Page 72 of Knot a Bad Idea

“That sounds great,” I say, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. “I would love to. But if you’ll excuse me?—"

“Of course!” she takes a sip from her champagne and grins. “We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Sure!” I repeat, trying to sound as chipper as she does and not like I’m on the verge of a breakdown. I turn and make my way in the direction Kelly pointed.

I vow not to burst into tears until I’m safely in the bathroom away from the guests.

The bathroom is in a secluded area, far away from the rest of the chatter. It’s not multiple stalls; it’s just like it would be in someone’s home, with a single toilet and vanity sink. Floral wallpaper lines the walls, and sconces illuminate the room.

I close the door and lock it behind me, fighting the anxiety that comes with being locked inside. I lean against the wall and put my face in my hands.

What a fucking mess.

I breathe in and out slowly, but I can’t shake the image of Donovan’s intense gaze.

Who is he to decide what’s best for me and why does he torture himself about it?

I wish Skylar were here. She would know what to do.

She’d probably tell me to kick him in the balls, actually.

I groan.

I try to recite flavors of macarons in my head, listing off different colors and ingredients until my vision clears and my head stops pounding. I lean against the wall, letting out a deep exhale.

I need to go back out there and find Hunter and Liam. I need to at leastpretendto be a good girlfriend.

After a moment of gathering myself and accepting that my life is a cruel joke, I unlock the door and attempt the turn the doorknob.

It’s stuck.

I try again.

The doorknob doesn’t move.

“What the fuck?” I mutter under my breath.

I fiddle with it, grip, and twist it.

Nothinghappens.

A trickle of anxiety makes its way through my bloodstream, followed by a wave of panic as I struggle with the door.

You’re not back there. You’re in the bathroom of a fancy Victorian house.

My chest constricts and my movements grow frantic. I place a heeled foot against the door andtug, but nothing happens.

I pull and yank, then start pounding on the door, my fists burning.

I’m locked in here. I’m locked in here, and I can’t get out.

I start kicking wildly, scuffing my perfect thousand dollar shoes and throwing my body against the door.

They’re the same movements I used to do in the dark, desperately trying to open that fucking door.

Except this door is pristine, and that one was…that one was in hell.

But it feels like I’m still there, becauseI can’t get out.