Page 100 of Tattered (Lark Cove 1)

est room I’d ever seen. It was as far from McDonald’s as you could get.

There were no fluorescent lights here. The ballroom was lit with crystal chandeliers hanging from gold-trimmed ceilings. The gleaming floors, not littered with fallen fries, were made from Italian marble. And the tables were covered in silk linens. I wouldn’t dare drop a blob of ketchup off my hand-painted plate.

“Would you like more champagne?” Logan asked, leaning over to speak in my ear.

“Yes, please.” Champagne made me loose-lipped, so I normally avoided it, but since I didn’t have much to say tonight, that wouldn’t be a problem.

He signaled to a waiter, who brought over a tray of champagne in crystal flutes. With my new glass in place, Logan kissed my cheek, then turned to continue his conversation with the man sitting on his other side.

We were seated at an elegant round table with a tall floral arrangement in the center. The china had delicate floral patterns and was adorned with real gold. And there were enough utensils in front of me to make one of my bird’s nests, maybe two.

I sipped my champagne, listening to the murmur of conversation.

We’d arrived a few hours ago, and I’d maybe said three sentences in all that time. Nice to meet you when I’d been introduced to a slew of people whose names I’d immediately forgotten. Thank you when I was complimented on my gown. Yes, please when I’d been offered a glass of champagne.

All through the cocktail hour, I’d forced a pleasant smile. My cheeks hurt by the time we sat down at our table and not in a good way, like when I’d been laughing for too long. After the dinner service started, I did my best to keep up with the conversation, but after thirty minutes of listening to name dropping and vacation plans to foreign countries I’d never see, I zoned out.

Logan hadn’t noticed. He was currently in a deep discussion with three men on our side of the table. For an hour, they’d been discussing some change to a stock market regulation and how it would impact the foundation’s investment strategy.

So here I was, silently drinking champagne and waiting for the next round of food to be delivered in hopes it would curb the major buzz I was working.

In this room full of people, smiling and laughing, I was alone.

It had been years since I’d felt this empty hole in my chest. The last time I’d been this lonely had been after Jackson had moved to Montana. But I knew this feeling well. It was the same one I’d had nearly every night of my childhood when I’d climbed into my tiny cot without anyone to tuck me in or wish me sweet dreams. The same feeling I’d had when another child in the orphanage would get adopted into a family and leave me behind.

By the time I’d turned seventeen, I’d been the only kid left in that home. Why I hadn’t been sent to a foster home was still a mystery, but somehow, the orphanage had stayed open. It had just been me and the director living there, though I rarely saw her emerge from her apartment in the basement.

Hazel would come in for a few hours to make me meals. She’d spend time with me after school, helping me with homework, but eventually, she’d have to go home. Jackson could only stay until dark. So after they’d leave, it would just be me roaming the halls without anything to do but read. The director could afford electricity for the entire building but not a television to keep me entertained.

I’d finally escaped the loneliness in Lark Cove.

“You hate this, don’t you?”

“Huh?” I turned to Nolan Fennessy, who was sitting on my other side. “Oh, no. Not at all,” I lied. “I’m, uh . . . just taking it all in.” I didn’t want to confess to Logan’s coworker that I’d rather be a hundred other places than in this ballroom.

He saw through my lie and grinned. “My wife hates coming to these too. She told me last year she’d approve of me finding a stand-in woman just so she could stay home in her yoga pants.”

I smiled, the first real smile of the night. “I think your wife and I could be best friends.”

“She accompanies me every once in a while, but normally I come with Logan. You stole my date.”

“Sorry.” I laughed. “You can have him back for the next one.”

“Not sticking around?”

“No, I’m leaving after the weekend.” I chased down a pang of guilt with another sip of champagne.

Leaving was the right thing to do, for all of us. Trying to fit square pegs into round holes never worked. But ever since I’d come to that realization yesterday, I’d had a miserable ache in my heart.

The ache twisted and tugged every time I tried to sort through my feelings. When it came time to end this, Logan would demand an explanation. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of one that he wouldn’t shred to pieces.

How did I tell him that I loved him, but I wouldn’t uproot my life and fit it into his?

It didn’t make sense in my head.

But it did in my heart.

I knew Logan couldn’t give up everything here to move to Montana. I wouldn’t ask him to. So for us to be together, I had to give.