Page 133 of Unwritten Rules

Johanna’s brow puckers in apparent confusion. “Miss DeMarco, sir? I’ve not seen her yet today…”

She trails off as I blow past her, doing a quick lap of downstairs, but none of the other staff has seen her either.

A sick feeling bubbles in the depths of my stomach as I head for the garage, unable to help remembering the desperation I’d felt in our lovemaking last night and kicking myself for not speaking up.

Please be there. Please be there. Please be there.

If her Stingray is gone…

I throw the double doors wide open to find nothing but an empty space where Mila’s tactical red Corvette Stingray once sat.

“Fuck!”

I’d known there was something off last night. Why didn’t I call her on it instead of being led by my fucking dick?

I pat my pocket, finding I’ve left my phone upstairs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Each expletive gets harsher with every footstep I take. What the fuck is going on? My mind works as quickly as possible to connect the dots behind Mila’s sudden disappearing act.

Grabbing my phone from my bedside locker, I dial Mila’s number. It rings once before it unceremoniously goes to voicemail.

Pulling it from my ear, I grimace at my phone as though it offends me. “The fuck?”

“You’re through to Mila. If you leave a voicemail that doesn’t bore me to tears, I might just call you back. Cheers!”

Beep.

I heave a sigh of frustration. “Hellcat? Call me back right the fuck now. Where are you, and why did you run? Nothing about this is making any fucking sense.”

I spend the next few minutes that feel like hours scanning every square centimetre of my suite for a note or a letter, anything she may have left for me.

My heart sinks when I come up empty-handed.

Wetherby!

She spent all of yesterday in his quarters, and I’d not checked there before, hesitant to wake the man when he’s been so poorly. My legs are moving before my brain has registered the thought.

Wetherby is sleeping when I enter, his familiar old face appearing more lined and weathered than usual, making my heart twist painfully in my chest at the likelihood of losing his steadfast presence sooner than later.

My eyes scan the room, landing on an envelope propped against the alarm clock on Wetherby’s bedside table. When I pick it up, I inhale sharply when I see how she’s addressed it.

For my Westley

Sinking down into the seat by Wetherby’s bed, I turn the envelope over to open the seal and slide the contents onto my lap.

There’s a handwritten letter and a single apple blossom flower.

Suddenly, I can’t breathe past the lump in my throat, my eyes filling with tears as a pain sharper than any I’ve ever known cleaves my heart clear in half. I close my eyes, fighting back my overwhelming emotions, then crack open the single page, reading the story of my whole life falling apart at the seams.

Nathaniel,

I never meant to let things go as far as they did.

I meant every word I said. I love you. I’ve always loved you.

And I probably will always love you.

But we were a dream that could never come true.