Page 97 of Puck Prince

“Do you know where she is?” I ask.

“She came back into the ballroom, but I haven’t seen her.”

“Thanks, man.” I pat him on the shoulder and head back into the crowd, taking inventory of the room.

It doesn’t take long to realize she’s not here, so I make my way into the hall. People are standing around in groups, talking, drinking, heading to and from the bathrooms. I wander that direction, thinking maybe she’s hiding out in there.

But as I pass an empty conference room, I notice one of the doors is cracked.

On a whim, I peek inside. It’s dark, other than the moonlight coming through the tall, narrow windows. And in that silver light, I see the stunning silhouette of a woman.

Gotcha.

I walk up behind her, ready to play a round of Twenty Questions, but before I launch into my interrogation, I notice she’s shaking from head to toe.

“Callie?”

She nearly comes out of her skin, spinning around to face me with a muffled shriek.

“Oh. Owen. It’s—” She exhales. “—you. You scared me.”

She’s jumpy as fuck, and as I get closer, I realize she’s not just shaking.

She’scrying.

The energy I’d set aside to drill her about Miles funnels into something very different. I want to grab her and pull her against my chest. I want to hold her the way I did on the dance floor, soothing my hand down her back while she tells me what’s wrong.

She’s upset. And something in my chest can’t stand it.

“What happened?”

She bites her lips, and her chin quivers. I shove my hands in my pockets to keep myself from reaching for her.

“Did something happen?” I press.

“Y…yeah.” The word comes out strangled. She won’t look at me.

That one word could mean a million different things. Guilt, fear, pain. I can’t tell, but I need to know. It’s the only thing that matters.

“Here. Let’s just sit.” I help her into a chair. “Is that okay?”

She nods, and as we shift to face the moonlight, I get a better view of her face. She’s flushed, blotchy. Her makeup is ruined, her nose is red, and her lips are puffy.

That thing in my chest rumbles in warning. I sit in the chair next to her and face her, my knees touching hers. But Callie is closed, guarded. Nothing like the woman I danced with half an hour ago.

Callie draws in a shaky, labored breath. “I… I…”

“Take your time,” I tell her, even as I want to drag the truth out of her.

She shudders as she exhales. When she finally starts talking again, her voice is just this side of broken. “I was going to the restroom, and when I came out, the hallway was empty. I was about to go back inside to watch the ceremony, but someone grabbed me.”

“Who?”

“Miles.”

My chest tightens, tension folding in on itself like a black hole of rage.

“Grabbed you how?” I can tell by the way she’s flinching at my words that the questions are coming out like bullets. If I want her to keep talking, I’m going to have to bring it down a notch.

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