It wasn’t my email app that notified me. There were two text messages from an unknown number.
Unknown: You need to leave.
Unknown: Don’t say yes.
I dropped the phone. It clattered on the granite counter and slid into the sink. Blood thumped in my ears. This wasn’t the same rush that precluded a panic attack. No, this was something different. Fear laced with a sweet edge.
I looked around the bathroom, knowing already that I was still alone. But I didn’t feel alone. Not when the confirmation that I was being watched finally made itself evident. This was it! This was proof my stalker was real.
That the feeling, like a shadow’s sweet caress, there and gone when I turned to look—that the feeling wasn’t something I constantly imagined.
I’m not going to deal with this right now.Later. There would be time to process this later.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to pick up my things. Head held high, emotions bottled up, I walked with determined steps back to the table and the grinning, perfect man waiting for me.
Chapter 2 – Amanda
Thankfully, the visceral edge pulsing in my veins cut dinner short. Steven sent me home in a cab, worrying about how pale I was. I blamed it on a bad deli sub from a catered lunch. My boyfriend didn’t catch the obvious slip-up that I never ate carbs.
Steven didn’t offer to see me home. And since that was the established boundary of our relationship, I didn’t let the detail sting. It boded well for our relationship that even though we were now engaged, the space we established was still in place. It was highly unlikely that he was going to interfere with that or my career.
But on that note, I didn’t know what being married to a nobleman was going to require of me. What did being the wife of an earl mean? How much time would I have to spend abroad? With a sigh, I locked my apartment. That was probably something I should have discussed with Steven before I said yes.
“Where was my head tonight?” I muttered as I uncorked a bottle of wine and kicked off my shoes.
Stretching and flexing my feet, I let the liquid glug into a glass. I should be celebrate with a champagne toast at the Plaza, after summoning my friends. The socialites I spent my precious free time with would curate gorgeous social media pictures. I might even go viral. But the thought of announcing my impending marriage made me queasy.
“It’s not like they would know I’m being pragmatic.” I drummed my fingers against the counter. “I can fool them.”
The large social group would rejoice at the news. They would think it was utterly romantic that I’d been swept off my feet by the exciting, mysterious foreigner.
“And really, it was the smart choice.” I topped my glass off.
I swore long ago that I would never marry just for love. My parents split because they did that. I knew I needed a partner. If we were in love, that was a bonus. Nowthat I was older and wiser, I knew love didn’t really exist. What I had with Steven was sensible, even if it wasn’t magical.
Taking a healthy sip, I padded over to the couch and snatched the bottle of sleeping pills off the side table. One plus the wine would ensure I got just enough sleep without missing my alarm. I ignored the bold letters on the side of the bottle that warned me not to mix these with alcohol. It wasn’t like I was taking a full dose. Two pills always made my head foggy.
Sinking deeper into the sofa, I tucked my sore feet under the blanket. My mind crackled to life as my body relaxed into mush.
He texted.
I shivered and took another sip of wine. I couldn’t remember when the feeling of being watched started. For over half the year, maybe longer, I had the distinct feeling that somewhere, in the distance, someone was there. I told myself it was silly. But recently, shit got real. The physical evidence had started with a book. About four weeks ago, right after Steven left, I’d been browsing in my favorite little shop, looking at stories and wondering if I would have enough time to read over the weekend. A call from work had me scooting out of the shop without purchasing the gothic, forbidden romance I’d been looking at.
It was delivered to the office before I left for the night.
Since I’d worked late, I was delighted to have the novel to take home, not allowing myself to wonder who’d made sure I had the copy. I honestly thought it was the shopkeeper, though when I’d called to thank her, she played dumb.
But then that Sunday night, a framed art print was delivered to my apartment.
That really set me on edge.
There was no note. The doorman didn’t know who’d sent it, other than it came in an unmarked delivery vehicle.
I’d been at the Met with some friends all morning, after a boozy brunch. The Romanticism painting of a maiden and a knight had caught my buzzed attention, and I’d stared at it for too long while my friends giggled at the naked statue behind us.
The fact that a copy of the art just showed up suggested someone was watching me. That the prickles at the back of my neck were real. That my awareness of the shadows was justified.
Those weren’t the only gifts that appeared. Every Wednesday for the past four weeks, a bouquet of wildflowers arrived at the office for me. The office girls gushed that Steven was the best boyfriend ever. I didn’t correct them. Didn’t tell them that I hated cut flowers, something Steven had been told after our second date. If the deliveries were from him, then he was forgetful or just didn’t care. Neither of which was an ideal situation, but I could deal with it. Ihadbeen dealing with it. I meant to tell him at dinner that I didn’t like them and request he quit sending them. I forgot somewhere between the news of his brother’s death and the proposal.
