He learnt what she liked and so he liked it too, getting his apartment ready for her by renovating it to suit her preference and reading the same books so that their conversations would never be dull, and experimenting with recipes of all the food that she ate.
He built this nest of Dig Graves and Delphine De Astor.
The more his heart twisted his feet to follow in her direction, the more he realised she was most unquestionably his Soulmate and the more he realised she was so muchmorethan just his Soulmate.
She was kind. She was sweet. She was fun. She was the colour yellow, the shade of sunlight and warmth and smiley faces and daffodils. She was the perfect swirl of a conch shell. She was the corner piece of a birthday cake with the most amount of frosting. She was a blanket during winter, a breeze in summer, she bloomed like spring and her hair fell like autumn leaves along her back when she walked.
She was his.
She was his.
She was his.
Why didn’t she look for him?
He wrote her a letter.
Searching through volumes of poetry and romance ballads, he composed his first letter to her, telling her of their connection.
Dear Delphine.
You have a Soulmate and it’s me, you dumbass. Come and fucking find me.
I love you, Dig.
There was no reply.
One day as he followed her home, his motorbike blaring through the streets, weaving through traffic, he halted outside her estate gates as her car drove through.
Magnus De Astor stood out the front, eyes narrowed on Dig Graves.
“I’ll give you half a million,” Magnus said to him with a car salesman smile.
Standing next to his bike, Dig pulled off his helmet, wondering if he had heard Magnus correctly. “Half a million?”
“Dollars.” Magnus laughed. “Half a million, for you to leave her alone.”
Dig’s brow furrowed. “To leave her alone?”
“Never,” Magnus De Astor packed away his sweet smile as something fierce and ugly sunk through his eyes like talons, “never come near my sister. Stay away from her, move to a new city—hell, a new country. I’ll pay for it all, I’llarrangeit all.”
Dig leaned his head, a cocky grin peeled over his lips. “Sheismy Soulmate, isn’t she?”
Magnus clenched his jaw. “She’s not your Soulmate.”
Dig flipped up his middle finger to Magnus before punching on his motorbike helmet in victory.
He went the police.
He told them of his Soulmate, and how he had been restricted in seeing her and that legally he had every right to march up to that estate and present himself to her and claim her in his arms and crush their chests together.
They laughed at him.
He frowned.
“Do you know how many people have tried telling us they were sure some rich or famous person was their Soulmate?” An officer sighed through his hilarity. “If she’s not coming to you, she’s not your Soulmate.”
Dig punched his fist down on the counter. “She’s my Soulmate!”
