Yes, I wanted to kill them all. But all I did was take the ring and cry—then I wiped my cheeks and started writing about abolishing the monarchy.
Band, ball, diamonds, twist.
“Hey,” Rhea says, sliding her hand over mine to stop the movement of my fingers. “You okay?”
Pinching my lips into a smile, I nod. “Yeah. Fine.” I slip my hands under my thighs to stop fidgeting.
“I was thinking tomorrow we could go up to the ridge on Treo Mountain to that spot where we scattered your dad’s ashes. I bought candles and flowers this morning—we could have a little memorial.” She looks at me, eyes soft.
My heart thumps as emotion wells up inside me. Rhea planned that for me? She remembered the exact day of my father’s passing and went out of her way to do something? I…I don’t deserve her as a friend. She’s too good. She puts up with me working all the time and giving her scraps of my attention, then goes and does something like this for me.
Rhea’s lips curl as she arches her eyebrows. “Plus, the hike up to the ridge will help with the hangover.”
“I’m not planning on being hungover tomorrow.”
“That makes one of us.”
I laugh, leaning over to lay my head on her shoulder. Rhea rests her cheek on top of my head, and a tiny bit of tension is released from my body. The space between my shoulder blades eases ever so slightly, and I let myself actually see the landscape passing us by.
I love my country. My family has lived in Nord for hundreds of years, and I feel the pulse of this place in my veins. We’re in the outskirts of the city, where suburbs yield to pine trees and the wilderness starts to stake its claim on the land.
“Where is this party, again?”
“The old Velly watermill,” Rhea replies. “They’ve refurbished it.”
“Who?”
“Whoever planned this party,” Rhea laughs, shrugging. “All I know is I got an invite, and it’s supposed to be insane.”
“I don’t know why I let you drag me to these kinds of things.”
“It’s because you secretly-not-so-secretly love it, and you love me, and you love being dragged out of your boring, lame existence. You pretend you enjoy writing all those depressing revolutionary articles, but a big part of you just wants to say fuck it and actually live a little.”
“Wow. Don’t hold back, Rhea.” I pretend to roll my eyes, and I can’t help but laugh. “Savage.”
“I only speak the truth.”
“Mm.” I sit up just as the taxi turns off the main road onto a narrow gravel laneway. Tall pine trees stand straight in thick bunches on either side of the road, with a few deciduous trees sprinkled in between.
My chest tightens as music thumps in the distance, and Rhea lets out an excited giggle. “This is going to be fun.”
I don’t answer. The taxi pulls up to a large timber building. The huge waterwheel pokes over the back of it, light spilling from every window. Plastic skeletons and jack-o-lanterns litter the front lawn, with scarecrows sitting on either side of the entrance like guards.
Rhea hands the driver a few bills as we exit the car, then comes around the back of the taxi to stand beside me. “Are you excited?”
I force a smile. “Very.”
It’s… mostly true. I haven’t been to a party in a long time. Last year, Rhea convinced me to go to a bar for Halloween and I stayed for all of one hour. A party like this? It’s been years. I’m not one for crowds, to start, and this particular weekend is always difficult. But Rhea is here, and she’s right. I need to loosen up.
So, I touch the tip of my pink snout, smooth my hands over the top of my wig, and let Rhea lead me to the front door.
A bouncer dressed in all black stands next to the porch stairs, holding out a hand. Rhea produces her phone, taps on it a few times, and spins it toward him. Our invitations are displayed on the screen for the bouncer to check. He nods, then steps aside.
Music blares when we open the door, a crush of bodies visible just beyond the threshold to the next room. To our left, a bar is set up with bartenders wearing nothing but black pants and bow ties. The female bartenders have tight black miniskirts on, complete with black cat ears on their heads.
I sweep my gaze toward the crowd on the dance floor. A Sasquatch and his sexy park ranger girlfriend grind their bodies together on the dance floor. A man in a skeleton costume with his mask pushed up over his head tips a brown bottle toward his lips. A group of women dressed as various animals—well, they’re wearing headbands with ears—make their way to the middle of the dance floor amidst screams and laughter.
It’s…gosh, I don’t even know. It feels like college again. At twenty-eight, I think I might be too old for this. Rhea takes my hand and drags me to the left. She takes my jacket off and hands it to a woman running the coat check line, then pulls me toward the bar.
“Two vodka sodas please, gorgeous.” Rhea smiles at the tall, sandy-haired man behind the bar. He nods, pouring us our drinks within seconds.
Another man—tall, dark-skinned, and dressed like Zorro—slides over to Rhea with a troublemaking grin on his face. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, Rhea.” He takes her hand in his and lays a soft kiss on her fingers. “Looking delicious as usual.”
Rhea throws me a glance over her shoulder, winks, and leads the man to the dance floor. I’m left standing there, drink in hand, with music pounding in my ears.
The dance floor looks…busy. I shudder. Instead of heading across the foyer toward it, I walk along the bar and deeper into the building, poking my head into various rooms. The whole place is decorated with cobwebs, spooky lighting, skeletons leaning against corners. A woman in a witch’s costume falls out of a broom closet, arms wrapped around a guy in a wig. I don’t know what his costume is supposed to be, because he’s mostly not wearing anything at all.
Swerving out of the way, I spill my drink down my front. “Shit.” I brush my hand over the wet patch on my dress. My steps lead me to a door at the back of the building, and when I spill out into the cool air, I let out a long breath.
That’s better.
I look over my shoulder through a window to see a second dance room set up at the back of the building. The people inside move as one mass, grinding and flailing to the loud music. Gulping down half my drink, I turn to look at the countryside in front of me.
