Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Excuse me,” I say finally, trying to get through the bottleneck of people.
They turn toward me and burst out in awkward laughter, one of them whispering “Oh my god” under her breath as if she’s never found something so amusing or titillating in her life. I look for Barrett and see he’s near the bar with a group of guys. He holds up his hand to wave me over, and a flood of anxiety grips hold of me.
There’s no way I can stay. In fact, I make my mind up as I walk toward him. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”
His brows furrow, and I’m grateful when he doesn’t brush me off. “Sure thing.”
Once we’re out of earshot of his friends, I try on a smile. “Sorry to be a bore, but I’m going to head home. I’m just not up for a party tonight.”
“Are you serious?”
My smile strains under the weight of his annoyed gaze.
“Sorry,” he continues, shaking his head and easing his initial reaction. “I just really wanted to spend time with you. You aren’t having fun?”
How do I put it mildly?
“Oh, you know, I’m just tired after a long week, and these are your friends.”
“But they could be your friends too.”
I’m not sure I want them to be, honestly.
“Maybe another night,” I tell him, taking a step back as if to initiate my departure. If there were a button I could press to shoot me straight up into the air, I’d use it.
“Let me take you home at least,” he says, looking for a place to set down his drink.
I shoot my hand out to touch his arm. “No, it’s okay. Frank’s outside.”
“Really?”
There’s disbelief in his tone, and well, there should be—I’m definitely lying.
Then one of his friends shouts his name, calling him back over to the group, and that’s that. Barrett gives me a swift kiss on the cheek and promises to get in touch with me soon, and then I’m a free woman.
I try to spot Tori one more time on my way out, but she still hasn’t come back outside. So, I curve around the side of the house and walk home along Bellevue Avenue with the gilded castles and marble mansions shining in the moonlight. My flats almost immediately start to chafe my heels, and now that the sun’s down, the air is chilly. I hug my arms around my waist to ward off the cool air and pick up my pace, eager to get back to Rosethorn, my safe haven.
The imposing gates come into view and I skip ahead, waving at Neal in the guard house so he can buzz me through the small pedestrian gate that sits beside the huge one. I close it after I walk through and it locks automatically behind me. I sigh in relief as I turn to walk up the winding path that eventually deposits me in the driveway. Immediately, I look toward Nicholas’ parking spot and hold my breath until I see that it’s empty.
As I make my way to the house, shoulders slumped, I wonder if I left the party because I wasn’t having fun or because he wasn’t there.
15
Maren
Nicholas didn’t arrive at Rosethorn on Friday, and it leaves me continually on edge the next day, as if he’s going to appear out of thin air at any moment. All day, I peer around every corner before I proceed down a new hallway, I make sure I’m always presentable when I go downstairs, and I try very hard to get my brain to concentrate on anything other than him. By sundown, he still hasn’t arrived.
A small package arrives for me on Sunday morning. I assume it’s from Barrett, but when I open it up, I find a handwritten note on personalized stationery. The letters VP are interwoven near the top in embossed ink. Below it, a handwritten message.
I’m sorry for how I acted on Friday. I was sad to find that you’d left the party early. Please say we’re still friends? - Tori
Beneath the note, she included a new book of sheet music, and the gesture instantly eases my anxiety. At least I still have one friend in Newport outside of Rosethorn’s gates.
I spend the evening playing songs from the book, aware of different staff members trickling in and out of the room to listen. Cornelia lets them have more flexible hours on Sunday, to go to church or see their families or just relax, so Collins and Frank and Patricia sit on the couches in the blue drawing room listening to me play until my fingers ache.
On Monday, Cornelia says there’s nothing on the agenda for the day, so I keep myself busy on my own. I clip roses in the garden. I collect Cornelia’s mail and bring it to her with her afternoon tea, then I read to her for a little while. I convince Chef to let me help prepare dinner while Cornelia lies down to rest. He doesn’t really let me touch anything, but I’m allowed to bring him ingredients and watch him work if I keep a healthy distance.