“WHO IS IT?” Rosalie shouts.
“Lily Stone!” Suzette says, pointing at me.
“WHO?”
“Lily Stone!” Suzette cries, and if we weren’t already a spectacle, there’s now a crowd forming around us, watching the scene unfold.
I’m going to be sick.
“LILY STONE! DIDN’T SHE ALMOST GET MARRIED TO THAT AWFUL MAN? WHERE HAS SHE BEEN HIDING ALL THIS TIME? AND THAT VIDEO! OH, POOR DEAR.” Rosalie hobbles toward me, and I pray I don’t throw up all over her.
“You know what?” Ryder suddenly says from my side. “I think Lily would love to go look at the lilies. That’s where we were headed before we took this detour.” Without waiting for permission from my aunt or the other women, he puts a firm, steadying hand on my elbow and guides me away from the women. Walking quickly, he weaves us through the crowd but in the opposite direction from the lilies.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Somewhere quiet. This is too much for you.” Ten seconds later, he takes a sudden turn between two booths and finds a corner by the exit gate.
My heart is still racing. I want to throw up and cry, partly because this crowd is stressing me out and partly out of frustration that I don’t feel like myself, the happy Lily who loves parties and people and crowds.
What is wrong with me?
Ryder turns me so my back is up against the wall, his hands on my waist, then guides me to a sitting position while he crouches in front of me. “Breathe, Lily. You’re safe.”
CHAPTER 26
Ryder
FRANZ LISZT — ÉTUDE DE CONCERT NO. 3 IN D-FLAT MAJOR (“UN SOSPIRO”), S. 144
I’ve been watching Lily closely since we first arrived at the festival—I’m always watching her closely—and I was worried this would happen. She’s been anxious, her breathing shallow and her hands shaking, and here we are. She’s having a full-blown panic attack.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on the perspective, I know how that feels and can help her through it. I hate that I can feel exactly what she’s feeling, remembering the sheer terror I felt at doing driving stunts, but I’m also grateful that I have the techniques to help her through it.
“Match my breaths,” I say. But she can’t see them with her eyes shut, so I gently pick up her hand and place it on my chest. I take exaggerated breaths in and out.
“This is all that matters right now,” I say. “You’re safe. I’m here with you. I won’t let anything happen. And no one can see us. So match my breaths.”
She keeps her eyes shut, but I can see her breaths slowing to a more normal pace.
“Focus on the present. Can you tell me something you hear right now?”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I worry she won’t cooperate.
“People. Lots of people.” And her breathing picks up.
Maybe that was the wrong thing to start with. “True, but you can also hear my voice, right?”
She nods.
“Okay, how about something you can smell?”
She wrinkles her nose, and I smile at how adorable she is.
Concentrate, Ryder.
“Flowers,” she says. “I have no idea what kind, but lots of flowers.”
“Anything else?”
