She doesn’t respond. Dead asleep. Soon, I fall to sleep beside her. I feel her move in the middle of the night, and when I reach for her, she gives me a quick kiss to the cheek.
“Just need a bit of fresh air,” she says. “Rest.”
I figure she’ll stroll out onto the balcony, so I roll over and go back to sleep.
I wake the next morning to bright sunlight streaming in through the balcony door, and an empty bed beside me. I frown, surprised to see she isn’t here.
Didn’t she come back in last night?
What time was it, anyway? I can’t recall if it was the dead of night or early morning, since it was so dark out. It might have been six hours or thirty minutes.
Her phone’s gone, and her shoes are gone.
Warning thrums low in my belly, but I’m so used to it by now I barely pay attention to it. I’ve been trained to expect the worst in any scenario, and half the time I need to remind myself that it’s okay not to expect the worst in any scenario.
Still, I’ll breathe better when I know she’s safe.
I look at my phone and see a text from Fran.
Fran:Good morning! Not sure if you remember, I told you I needed a little fresh air.
I frown.I remember. Where is she? What the bloody hell is she thinking? I don’t want her going for a walk by herself, not when so much is at stake. Hell, even on a good day she’s not allowed to go without a guard on her.
But we haven’t gotten that far yet.
I shove the blankets off and quickly dress, then head downstairs to the smell of coffee, tea, and freshly baked pastries. I walk into the dining room to find Keenan and Caitlin, Maeve, and a few of the grandkids.
“Good morning,” Maeve says brightly.
I skip past pleasantries. “Has anyone seen Fran?”
Keenan stands. “She isn’t with you?”
I shake my head. “Said she had to get some fresh air, not sure what she meant by that. Expected she’d sit on the balcony.”
“She’s likely by the cliffs, then,” Maeve says, spooning applesauce into a chubby little baby’s mouth. “That’s where we all like to take a morning walk.”
Jesus. The beach? Alone?
“You let her go without a guard?” Keenan says, surprised.
I shake my head. “Of course not. She didn’t ask. I thought when she said fresh air, she’d open a bloody window or something.”
“Alright, mate, relax,” he says. “Let’s go look for her. No need to sound the alarm yet.”
But every minute that ticks by seems like hours. I nearly drop my phone when another text comes in.
Fran:I’m sorry, Tate. The wedding was too much, it pushed me over the edge. I need space. I can’t do this.
I stareat the words as if I don’t speak the language, willing myself to understand.
What?
I hit “dial,” but it goes straight to voicemail. Frowning, I show the text to Keenan. Something isn’t right. He shakes his head.
“Is it consistent with her character to run?”
I don’t answer at first, as I think it over. Is he thinking what I am?
