She ended the call.
She was still staring at the silent phone in her hand when there was a faint knock on her door. Grayson stood in the doorway with a concerned look on his face.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
She bit her bottom lip. “I can’t get in touch with my sisters.”
“Your sisters?”
She had never spoken of them, so likely it was a surprise to Grayson.
“The twins,” she said, as if that elaboration would make him understand.
“You have twin sisters?”
“Fraternal,” she clarified, distracted. “Evie and Chloe.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said, sounding nonchalant.
He advanced into the room. Sweat gleamed on his naked torso. He reached for her, plucking the phone out of her hand and tossing it to the unmade bed. His hands slid around her waist as he leaned in for a kiss. She put a hand on his chest and pushed him away, unable to shake the feeling something was off.
“Stop.” Her voice was sharp. He pulled back, releasing her, the surprise evident. She shoved out of his arms and reached for her phone again. “Something is wrong.”
She tried calling Evie again. Again, voicemail. Then she tried Chloe. It rang but went to voicemail. She tried texting both of them.
“I’m sure they’re all right—”
“No.” She spun toward him as the detective’s words came back to her, haunting her. “They’re not all right. Something happened to them. A detective called me. He said—”
“All of a sudden you have sisters who need you. Sisters you’ve never told me about.” Confusion followed by disbelief was clear on his face.
“I know it sounds weird, but—”
“Are you screwing some other guy?”
“What? No!” She quickly scrolled through the pictures on her phone looking for proof they existed. She came across the one photo she’d managed to keep—of the three of them on the twins’ graduation day. She shoved the phone toward him. “Look. Me, Evie, and Chloe the day they graduatedfrom high school.”
Grayson stared at it for a long moment, then his gaze flickered back to her. “You expect me to believe this?”
“Yes.”
The anger punched through the worry as she glared at him. She dropped the phone to her side. The need to go pounded through her. She spun in the room, looking for her bag. It was discarded on the other side, empty. When she unpacked, she thought she would be staying a while. She stomped to it and snatched it off the floor, then went to the dresser and flung open the drawer. She shoved what few clothes she had inside.
“What are you doing?” he asked, standing in the middle of the room looking befuddled.
“Packing,” she said on a huff. She bent and found her suitcase stuffed under the bed. With a yank, she pulled it out, flung it on the bed and then went to the closet.
“You’re…you’re leaving?”
She pulled the clothes off the hangers, wadded them into a ball, and tossed them into the suitcase. Then she went to the bathroom and grabbed her toothbrush and other toiletries, as much as she could carry in her hands, and dumped them in the suitcase.
“You’re leaving me,” he said as though he was dumbstruck.
She paused in her frantic packing to look up at him. His handsome face contorted in shock. He was used to being the one to break it off with women. Not the other way around.
“I’m leaving, period,” she said. Then resumed packing.
She shoved everything she could into the suitcase and zipped it closed. One glance down at her attire and she realized she had to put on real clothes. He stood and watched as she pulled white linen pants on over her bikini bottoms, then reached for a gauzy white shirt and pulled it on. She’d deal with getting dressed in real clothes as soon as she was out of the house.