It’s quiet here, apart from the raging party behind me. I take a few steps, feet crunching on dry leaves. A wooden deck extends toward the edge of the building, with a handrail blocking access to the creek running along the side of the exterior wall. I lean on the handrail, putting my drink on its flat surface, and let my eyes drift over the huge, stationary waterwheel to my right. My eyes follow the line of the creek below the deck. The water level is low, with tall rushes lining the bank on either side.
Band, ball, diamonds, twist. I’m definitely too old to be here. Maybe there are people my age in there, but their souls are younger than mine. They don’t carry the kind of burdens I do.
I let out a long breath, letting my thoughts drift to my father.
I miss him. Dad was my favorite person in the whole world. He was my own personal superhero, able to fix anything he laid his hands on. He made my world brighter. His laugh was big and unrestrained, and his hugs felt like a warm, cozy blanket on a cold winter’s day.
He took care of Mom after her diagnosis, his movements quiet and soft whenever he had to go near her. The love he had for her made my heart ache. My father’s strength took many forms, none stronger than the way he cared for my mother.
But when his head was bowed in front of Lord Birchal or another member of the supposed elite, he looked small. He didn’t see himself as worthy of their presence, which I never understood. Dad was worth a thousand Birchals.
A messy lump of emotion lodges itself in my throat. My eyes mist, vision blurs. The music is still loud, thumping in my ear to the beat of my heart. I lift one hand to wipe my eyes, letting the other hand dangle over
the edge of the handrail.
Thoughts rage inside me so loud that I barely feel the whisper of the ring as it slides down my middle finger. Barely realize it slips off until it touches the tip of my finger, disappearing into the darkness below.
Gone.
Just as my grief for my father starts to overwhelm me, the last piece I have of him drops from my hand. A cry escapes my lips as I brush my palms over my eyes, panic welling up inside my throat. My hands are covered in black smears from my makeup, but I don’t care. Fingers wrap around the handrail as I struggle to clear my blurry vision. Breaths are short, sharp.
I can’t lose it. Can’t let it leave me forever. I can’t.
That ring represents my father. It’s the last thing I have. It’s the only piece of jewelry I wear. The only thing I always have. Always.
As my vision clears, tears falling to the darkness below, I look over the edge of the handrail as panic winds around my chest. I need to find it. Need to see a little glimmer of gold in the rushes. Need.
I knew I shouldn’t have come to this stupid party. I should have spent the weekend at the office or buried under my blankets with a tub of ice cream to keep me company.
Not here—not in some part of the countryside I don’t know, where my father’s ring will be gone forever. My chest feels tight. My breaths are staggered, and it’s hard for me to piece my thoughts together. Panic blares in my blood, pumping ice-cold through my body.
I can’t even move. My eyes try to focus on the rushes below for a glimpse of gold, but…when did it get so hard to breathe?
Finally, piercing through the fear gripping my body, a voice sounds behind me. Deep, masculine, with a hint of amusement. “Didn’t think I’d find you here, Miss Piggy.”
Turning to see the source of the voice, I almost cackle. I’m unhinged. I want to laugh, if only to release some of the tension winding around my throat. Rhea would. Did she set this up? I wouldn’t put it past her.
Standing on the edge of the wooden platform overlooking the creek is none other than Kermit the Frog.
Well, it would be Kermit if Kermit were drop-dead gorgeous.
He’s wearing a crisp green tuxedo jacket with a mask covering his face. The jacket is cut in a way so the lapels look like Kermit’s collar, and there’s no mistaking the particular shade of green. Dark hair curls around the edges of the mask, and his eyes—
For just a second, I forget about my panic. I forget about my ring, about everything wrong with this weekend. I forget about the fact that I’m going to have to spend three months away from home, away from my mother, away from everything that feels familiar.
Deep, piercing blue, this man’s eyes look like they’d promise me the world, and I’d believe them. He takes a step toward me, each movement purposeful. Powerful. Lethal.
The man is wearing a green tux and a frog mask, yet everything inside me tightens. It’s… It must be the panic making me feel this way. I’m emotional. It’s not him. My lips part, but my mouth is too dry to say anything.
He closes the distance between us, saying nothing, then reaches up and wipes his thumb over my cheek. It comes away black with smudged mascara. Tilting his head, he searches my face. “What’s wrong, princess?”
That voice… I’ve heard that voice before. I know it. It sends an echo deep into my soul as an ache pulses between my legs. He’s familiar in a way I’ve never felt before. I know him.
I can’t think straight.
I close my eyes, dropping my head. I shake it as I gather myself, willing my voice to work. “I’m fine.” It’s a squeaky croak, sounding more like Miss Piggy than I could if I tried.
There it is again—his finger. The pad of his thumb swipes across my other cheek and I find myself exhaling as I tilt my head up toward him. Opening my eyes, I stare at the man.
“I’ll ask you again,” he says quietly, the noise of the music fading into nothing. There’s no one here but us. Everything seems to melt away except the feeling of his hand cupping my face, his body so close to mine. He smells like…what is it? Like man. Like sweet, spicy musk. I can’t think of anything except how good it feels to have him this close to me. He dips his head closer, lips just an inch from mine. “What’s wrong, princess?”
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Also by Lilian Monroe
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www.lilianmonroe.com
Brother’s Best Friend Romance
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Don’t Need You
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Military Romance
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His Oath
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Enemies to Lovers Romance
Hate at First Sight
Loathe at First Sight
Despise at First Sight
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Secret Baby/Accidental Pregnancy Romance:
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Broken Prince
Wicked Prince
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Fake Engagement/ Fake Marriage Romance:
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Engaged to Mr. Perfect
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Mountain Man Romance:
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Run to Me
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Extra-Steamy Rock Star Romance:
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The Complete Rock Hard Series
Sexy Doctors:
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A little something different:
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Ice Queen: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance Page 21
