Zaire gives a shallow bow when I look his way. “Connor invites you to join him in the dining room for dinner.”
“Do I have a choice?”
He looks confused. “Of course you have a choice. I can bring you a tray if you so wish.”
For the second time, I sense that Zaire doesn’t know the full story behind why I’m here. I wonder how long that will last and how I can use it to my advantage.
“Would you like for me to bring you a tray, Ms. Morrow?”
The tantalizing scent of Italian reaches my nose, and my mouth starts to water. “No, I’ll be right there. I just need to freshen up.” I point to the bathroom.
“Certainly.” He turns to leave.
“Oh, Zaire, you wouldn’t happen to have the Wi-Fi password, would you? I want to research a few things for my novel.”
He smiles brightly. “Of course! It’s RAMSWAY455. All caps.”
“RAMSWAY455,” I repeat back to him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll tell Connor you will be joining him shortly.”
I wait until he leaves the room to type in the password and almost give myself away by screaming when it works. I click on the search bar and search my own name. A bunch of gossip articles come up about my wedding to Roman, all focused predominantly on Roman. Some older articles are about my books. There’s absolutely nothing about me being abducted.
Ice fills my veins. Connor is telling the truth. Roman hasn’t reported it. I do a quick search on Vivian Hargrave. Nothing but publicity for her new release. The last post she made on any of her social media sites is about her getting on the plane to attend my wedding.
Which begs the question: Where is she now?
I fire off a message to her cell phone, then close the laptop, more confused than ever, and hurry from the room before I draw suspicion. I find Connor in the formal dining room off the foyer. He’s waiting with a glass of red wine in front of an empty plate.
He didn’t lie to me. Pure intuition, if I can trust such a thing, tells me he hasn’t lied about anything.
He stands when I walk into the room. He’s changed out of his flannel and into a dark button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing two immaculately corded forearms. With his hair pulled up into a bun, he’s too attractive to be real. Maybe I fell asleep at the keyboard and am dreaming this, dreaming of Henrik Angel come to life. My tongue feels thick.
“Thanks for coming,” he says. “I’m sorry I raised my voice before. I’m sure this has all been overwhelming for you.”
It’s a sincere apology, although I get the sense apologies don’t come easy for him. He shifts awkwardly.
“Thank you for that.” I stretch my fingers, sore from typing.
His gaze locks on the bare finger of my left hand. “You’re not wearing your engagement ring.”
“I took it off days ago.”
“I thought it was so you could sleep.”
I lick my lips. “I’m not sleeping now.”
I watch his throat bob on a swallow.
“I hope you can understand how hard it is for me to believe things have unfolded the way they have. Even ifeverything you’ve told me is true.” There. That’s safe enough to admit.
After a moment, he points to the chair across the table from him where a place has been set. The long table. This thing probably seats twelve. I stroll to the opposite end and sit.
“I feel like I’m in another zip code,” I say, enunciating my words so he can hear me all the way down there.
Even from across the table, I see him swallow. “It’s for the best.”
“Why?”
