“But where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Caroline.”

It was Blake's voice, and just the sound of it made her eyes tear up. “What?” she managed to say. Perhaps it was a rude reply, but it was the best she could do.

“It's dark out. Or hadn't you noticed?”

“I'm going out to look at the stars.”

She heard his footsteps and then felt his hand on her shoulder, slowly drawing her away from the door.

“The night is cloudy,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You won't be able to see the stars.”

She didn't even turn around as she said, “I know they're there. And that's all that matters.”

Blake closed his eyes as she ran from the room, for some reason not wanting to see her retreating form.

“Now look what you've done,” he heard his sister say. “You've broken that poor girl's heart.”

He didn't answer, not knowing—hell, not wanting to know if his sister's words were true. If he had broken her heart, then he was a bastard of the worst sort. And if it wasn't true, it meant that Caroline didn't care about him, that their one night of passion hadn't meant anything to her.

And that was almost too painful to bear.

He didn't want to think about what he felt for her. He didn't want to analyze it, to pick it to pieces, or to try to put a label on it. Because he was terrified that if he did, the only word he'd be able to come up with was love, and that would have to be the cruelest joke of all.

Blake opened his eyes just in time to see the expression of disgust on Riverdale's face as he said, “You're an ass, Ravenscroft.”

Blake said nothing.

“Marabelle is dead,” James hissed.

Blake turned on his friend with such violence that Penelope flinched. “Don't mention her,” he said in a threatening voice. “She has no place in this conversation.”

“Exactly,” James replied. “She's dead, and you can't go on mourning her forever.”

“You don't know,” Blake said, shaking his head. “You don't know what it's like to love.”

“And you know all too well,” James murmured. “In fact, you've known twice.”

“Blake,” Penelope said softly, putting her hand on his arm. “I know you loved her. We all loved her. But Marabelle wouldn't have wanted you to go on like this. You're just a shell. You buried your soul along with hers.”

Blake swallowed convulsively, wanting more than anything to flee the room, yet somehow he remained rooted to the spot.

“Let her go,” Penelope whispered. “It's time, Blake. And Caroline loves you.”

His head whipped around. “She said that?”

Penelope wanted to lie. He could see it in her eyes. But finally she shook her head. “No, but it's easy to see.”

“I won't hurt her,” he vowed. “She deserves better.”

“Then marry her,” Penelope implored.

He shook his head. “If I marry her…God, I'd hurt her in more ways than you could imagine.”