Page 9 of Reluctantly His

Well, at least most men.

Giving myself a mental shake, I focused. I wouldn’t allow myself to act like some silly schoolgirl who naively believed a boy liked her just because he’d tried to steal a kiss. I wasn’t living in a stupid Nancy Drew novel!

With a huff, I lugged my hard cello case out from under my bed and carefully placed my prized instrument inside.

I had a rehearsal to get to.

I would simply sneak out through the servant’s entrance.

Father and Sergeant Taylor would be mad at first, but then they’d probably just shrug their shoulders and assume it was for the best to just leave me be.

Just like Father had with my cello playing all those years ago.

It was a good plan.

This was totally going to work.

It had to.

Lifting my case up onto its wheels, I tiptoed to my door and pressed my ear to it.

I wasn’t sure it was possible to hear much through the solid wood, but at least all was quiet.

Just in case, I shifted down to my knees and peeked under the door to see if I spied a pair of heavy black boots.

Nothing.

Cracking the door open, I paused.

Still nothing.

I willed myself to open the door further but remained frozen.

A deep breath calmed my nerves. I didn’t have time to hesitate.

One of the members of the quartet had managed to score the Bruno Walter Auditorium at the Library of Performing Arts, and I was due there in forty-five minutes.

If I was going, it had to be now, especially since I wouldn’t be able to use a Manwarring driver. To call down for one would just alert Reid.

My stomach clenched at the very thought of him hovering over my practice, making the rest of the members uncomfortable.

I was still new to this group. My family name and wealth had already proved a pretty significant obstacle that I was having trouble overcoming.

After wiping my sweaty palm on my dress, I gripped the handle of my cello case and moved into the hall.

My heart thundered in 5/4 time to the Mission Impossible theme as I checked the corners before scurrying to the back servants’ stairs and halls that led away from my third story bedroom to the caterer’s kitchen, then out the back door.

I stayed just off the main drive as I made my way to 5th Avenue, refusing to stop and order an Uber until I was sure I was out of sight of the main house and no one had followed me.

I made it to the Performing Arts Library with only ten minutes to spare, the Mission Impossible theme still playing in my head.

My friend Virginia, Ginnie for short, greeted me as she blew a strawberry-scented cloud of vape smoke in my direction. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t you, silver spoon?”

“Just help me with this, debutant darling,” I said, using one of our many teasing nicknames for one another. As a fellow High Society daughter, although she hated to admit it, she was my one true friend in the quartet.

She moved down the cement stairs and grabbed the other end of my cello case to help me drag it into the building.

Ginnie was the only daughter of the elite Kristiansens from Bridgeport. Her family was almost worth as much as mine. Although unlike me, she had no problem rebelling against everything they stood for, starting with her multiple piercings and ever-changing brightly colored hair, and ending with preferring Ginnie just to annoy her pretentious parents. “Like the booze,” she had said with a wink the day we met as she shook my hand.

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