15. Do It
A thumping on my bedroom door made me aware that it was fully light again outside, though only by a technicality. The skies had opened in the dawn hours into pouring rain. A night in a Gothic mansion full of books in the rain, and I couldn’t muster a smile.
Definitely love.
My head ached fiercely from crying, and when I started to repeat my morning ritual to myself, “My boyfriend’s name is Joshua Thorne,” silenced by the likelihood that this was no longer true, the sting in my eyes threatened to start up all over again.
“Miss,” that often vanishing servant woman called from outside, “it’s past breakfast. Your visitor is waiting.”
My stomach tensed more painfully than it had when Trevor had his g*n trained on me, between the tiny, desperate hope that this would be the pardon
