Beau’s right, I’ve kept her locked in here like some kind of prisoner. What the hell did I expect? She’s sick of it and has left me.
I pace the length of the room, dragging a hand through my hair, calling her again and again, trying to breathe, trying to remind myself it’s fine as my chest gets tighter and tighter.
She’ll come back.
She will.
Romy’s not like everyone else who’s left me behind.
I continue to pace until I spot her suitcase. That’s a good sign, right? If she left me, she would’ve packed that.
So, what the hell happened to her? God, what if she opened the door, someone figured out she was here, and they took her? There are desperate people in this world who would see her as prize money.
My mind whirls with a million what-ifs, and I drop to the edge of the bed, elbows braced on my knees, staring at the phone, willing it to ring.
Every second that ticks by is another chance that something awful has happened to her. That she’s out there, scared and alone, and I’m not with her. I’m not there to protect her. I should’ve been wrapped around her like a guard dog.
I hit her name on my phone again.
Voicemail.
My throat burns, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
My thumb hovers over Beau’s number, and I’m about to press the call button when the door clicks open.
I shoot to my feet.
The doorknob turns and opens.
Romy fills the doorway.
Sunglasses too big for her face. My black hat pulled low over her eyes. Her cheeks pink from the cold. Her coat open, showing her swollen belly under my old sweatshirt.
Relief crashes into me so hard, my knees nearly buckle. My lungs finally remember how to work.
But the storm inside me only shifts.
Because I want to grab her and hold her and never let her go. I want to scold her until she promises not to scare me like that again. Does she have any idea how empty my life would be without her? I want to kiss her until she knows exactly how much she undoes me.
She pauses in the doorway and tilts her head at me.
I cross the room and pull her into me, hugging her as if she’s my fucking security blanket.
Chapter Forty-Three
Romy
I pause in the doorway. Zander’s standing in the middle of the hotel room, his jaw tight, hands clenched into fists.
His eyes cut to mine, and I see the storm brewing in them. I almost drop the bag dangling from my wrist. But before I can say anything, he’s across the room. He pulls me into his chest, arms caging me tight and desperate as though he can’t believe I’m actually here.
I sink into him for a second. He feels like home, and I missed him, even though it’s only been a few hours. His heartbeat is pounding, his breath uneven against my hair.
Then he jerks back, holding me out by my upper arms. “What the hell were you thinking?” His voice is sharp. “You can’t leave without me. Where’d you go?”
The whiplash from his emotions takes me a moment to find my thoughts.
“You can’t do that. You can’t—you know how dangerous it is for you. There are cameras everywhere. People everywhere—” He cuts himself off and turns and rakes both hands through his hair. “Jesus, Romy. I called you a bunch of times. I thought something had happened to you.”
