Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Let’s go to bed.” He took my hand and guided me upstairs to our bedroom.
The place I’d slept alone every night when he was gone.
He’d already washed up, so his hands were clean. He tossed his clothes in the hamper before he pulled back the covers and got into bed.
It took me a moment to undress, to accept that the terrifying night was truly over, even though it was almost dawn. Just as I set my phone on the nightstand, it lit up with a text message from Theo.
Are you alright?
I didn’t open the message. Didn’t respond to it. Instead, I went to his contact information and blocked him.
He’d never been there for me. And he would never be there for me.
When I looked at Bolton, he was watching me, but he didn’t ask who was texting me at four in the morning.
I got into his bed beside him, and the second my body was between the warm sheets, he latched on to me and pulled me close, smothered me with his affection, his lips against my hairline. He gathered me close then released a slow breath, like he finally felt the peace he’d craved for so long.
4
THEO
I was in a meeting with the Colombians when she called.
Even though I felt a jolt in my chest when I saw her name on the screen, I assumed she wanted to air her grievances, to tell me that I was a liar, that she hadn’t solved the puzzle with the missing piece.
So I ignored her.
But then I realized it was abnormal for her to be awake in the middle of the night. She went to sleep at ten and stayed asleep until seven in the morning like clockwork. It made me worry that something was wrong, that Bolton had done something to her or she had another flat tire in the rain. A million scenarios went through my mind.
I paused the meeting to call her back.
She ignored me—sent it straight to voice mail.
I called again, and she ignored me again.
It only made me worry more, so I fired off a text in the hope I would get something back.
Nothing.
I was tempted to go straight to Bolton’s house to check on her, but if he opened the door and everything was fine, we’d have a shootout right on the front step like the Wild West. Bullets would fly, and they might hit Astrid instead of either of us.
The dread in my chest didn’t improve. As every hour passed, the invisible anchor secured to my body became heavier as it caught on the rocks on the seafloor. I continued forward, but the trek became harder.
I told myself she wasn’t my problem, that she’d gone back to Bolton the second I was out of the picture, that she had a husband to care for her. But that didn’t stop the horrible pain from suffocating me.
I called off my plans for the day and drove past her gallery in the hope her car would be parked outside, a car so nice it should belong to a client shopping for artwork, not the saleswoman pitching the paintings.
Relief dissolved in my blood when I recognized it. It hadn’t been there last night when I’d driven by, so she must have driven to work that morning like another other day. But the comfort quickly disappeared as the anger set in. I was clearly worried about her, and she didn’t give me the time of day.
I parked my Range Rover then walked inside the quiet gallery, the place that seemed perpetually empty. Every time I came by, she was the only one inside. When I walked in, she was at her desk, her hair slicked back in a smooth ponytail, wearing a black skirt with sheer stockings underneath. Diamond earrings were in her lobes. She didn’t notice me right away, finishing up an email that took her complete focus. She had the elegance of a princess, sitting upright with a perfectly straight back without needing the support of the chair behind her. Every strand of hair was perfectly in place, and her neck looked even more slender because she seemed to have lost weight.
While she remained distracted, I stared at her, looking at her the way I used to watch her sleep. When her left hand moved for her mouse, my eyes moved with it, and I spotted the diamond ring I’d never seen her wear before.
It made me sick.
I stepped closer to her desk to get her attention.
When she realized she wasn’t alone, she quickly turned to me, looking flustered. “I apologize. I didn’t realize—” Her words died in her throat when she realized it was me and not some regular patron. A lot of emotions passed through her gaze in those few seconds of silence. I saw affection and longing, but those vanished like shooting stars, and the feeling that remained was rage. “What do you want?” Her tone immediately changed, slicing me with the edge of her words.