I slept in until noon the next day. It was the latest I’d ever woken up, but the previous day’s events had taken their toll. Even after a solid sixteen hours of rest, fogginess clouded my brain as I walked to the kitchen.
Being drugged and kidnapped. Finding out my old classmate slash the reporter who’d written that amazing profile on me was my stalker. Nearly dying, then getting rescued by Christian, staying the night at his house, and sort of/kind of making up with him.
I’d had time to process, so it was easier to wrap my head around what happened, but yesterday was so surreal I still felt like I was walking on the edge of a dream.
It was Monday, so I’d expected Christian to be at work. But when I entered the sun-splashed kitchen, I found him standing by the espresso machine, dressed in a black shirt and pants instead of his usual suit.
I blinked with surprise. “You’re here.”
“It is my house,” he said dryly. He nodded at the array of covered plates on the kitchen island. “Nina’s here and made breakfast. Lemon ricotta pancakes, your favorite.”
My stomach growled at the mention of breakfast. I’d had a pastry for lunch and skipped dinner yesterday, so I would be happy with any kind of food.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, watching as I dug into the pancakes.
God, these were good. Possibly the best pancakes I’d ever had.
“I’ll survive.” My muscles ached and my head still hurt a bit, but it wasn’t anything critical. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“I’m leaving soon.” Christian set his coffee mug in the sink. “I had to tell Ava what happened since she was worried when you didn’t come home last night. She correctly guessed you were with me.”
I winced. I’d totally forgotten to let Ava know I was okay.
“She told Jules.” His tone dried further. “They should be here soon. They can keep you company while I deal with Julian.”
“You’re letting them into your house? I thought you didn’t like guests.”
“I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone.” Christian’s frown deepened. “If that’s not the case, I’ll tell them not to come.”
“No. It’s fine. It’ll be good to see them.” He was right about me not wanting to be alone.
Seeing my friends would give me a sense of normalcy, though I knew they must be freaking out.
“What are you going to do with Julian?” I asked, sure I didn’t want to know the answer but was too curious not to ask.
If it were anyone else, I’d insist they let the police handle it.
However, trying to convince Christian to turn a case over to the cops would be futile, and I didn’t have the best experience with the police.
With my luck, Julian would weasel his way out of a heavy sentence and be back on the streets in a few months.
Christian’s eyes darkened. “Nothing he doesn’t deserve.”
A chill skated down my spine at the calm lethalness of his response. I suddenly wondered, on a more visceral level, why he was wearing all-black, casual attire instead of a suit.
Christian had proved he was a better man than I’d expected.
But I knew with sudden, blinding clarity that he was also capable of worse things than I could imagine.
Our gazes locked. My heartbeat slowed beneath the weight of his appraisal.
He knew I knew, or at least I had an inkling. And he wanted to see if I would condemn him. Try to stop him.
My fork grew cold in my hand. But I didn’t say a word.
The chime of the doorbell broke the spell, and I instinctively glanced toward the living room.
Nina must’ve answered the door because I heard the faint sounds of my friends’ voices followed by the patter of footsteps.
“If you have time today…” Christian’s quiet voice drew my attention back to him. “Look in the drawer where you found the files. There’s something there for you.”
The uncharacteristic uncertainty in his tone sparked a seed of curiosity and something warmer that slid through me like molten honey.
My friends’ voices grew louder.
Christian moved to leave, but I stopped him before he reached the doorway.
“Christian.”
He turned to look back at me.
“Don’t give him any pieces of your soul,” I said softly.
Julian made his bed, and it was time to lie in it. But Christian…I didn’t want him doing anything that would haunt him, especially if it was for me.
Especially if it would break any part of him.
“One of my favorite things about you,” he said, his voice like the darkest of velvets. “Is that you think I have any pieces left.”
I was still standing in the kitchen after he left, his presence a cool, lingering draft in his wake.
I only had a few seconds to breathe in the silence before my friends spilled into the room and wrapped me in a cocoon of hugs and concern.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday,” I said, hugging Ava. “So much happened, and it completely slipped my mind.”
“I understand,” she reassured me. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“What I don’t understand,” Jules said. “Is why you’re at Christian’s house. I thought you broke up. What the hell happened?”
What didn’t happen?
“It’s a long story,” I said. “You might want to sit down first…”
Two hours and one exhaustive recount of my kidnapping and the aftermath later, I found myself staring at three slack-jawed statues. Two in person, and one on FaceTime, since Bridget was in Eldorra but would murder me if I left her out of the loop on this.
Apparently, Christian had merely told Ava I’d had a “run-in” with my stalker, so ninety-five percent of my story came as a complete shock to them.
Jules recovered first.
“First of all, Julian deserves jail.” She shook with fury. “Second of all, I’m going to jail for what I’ll do if I ever come across him. I will cut his balls off, do you hear me? I’ll slice them open with a machete and shove them down his throat so he chokes—“
“Okay, I think we’ve had enough violence for the week,” Ava cut in. Worry creased her forehead. “Stel, are you sure he’s taken care of? He’s not going to escape or anything?”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. Harper Security has him.”
“What about Christian?” Bridget asked. She was in what looked like her office, and a giant portrait of some old Eldorran monarch glared at me from behind her. “Does this mean you’re back together?”
“We’re…” I hesitated. “Working things out.”
“That’s great!” Of all my friends, Jules was the most enthusiastic about Christian. Probably because he’d lowered our rent so much when we moved into the Mirage. “He’s not that bad of a guy. I mean, sometimes he does bad things. Those files were totally not okay, and you had every right to break up with him. But…” Her voice softened. “He really loves you.”
I swallowed past the knot of emotion in my throat. “I know.”
Luckily, the conversation soon moved back to safer ground with Jules detailing all the creative ways she’d murder Julian (much to Ava’s chagrin).
My friends’ company grounded me back in reality.
When lunchtime passed, however, I gently but firmly insisted that they go about the rest of their day and that I didn’t need babysitting.
I appreciated their company and concern, but I’d exhausted my social battery for the day. I needed alone time to recharge.
The door closed behind them, and I sucked in a breath of silence.
Nina was also gone for the day, so it was just me and the empty penthouse.
When I first moved in, I thought it was cold and impersonal, like a model showroom. Now, being here felt like returning home.
That was the couch where I’d created my collection, those were the plants I’d lovingly tended to for months…
And that was the office where I’d found the files that shattered it all.
I stopped in front of the entrance. For once, Christian had left the door open.
If you have time today, look in the drawer where you found the files. There’s something there for you.
Staying away was impossible.
My heartbeats collided with each other as I walked to his desk and triggered the secret drawer mechanism.
The compartment slid out soundlessly.
I experienced a twinge of surprise when I saw its contents.
Instead of black binders, the drawer was filled with letters. There were at least a dozen of them, handwritten on simple cream stationery.
I recognized Christian’s bold, elegant scrawl immediately.
I flipped through them, my heart rate climbing with every sheet that came into view.
They were all addressed to me and dated from the day we broke up.
One letter for every day we’d been apart.
Emotion swelled in my throat at the thought of Christian sitting here night after night, writing me notes I might never see.
Except I was here now, at his request, and I couldn’t have stopped myself if I wanted to.
I sank into his chair, picked up the first letter, and started reading.
