Page 119 of How to Blow It with a Billionaire

“I’m that too.” He paused. “In any case. You have been…that is…you are…a person in my life toward whom I did not feel…complete revulsion.”

“You what?”

“Keep my number.”

The line went dead.

* * *

I thought about calling Nik. But I wasn’t ready to talk and he had enough going on.

* * *

I texted Ellery, though.

No way was I letting her find me gone for the second time.

* * *

I was standing on the pavement with my bags at my feet when Rabbie and Hazel arrived. The car, which looked dingy in Kinlochbervie, looked borderline derelict in the middle of Kensington. But I’d never been so fucking relieved to see it.

We were strictly business. No questions asked. Just getting my stuff piled into the boot. And then Hazel and Rabbie swapped sides, and I crawled into the backseat. One of Mum’s quilts was waiting for me there and, never mind it was the middle of summer, never mind the glass-ricocheting sun glare, never mind that it was already stifling in the car, I wrapped myself up tight-as-tight. And I swear to God, I could smell the sea.

And then we were off.

Hazel opened the glove box and a dusty jumble of CDs clattered onto her lap. “What have we got, then? Lord of the Rings? Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Winnie-the-Pooh? The Code of the Woosters? Murder Must Advertise with the last disc missing?”

I thought about it a moment. “Lord of the Rings, please.”

The familiar music washed over me. And then the equally familiar words: Long years ago, in the Second Age of Middle-earth, the Elven-smiths of Eregion forged rings of great power.

I closed my eyes.

I was home.

* * *

Hazel must have texted ahead because, when we wheezed into Kinlochbervie some twelve or thirteen hours later, Mum was waiting for me on the doorstep.

And I dived straight into her arms.

* * *

I spent a lot of time in the attic room—Mum’s room—curled up in the bed under the eaves. The first place I’d spent the night with Caspian Hart. I listened to the whispers of the sea. Caught the dapple of the fairy lights in my cupped hands.

And cried and ached and grieved.

Tried to let Caspian go.

Honestly, I wanted to hate him. But how could I, when he already hated himself? And with such unassailable fervor that he’d rather believe he was a monster, than accept he could be hurt.

I’d probably watched too much Disney. But wasn’t love supposed to be strong?

Except I’d loved and loved and loved.

Loved with all my heart.

And lost long ago.