“Eh, didn’t work anywhere near as much as you did.”
“But I’mfinished,” I say on a yawn. “Thank God.” I yawn again. “Fran will come by tomorrow to pick things up, so I can see her for the final fitting.”
“Excellent. I’m so glad you finished, darlin’. I know that weighed on you.” I don’t think he much cares about her dress fitting, but he definitely cares about me.
And I like that.
I smile to myself, nestled in the comfort of his arms, listening to the sound of the crackling fire. I begin to lose consciousness, drifting in and out of sleep. I don’t know how much longer it is before he picks me up, but the fire’s died down and it's much darker outside. He stands, holding me against his chest, and walks me to the bedroom. I'm too tired to move. I just lie there, my head against his chest.
I hear the gentle creak of the door, then he walks me to the bed and lays me down. I've never been treated like this before. No one's ever looked after me, or taken care of me like this. And it's so beautifully simple and sweet, I want to stay here forever. I hate the thought of it ending.
How will I ever go back to the life I lived before him?
It isn’t just about me, though, I know it isn’t. If he cares at all about me, will I hurt him? I can’t bear the thought of dimming the light in his bright blue eyes.
But I have to go with this, I have to continue the plan while I formulate the next. And I’ll enjoy what I can while we’re still together.
So I just let him. I don't fight it. I roll over, but I'm a little more awake now. I close my eyes as he lifts the blanket and drapes it over my shoulder.
There's a distant buzzing of a phone, and I hear him leave the room.
I'm somewhere between sleep and being awake, and I can't really hear his voice, just the gentle rise and fall of it, as if he's keeping his voice quiet so he doesn't wake me.
I can tell he's agitated about something, but I don't know what. I try to open my eyes, but they're too heavy. I fall back to sleep.
I wake the next day suddenly, one thought on my mind. I sit up suddenly.
Did I erase my texts?
I don’t know what I dreamt about when I was asleep, but I’m wide awake and in a panic.
I blink and look beside me, but Mac isn’t there. There's one thought insistent on my mind. I don't know if I dreamt about it, or if it was my subconscious working while I slept, but it suddenly dawned on me, I don’t have my phone.
And worse… if Mac looked at my texts and saw anything that I've texted my father it could be incriminating. It’d damn near destroy us.
I look at the bedside table to where I usually put my phone when I'm sleeping, but it isn't there. Now I'm really beginning to panic.I don't call for Mac, because I don't want him to know that I'm worried. I don't want him to suspect anything at all.
From where I’m lying, I can see the door to the toilet, but it’s ajar and the light’s off. He isn’t there, then.
What did I do with my phone? Where the hell is it?
I try to quell my rising panic as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I quickly throw the sheets and blankets to the side and walk over to Mac's dresser. I take out one of his T-shirts, and quickly toss it over my head before I go to the living room. He isn't there either. Where the hell is my phone?
Did he take it? Would he just take it like that with no warning at all?
God.
I find my bag hanging on a hook beside the jacket that I wore the night before. I rifle through it. No phone. I try to think about the last time that I used it. We were up at the house… We had dinner with his family… I pulled up my phone to show Cairstina that I downloaded the e-books so I could read the romances they’ve been talking about, and after that… I don't have any recollection of using it.
I had a little wine, we ended up back at his chalet…
Did I leave it up at the house?
Oh, bugger.
bugger bugger bugger!
I kick the couch in a moment of utter frustration, just as the front door opens and Mac walks in. He’s sweating and panting,like he’s just come in from a run. He looks at me and grins but gives me a funny look.
