“Come on,” he says as he swings my legs back around so my feet plant on the floor. “Let’s go celebrate.” He gives me a wink as he stands and offers me his hand. I take it and stand.
I am so in love with this man, it hurts to look at him likemy heart’s gone into overdrive and might combust if I spend another second looking at his beautiful, mismatched eyes. Eyes that reflect two sides of a complex man. One who loves and protects fiercely. He’d do anything for me. I didn’t even know it at the time, but he was already out there seeking revenge for me. He doesn’t sit and wait for things. He makes shit happen—and I love him for that.
I love him for being him and the way he lets me be me.
I don’t have to pretend with Tristan. I never have.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
DAPHNE
It’seasy to forget how shitty that old Ikea mattress was after sleeping on a heavenly cloud in my dream four-poster bed. Sleeping in Tristan’s arms was a nice bonus, but this bed is next-level amazing. His arms aren’t here right now, but even then, I’d gladly stay in bed without him and sprawl out even more. Hell, I could make fake snow angels in this bed.
But I know I should get up. My stomach’s so tight with hunger that it might start eating itself.
I shove the bedspread off me and grab my matching satin robe from an empty reading chair in the corner of the bedroom. Tristan surprised me with a matching satin nightie and robe set last night—and not surprisingly, panties in an identical shade of emerald. I’d half-expected him to rip those off me when I crawled into bed. His erection last night suggested he’d be up for a round or two, but he insisted he was tired, and I’d need my energy for today—whatever that means. He said we both needed to de-stress.
My therapy session yesterday had been emotionally exhausting, and Tristan’s been scheduling his appointmentsto coincide with mine, so we’re both in therapy at the same time. We visit his parents after every session and have lunch together. It’s become a new tradition this past month. And it’s also the first session I’ve opened up about my dad. Even though we buried him three months ago, it’s still raw.
But it's too early to think about Dad right now—first, coffee.
“Tristan?” I call out as I wind my way through the first floor of the house. Every room is connected, apart from the laundry room and first-floor bathroom, so I can’t get lost.
As I end up in the kitchen, Hawkeye looks at me from one of his eight dog beds. He yawns at me and lays his chin on top of his crossed paws, like he’s not amused that I woke him up.
Sometimes Hawkeye’s a diva. It’s only eight o’clock. I peek outside, and fog hangs out along the backyard, thick and murky. I can make out the outline of the guest house.
I hunt down a glass for water when a note catches my eye next to the sink.
Princess,
I hope you slept well. You’re going to need your energy.
I’m in the woods waiting for you. I’ll give you a five-minute head start. Run. You have one hour.
If I find you… You know what comes next.
Love,
Your Masked-Man Fantasy
P.S. No means no. Stop means I stop. Don’t means I won’t. I love games, but I don’t play with consent.
My core stirs awake quicker than my brain. Tristan’s outside? Masked man?
Does he plan on hunting me?
If I find you… You know what comes next.
He’s giving me five minutes. I don’t know how he’d know when I leave, but I’m not about to give him any advantage.
I duck out the back door and close it softly behind me. It’s hard to see in the fog, but I can make out the edges of the fence around the property. The slippers dampen in the morning dew on the grass as I walk onto the pathway beside the pool leading up to the guest house.
He’s not here. At least, he’s not in the yard.
Behind the guest house is a latch to open a door in the gate that leads into the woods. He has cameras and lights that follow any movement—a state-of-the-art security system around the perimeter of the property, so we’d be safe inside.
But what about outside?
