Thorne Princess(74)
“Bad things happen when you drink,” he reminded me.
“The worst thing that recently happened to me occurred when I was stone-cold sober.”
He didn’t respond. Good. I had bigger fish to fry. One of them stood at the end of the hallway, haloed by a flock of women in evening gowns.
Hera.
She looked tragically stunning. A modern-day Audrey Hepburn in a lime dress, with a boat neckline and a hem that was just long enough to announce she was the star of the event. Her dark hair was pinned up, her side bangs swiped to one side neatly. She wore minimal makeup.
“Oh, yes. It’s been so horrible to lose him.” Hera touched a gloved hand to her chest, presumably talking about Craig’s grandfather. “I kept asking—why me? Why us? It was such a difficult time for me. Still is.”
Me, me, me.
Was that how I sounded? No wonder the tabloids loathed me.
Without realizing, I gravitated toward the circle of women. I felt safe, cloaked in the invisible cape of my failure to become a successful Thorne daughter. So much so, that I was genuinely surprised when my sister’s eyes zeroed in on me. First, with open contempt. How could I wear something so gauche to her rehearsal dinner? Right before she plastered a delighted smile on her face.
“Hallie! My gosh, finally! I’ve missed you so.” She stepped between two middle-aged ladies with too much makeup and clasped me into a special Thorne hug, where arms were involved even though bodies did not touch. I felt instantly cold. Her mouth found my ear. “Don’t fuck it up for me, little sis. Please. I really want to just survive tonight. I’m exhausted.”
Hera rarely showed signs of weakness, so I was actually pretty touched.
Disconnecting from me, she fluttered a hand over my arm. “Look at you! I cannot believe it’s been so long.”
“I can,” a voice behind me said dryly. Ransom. Hera frowned at him.
“And you are?” She offered her gloved hand for him to kiss.
“Ransom Lockwood, your sister’s security detail.” He ignored her outreached hand, popping his ID card from the inside of his blazer.
“What a peculiar name.”
“At least I’m not named after the most jealous, vengeful creature in Greek mythology,” he said, low enough only for her and me to hear.
She sized him up quickly, her sharp eyes sweeping over his physique, his stony expression, the immaculate cut of his tux. The ring of women around us dissolved. People floated toward the waiters, eager to see if the hors d’oeuvres were truly gold-leafed.
Finally deciding he was not someone she wanted to cross, she turned to me. “I can’t believe you missed the funeral, Hal. People talked.”
“We felt strongly it wasn’t safe for Miss Thorne to travel so far away,” Ransom’s silky voice taunted, pressing on all of Hera’s sensitive points. “She’s a high-profile persona.”
“My sister can speak for herself.” Hera reddened. “And anyway, who do you think I am?”
“A nurse, right?” he asked, knowing damn well she was a doctor, and that she would find the question insulting. “Very admirable.”
Hera’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind. I had the good sense to push myself between them. No part of me wanted to see World War III starting.
“Do you have any idea what room I could use to freshen up my makeup before we take pictures?” I asked her. Hera liked to be reminded that she knew this house much better than I did.
Reluctantly, she ripped her gaze from Ransom. She waved a hand behind her. “You can take this one. Craig is technically supposed to use it, but he’s staying upstairs, in my room.”
I slipped into the guestroom. Ransom shut the door behind us.
Numbly, I sat at an oak vanity desk and began brushing my hair back. The thickness in the air signaled a looming disaster. Nothing good ever happened when I was under the same roof with Hera and Craig.
Ransom pulled a book from a floating shelf, scowling. “The Visual Display of Quantitative Information,” he read out loud. “The fun just never ends with you Thornes.”
“You didn’t have to be so terse with Hera.” I glowered at him through the mirror, ready to pick a fight.
“No, I didn’t, but it was enjoyable. She needed to be taken down a few notches.”
“You baited her,” I accused, stuck on a knot the brush couldn’t untangle.
“She survived.”
“I don’t need to get into more trouble. What if she thinks you’re my mouthpiece?”
“No offense, but no one in their right mind would ever think I’m the puppet and you’re the monster in this relationship,” he retorted smoothly. “Stop giving a shit about Hera. She doesn’t extend the courtesy to you.”
Sighing, I dumped the brush onto the desk, picking up a pair of scissors. I grabbed a handful of my hair, snipping the tangled part. A sudden urge to chop off all of my hair hit me. It would piss off my family so much. But as much as I wanted to hurt them, I ridiculously also wanted to be accepted by them. It was pathetic, yet the truth.
“I’m going for a quick piss. Don’t go anywhere.” With those romantic parting words, Ransom treaded out of the room, as darkly and quietly as he’d entered. I pressed my forehead against the cool surface of the desk. Only a few more hours to go. The wedding was tomorrow. After that, I could run back to Los Angeles. Leave the Thornes behind for a few more years.