I want to pluck out those blue eyes.
“Yes,” I say plainly. “I’m in danger of breaking your nose. Get your hand off of me.”
My father couldn’t lock me up.
I’ll be damned if I let my fiancé try.
There’s a beat of silence between us. Then James relaxes his fingers.
I rip away from him and exit the house. The stone steps are cold under my bare feet.
Ransom is there. Thank God. Sitting on top of Chaucer like a knight.
He failed to run away with me once. But he’s here now.
My heart cracks open and spills warm, honeyed relief through my body. My body seems to register that I’m safe now, and my knees go weak and nearly buckle.
It takes every last bit of strength to reach him.
“You came,” I say.
Ransom looks down at me. “You asked me to. You alright?”
I shake my head. “Get me out of here.”
He reaches down. I clasp his strong forearm.
He hoists me up. I climb into the saddle behind him and wrap my arms around his strong middle. He clicks his tongue, and my legs squeeze the leather of the saddle as Chaucer takes off, his hooves clicking on the walkway.
I glance over my shoulder only once. James stands on the porch, his form getting smaller and smaller in the distance.
And then, the strangest thing. When we exit the mouth of the estate, breaking free from the iron gates, I notice a black car waiting on the side of the road. For a second, the headlights flicker on and off again.
23
CLAIRE
We ride in silence.
Chaucer’s hooves click along the pavement, then thump down a dirt trail that cuts between the Preacher and Dagney properties. Ransom hooked a lantern to the saddle to help guide us, but even in the dark, Chaucer knows his way.
Ransom’s body is strong and solid in my arms. He’s like hugging a tree—thick and hard—and I rest my cheek on his back and inhale his scent.
We pass a familiar sight—a length of cornfield—and I say, “Stop.”
He pulls on Chaucer’s reins. I slide down first, and then Ransom gets off next.
The cornstalks shiver and rustle. They’ve set up an elaborate maze, decorated with fairy lights for the Belleflower Festival. Like a moth, I find myself drawn to the lights. I follow them, letting the corn maze swallow me whole.
The ground is soft, broken with the occasional scratch of fallen stalk. Crickets sing. Ransom follows behind me, letting me lead the way.
During the Belleflower Festival, there will be kids playing in here. Families. But at midnight, it’s just the two of us.
The maze drops us into a clearing. There’s a gazebo, tangled in ivy and drenched in the soft glow of string lights.
I’m spinning out underneath the nighttime sky. My lungs are so tight, and I can’t catch my breath.
My chest feels so empty I want to kneel on the soft dirt, rip my rib cage open, and shove cornstalks inside the hollow space just to feel something rattling around inside of there.