35
Lark
Camden’s limo was finally able to extract itself from the onslaught and whisk us all back uptown. I stumbled upstairs to my empty apartment, prepared to sleep away the nightmare of this weekend. But sleep never came.
All I did was toss and turn and replay Claire throwing herself at Sam. The way she’d cried so prettily and how he had taken care of her as he did. Nausea swept over me, and nothing dispelled it.
At some point, I must have fallen into some kind of comatose sleep on the couch because I was abruptly ripped from it when the front door opened.
“Sam?” I asked before I could stop myself.
But it wasn’t Sam.
My vision cleared. “English?”
She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “Hey, Lark.”
I sat up with my fuzzy, sleep-deprived brain. “What are you doing here? You’re suppo
