I’m so disgusted my stomach churns.
Levi and I do a deep search of the apartment again to see if anything was taken.
My laptop is still there, along with most of my things, but my insides flip when I realize several pairs of panties are missing from my underwear drawer.
The drawer is half-open. My things have been pawed through, lifted, touched. Bile climbs the back of my throat as I picture whatever they must have done and are doing with my underwear.
My heart trembling, I look up at Levi. His jaw is clenched so tightly it looks painful, and one fist is balled hard at his side.
His gaze snaps to mine. “You’re not staying here any longer. Pack a bag. You’re coming with me.”
“But—”
He strides past me, grabs one of the grocery bags, and starts throwing my things into it.
I watch him, too shaken to argue.
He’s right. I can’t stay here.
But can I stay with him?
Chapter Nineteen
PIPER
“Piper Francesca Andrews,” Aunt Bess drawls. “When were you going to tell me about your new billionaire boyfriend?”
I press my phone to my ear and groan. What am I supposed to say to her?
Of course, she saw the papers. Any hope that my news would be contained in New York while my aunt was camping was practically non-existent.
I feel worse when I look around the beautiful room I slept in last night.
I’m in one of the guestrooms in Levi’s house.
He all but marched me in here when we got in. I was so shaken by the incident at my apartment and the fact that I was back at Levi’s house, it took forever to fall asleep.
I woke about an hour ago, showered and got dressed, then Aunt Bess called.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Bess.” I sigh.
“Sorry? Oh no, darlin’. I’m a happy woman over here. Please tell him I said thanks for the wine collection. Those pretty babieswere waiting for me when we got home. Rob and I have been drinking all night.” She laughs.
My heart lifts. Levi remembered. I totally forgot he was going to send the wine. He must have organized it yesterday. Aunt Bess got back from camping last night.
“I’m glad you like them.”
“Girl, I am over the moon. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Her voice has that warm slur to it. I picture her in her kitchen with one of the wine bottles half empty and within her reach. “I cried when I opened the box, Piper. I actually cried.”
“Oh my gosh.”
“Sweetie, the Barolo alone—God,the Bar-o-lo.” She puts on an Italian accent, which sounds terrible in her rich Southern drawl.
Despite myself, I laugh. She laughs, too, in her usual hearty way, and I wish I were there to see her. “Oh, Aunt Bess. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, baby girl. I’m halfway through a bottle right now. You should see me tryin’ to get a good helping before Rob wakes up.” She chuckles, pleased with herself. “Don’t tell anyone. Or do. I don’t care. I’m a real wine connoisseur now.” Another round of laughter follows.
“There is no one like you, Auntie.”
