Thorne Princess(85)

“Don’t you have friends in New York?” he inquired. “Someone you could visit?”

I smiled, appreciating that he wasn’t fighting me on this. “I don’t have friends anywhere, remember?”

“That’s not true.” He pressed his lips into a hard line. “Now, you have at least one.”

My heart soared in my chest. We shared conspiratorial grins. This was my chance to talk to him about what had happened between us yesterday. About our night of passion. But there was something so perfect about this moment, the tranquility of it, I didn’t want to ruin it.

Tomorrow, I told myself. Today, you faced the wedding. One battle at a time.

“Proud of you, Princess Thorne.”

“What happened to Brat?” I quirked an eyebrow.

Ransom shook his head. “Hera snatched that title five minutes into our first encounter.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Thief.”





My parents’ Ford Escape Hybrid pulled onto the tarmac of the small, private airport next to their airplane. I shuddered at the thought of the carbon footprint, but this was Ransom’s ultimatum if I wanted to go back to Los Angeles.

He was adamant about not passing through LAX.

Mom got out of the passenger seat, rounding the car to hug me.

“Thanks for coming, Bunny. I know you prefer shorter visits, and I appreciate the time you’ve made for us.” She winced. Well, at least she didn’t chide me for that wedding speech. “You pulled through wonderfully.”

“Yes, Sugar Pie. We hope you’ll grace us again with your presence this Thanksgiving.” Dad joined us, as Ransom pulled our suitcases out of the trunk.

No chance in hell they were seeing my face before next year.

I smiled tightly, giving them each a swift hug before inching toward the stairway of the plane. “Thanks for the hospitality. We’ll…talk.”

Maybe.

On the plane, it was only Ransom, one flight attendant, the pilot, and me.

“Where’s Max?” I buckled my seatbelt as we got ready for takeoff.

“Already in L.A.”

“How come?”

“Put him on a paid leave.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t needed.”

“Sounds like code for wanting the coast clear,” I teased, smiling.

The flight attendant came to sit next to us, buckling in, too.

Ransom smiled warmly at me. “Get your ears checked, Princess.”

I decided not to press the subject. After all, we weren’t alone. Also, I didn’t necessarily want to know what Ransom thought about the night we’d shared at my parents’ house. A rejection would crush me. Not knowing where I stood was just as hard, but I prolonged the conversation as long as I could.

After takeoff, Ransom dedicated himself to working on his laptop. When he was done, he speared me with a glare. “Thought about what you want to do yet?”

“How do you mean?” I shifted in my seat, buying time.

Of course, I hadn’t thought about it. I was terrified of my limited options, especially now that I’d been diagnosed with dyslexia.

“For a living,” he clarified. “With your life.”

“Of course, I’ve thought about it.” I frantically searched my brain for something. I was unqualified for most jobs, so I went with an option that required very little reading and a lot of personality. “I’m thinking of becoming a medical clown.”

“A medical clown?” he repeated, blinking slowly.

“Yup.” I grabbed my sketchpad and some pencils. “What’s wrong with that? I’ll be helping people.”

“It’s random.”

“It’ll pay the bills.”

“You don’t give a shit about the bills.”

“And you don’t give a shit about me. You wanted me to get a job, you never said I needed to become a brain surgeon. Now back off and let me live my life,” I snapped.

I was hoping he would dispute that statement. A deep gap stretched between giving a shit and being in love with someone, after all. I mean, he could still care, right? Even if it was just a little bit.

Ransom exhaled, squinting at the powder blue sky we were swimming in. “Be a clown, Miss Thorne. You seem to excel in that area.”





As soon as we landed, I rushed into the taxi. Ransom followed me stoically. I fell inside and tipped my head back against the leather seat, closing my eyes.

I hoped Ransom would take the passenger seat and spare me the looming humiliation of asking him about what happened between us. He’d spent last night curled on the floor as far as humanly possible from me.

Alas, I felt the seat beside me dip as he joined me in the back. My heart jackhammered. I’d waited two long days to broach the subject of us. Now we were miles away from the scene of the crime and it finally felt safe enough.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” I blurted out.

“You becoming a medical clown?” Ransom’s thumbs hovered over his phone screen. He was aggressively punching in a text message. “Gladly. You’re not gonna like what I have to say, though.”

I stole a look at our driver, a friendly-looking, silver-haired man in his late sixties. He was tan and wrinkled. Umm Kulthum blared out of his radio, and he had pictures of his family dangling from the rearview mirror.