Page 85 of Hunters and Hydrangeas

“He was feeling gregarious,” Cassian says nonchalantly.

Sophia frowns at her ex-fiancé, likely knowing there’s more to the story. “I don’t know which house Gerald is allied with.”

“Sophia,” Cassian growls.

“I don’t know!” she exclaims. “No one ever told me! Larissa probably knows—ask her. And Alfred most definitely knows.”

Noah turns to Harold, who stands in the doorway. “Do you have an update for me?”

“We have hunters entering the marina right now. We should have Alfred in custody soon.”

“What about Larissa?” Noah asks.

“She got away when they were getting Sophia out of the hotel suite. We have people searching the area.”

“Who would be willing to get me Gerald’s current location? I’d like to pay him a visit.”

Harold shifts, uncomfortable. “We do have the prince's locations recorded in the system, but we’re not allowed to give out that information. Only the duke can request it.”

And there currently isn’t one.

Noah turns to Cassian. “Are there strings you can pull?”

A grim look crosses Cassian’s face. “Most likely.”

“Then I think we’re done for now.” Noah rises. “Let me know when you have Alfred and Larissa in your custody.”

I join Sophia while Noah and Cassian finish up.

“I like your dress,” she says, looking unsure of herself.

“Yours too.” This is awkward. “Yellow is a good color on you.”

“This shade,” she says with a soft laugh, her southern accent becoming more prominent. “Bright yellow isn’t my friend.”

I nod, unsure how to respond.

“So…what do you think of Miami?” she asks.

“It’s hot and humid.”

“You get used to it. I’m originally from Savannah, so I don’t mind it a little balmy.”

“Even after you entered the final stage?”

“It was just awful at first, but I acclimated.”

I try to picture her and Cassian all those years ago, Sophia in a fussy, lace-trimmed day dress and Cassian looking debonair in a brocade waistcoat. I imagine them sipping tea on a grand front porch lined with potted hanging ferns, while people pass by the front street driving horse-drawn carts.

But my brain short-circuits. The idea of them being as old as they are is difficult to comprehend—especially when they look so young.

Finally, Noah and Cassian join us.

“Let’s go back to the hotel, and we can—” Cassian stops mid-sentence and coughs.

Noah stops dead in his tracks, looking at his friend like he’s sprouted another head. “Did you just cough?”

Cassian clears his throat, disconcerted. “Must have been dust in the air.”

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