Page 67 of Runaway Queen

Edward put a firm hand around my shoulders and started to lead me toward the elevators.

I couldn’t hear what he was saying. There was a crushing weight of disappointment on my chest too heavy to shift. It felt like the world was ending.

We got into the elevator. His arm fell from my shoulders, leaving me hunched alone in my misery. I’d had this feeling before, of course, like the world was crashing down around me, and there was no way to save myself. Every single time it happened, it felt like it could never be worse. Then life proved me wrong.

Before I knew it, I was sitting in Edward’s shiny, tinted-glass Jeep in the underground car park.

“Here, drink something. You look white as a ghost,” he muttered, turning the bottle cap and handing it to me.

I took it with numb fingers. Everything was numb. He pulled out of his space.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

We pulled up the ramp and drove past the outside lot. I caught a glimpse of Bran’s car. Shit, was he waiting for me? I should tell him.

I knew it, but the disappointment felt too strong to move, like it had locked me in place with invisible manacles.

We drove through town and then went right instead of left.

Home was left.

“Where are we going?” I wondered. My voice was hoarse, as if I’d been silently screaming for hours.

“I thought, since I have you, I should grab your painting, and we can drop it off at home together.”

I stared mutely out the window, sipping the water to try to and bring a trickle of moisture over my aching throat. It hurt because of all the tears I was holding inside. The raging and screaming were all pushing up from my chest, and I wanted to let them all out.

We reached Edward’s mansion by the ocean. The gates slowly opened. Inside, soft lights were dotted around the grounds, showing the property to its best advantage.

Edward stopped the car and got out. I stayed inside.

He opened my door.

“I thought you were just grabbing the painting?”

“I’m not sure how to wrap it. Can you give me a hand?”

My senses were tingling, the same ones that had always warned me of danger. I left the water in the car. I shouldn’t have drunk any. I was rusty at protecting myself, but I seemed to be moving on autopilot.

I followed him reluctantly into the house.

“So, what’s going on? You look upset. Bed news with Leo?”

I followed him down the hall toward a huge, sunken sitting room. “How did you know?”

“What else could rattle a mother so badly, at the hospital, no less.”

Right, that made sense. “Yes, there’s a problem with the donor. It might not happen.”

The painting was propped against the wall. I knelt in front of it. His mother’s half-finished eyes seemed to stare into my soul.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Have you eaten?” he asked after a pause.

I shrugged. My stomach chose that moment to let out a growl.

Edward nodded toward the couch. “Sit, and let me get you something. Please, it’s the least I can do.”

I shrugged, hardly having the energy to argue. I felt exhausted. All my hopes, everything we’d been working toward, gone on a whim. I pulled my phone out of my pocket when Edward disappeared. Pulling up Bran’s cell number, I sent him a message.

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