloids loathed me.
Without realizing, I gravitated toward the circle of women. I felt safe, cloaked in the invisible cape of my failure to become a successful Thorne daughter. So much so, that I was genuinely surprised when my sister’s eyes zeroed in on me. First, with open contempt. How could I wear something so gauche to her rehearsal dinner? Right before she plastered a delighted smile on her face.
“Hallie! My gosh, finally! I’ve missed you so.” She stepped between two middle-aged ladies with too much makeup and clasped me into a special Thorne hug, where arms were involved even though bodies did not touch. I felt instantly cold. Her mouth found my ear. “Don’t fuck it up for me, little sis. Please. I really want to just survive tonight. I’m exhausted.”
Hera rarely showed signs of weakness, so I was actually pretty touched.
Disconnecting from me, she fluttered a hand over my arm. “Look at you! I cannot believe it’s been so long.”
“I can,” a voice behind me said dryly. Ransom. Hera frowned at him.
“And you are?” She offered her gloved hand for him to kiss.
“Ransom Lockwood, your sister’s security detail.” He ignored her outreached hand, popping his ID card from the inside of his blazer.
“What a peculiar name.”
“At least I’m not named after the most jealous, vengeful creature in Greek mythology,” he said, low enough only for her and me to hear.
She sized him up quickly, her sharp eyes sweeping over his physique, his stony expression, the immaculate cut of his tux. The ring of women around us dissolved. People floated toward the waiters, eager to see if the hors d’oeuvres were truly gold-leafed.
Finally deciding he was not someone she wanted to cross, she turned to me. “I can’t believe you missed the funeral, Hal. People talked.”
“We felt strongly it wasn’t safe for Miss Thorne to travel so far away,” Ransom’s silky voice taunted, pressing on all of Hera’s sensitive points. “She’s a high-profile persona.”
“My sister can speak for herself.” Hera reddened. “And anyway, who do you think I am?”
“A nurse, right?” he asked, knowing damn well she was a doctor, and that she would find the question insulting. “Very admirable.”