My palms sweat. I rub them against the front of my jeans. I’m sitting up now, paying attention to every detail, every turn. We drive another five minutes before Bellamy gets off on an exit, veers right, and pulls into and underground garage and into a reserved parking space.

I’m afraid to ask what happens next. This feels like a transaction, and of course it would happen underground. I’m being taken against my will and handed off, forced to marry someone I’ve never met.

“Get out.” Bellamy says lightly. She pops her trunk revealing two suitcases, though I only recalled Mom packing the one.

My nose wrinkles, and maybe the question is irrelevant, but I have to ask. “Why are there two?”

A man dressed in a black suit climbs out of a dark limo parked next to us, and I’m not sure how I hadn’t noticed it before. The windows are tinted and obscure, and I’m not sure who’s inside. For all I know, it could be Harold and his wives.

The well-dressed man walks around the car, opening the passenger door, and out emerges another man. With a fitted, navy suit and a long, skinny tie, he checks the chrome watch on his left wrist and flashes Bellamy a dazzling smile. This man, who looks nothing at all like a guy who’d be named Harold from South Dakota, steps toward my sister and grazes her cheek with his lips. “You’re on time. Very good.”

The driver of the limo grabs both of our bags and places them gently in his trunk.

My feet remain planted, digging into the concrete floor as best they can. “Bellamy, you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

She faces the man who greeted her. His dark hair is slicked into place with product, combed neatly and parted on the side. His rich cologne subtly fills the muggy garage air. He could easily fill the pages of a men’s fashion magazine if he wanted to, and he’s looking at my sister like she’s the center of his universe.

Bellamy inhales softly, her eyes lighting as they dance between the man and myself. “Waverly, this is my boss, Dane Townsend. He’s going to save us.”

***

The limo takes us across town to a sweeping estate on the outskirts of town. A guarded, eight-foot-tall gate protects this fortress, which from what I can see seems to be modeled after an eighteenth century French chateau. It’s mostly white with baroque ornamentals that I recognize from my Art History class.

A tree-lined drive sweeps us up toward a two-story porte-cochere.

The driver comes around to our side and pulls the door. “Welcome to Golden Oak, the estate of Mr. Dane Townsend.”

He takes our hands one-by-one, gently guiding us out to where a blanket of intricately laid herringbone marble directs us toward a staffed entrance.

“Welcome.” A man dressed in a butler’s suit holds the door open for us. “We’ve been expecting you.”

I try not to ogle too much, as I know it’s rude, but every square inch of this place is outfitted in marble, gold, and the most fabulous look-but-don’t-sit furniture I’ve ever seen. A Renoir painting rests above a marble buffet table in the entry, and there must be a hundred white roses sitting pretty in an extra-wide, crystal vase below it.

Dane walks up behind Bellamy, placing his hand gently on her middle back. She fights a half-smile, pretending his touch doesn’t affect her.

I know better.

“Mathilde,” Dane calls out. A middle-aged woman with gray hair pulled into a ballerina bun walks out into the foyer, her hands folded neatly at her hips.

“Oui, Monsieur Townsend?” Her accent is French, her tone pleasing.

“Please show our newest guest to her room.” Dane hasn’t left Bellamy’s side.

Newest guest?

I follow Mathilde up a sweeping, winding staircase and down a long corridor, passing door after door until we reach one on the end. I swear we’ve walked at least a quarter of a mile just to get here.

“This will be your suite,” Mathilde says. “Bronson will bring your luggage from the car. Feel free to wash up, and then meet us in the dining hall for dinner by six o’clock sharp.”

Mathilde leads me into the room, which is fit for a princess. A king-sized bed with a million fluffy pillows anchors the room. Five floor-to-ceiling windows cover the far wall, and an en-suite bathroom is tucked away through another door.

“Thank you,” I say. Mathilde goes to show herself out, but I stop her. “Mathilde, can you please send my sister in here?”

“Yes, mademoiselle.”

I explore my surroundings, mesmerized at the way so much beauty can be crammed into one luxurious suite.

“Hey.” My sister stands in the doorway a few minutes later, a coy smile on her face. “Still hate me?”

“What is going on? I’m so confused.”

She shuts the door behind her, slinking across the room and climbing onto my bed. “Dad’s been planning to marry you off for a while. He was never going to let you go to college. I overheard him talking to our moms about it a few months ago, and then again, not long after Mr. Waterman came over.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you’d have ruined my plan.”

“This was your plan?”

“You act surprised.” A hand slinks to her hip as her blue eyes dance. “It took a lot of careful forethought, and a little bit of sacrifice, but I waited for the right time and then I made it happen. We Miller girls were bred to be patient.”

“So, Dad thinks you’re driving me to South Dakota?”

She grins, like she’s just pulled off some mastermind heist. “He won’t know for another day or two that we didn’t make it, and by then, he won’t know where to find us. At least, not for a while. Should buy you some time to figure things out.”

“Where’s Jensen? Does he know?” I miss his voice, his touch. Not knowing where he is or what he’s doing kills me.

“He doesn’t know anything yet.” Bellamy tucks her chin, speaking slowly. “We had to be cautious.”

“You have to tell him where I am, Bell. He’s probably worried sick looking for me.” My hand clasps at my heart, pressing against the squeezing sensation in my chest. I never knew it was possible to miss someone this hard.

She tilts her head to the side, a knowing smile warming her face. “I knew you loved him. I knew you wouldn’t want to be away from him.” She places her hand over mine. “You’ll see him very soon. Trust me.”

CHAPTER 31

JENSEN

Waverly’s car is still parked when I leave to fill up my truck Monday morning, and when I return, Gideon’s back from breakfast. He waits until Kath leaves the room before telling me Waverly wasn’t there this morning. Even at six years old, the kid knows something’s up.

I have to find her, and if I know Mark Miller, she’s long gone by now. But I don’t care.

I will find her.

And Mark-fucking-Miller will be sorry he fucked with me.

***

“Where the fuck is she?” I storm into the main house, damning Mark’s bullshit decree and demanding an answer from one of his brainwashed wives. “Where’s Waverly?”

Jane and Summer exchange looks. Neither making a sound.

“Jensen,” Jane walks up to me, placing her hand out as if it had the power to stop me. “You know you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Me being here is the last thing you should be worrying about right now. Where is she? What’d he do with her?” I push past them and charge up to her room. “Waverly!”

“You can’t be up there,” Summer calls. “Jensen, you heard the rules. Mark doesn’t want you here.”

She’s up here. I know it. Every ounce of me ignores their powerless commands.

Her room is empty. Her bed is made. Her stack of books rest on her nightstand untouched. I yank open her dresser drawers, most of them empty. Her closet is half-empty as well. When I return to the kitchen to confront Mark’s three accomplices, they’re nowhere to be found. Those fucking cowards are hiding from me. Mark undoubtedly gave them strict orders, anticipating this would happen. He might be a step ahead of me now, but I will find her.