I rifle through sheets of paper, notes, and various pens and other accoutrements.
I’m breaking out into a sweat, panic running through me.
Finally, I find it. Diana’s name with her phone number scrawled under it on a little piece of paper. Pulling out myphone, I bring up the short message exchange between me and the woman from Delirium, comparing the numbers.
Digit-for-fucking-digit identical.
I drop the phone and the paper onto my desk, rest my elbows on the surface, and cradle my bowed head in my hands.
Memories and half-considered thoughts batter at the walls I’ve built in my mind; the moments I refused to see, the similarities I refused to acknowledge. The layers I refused to peel back. I felt a connection to that woman at the club; sexual, yes, but also something more. Something that had me begging Henry to break the law and share her details with me. But with Diana, I wanted even more.
Keeping my eyes on the desk, I’m aware of Henry reaching across and taking the piece of paper and my phone, where the contactBeautiful Strangeris open.
“Hmm. Beautiful, yes,” Henry muses. “Stranger, not so much.” His hand claps on my shoulder, amusement trickling through his words. “At least you know who she is now.” I’m still cradling my head in my hands, but when he digs his fingers into my shoulder, I look up, and he asks the question I’ve been dreading, “But really, how the fuck did you not know?”
34
DIANA
Idon’t know where Rafe has been this afternoon, but somehow we’ve missed each other. Probably a good thing. Tomorrow, I’m moving out. This is the end.
I’m a bundle of nerves at the idea that he might walk in, but I don’t want to hide from him, so I set up my laptop as usual on the kitchen island after dinner.
I’ve been there for at least an hour, the kitchen lit by only the glow of my screen, when I hear the whir of the lift and the soft swish as the doors open.
I wait, but he doesn’t come into the kitchen like he normally would. I hear him pace down the hall, the familiar fall of his footsteps making my heart beat to the same tempo.
I feel both relieved and disappointed to realise he’s not going to say hello or good night or sit with me while I work, but after a few moments, I get back to work and try to forget about him.
Beside me, my phone rings where it’s lying on the island. I let it buzz a couple of times before glancing at the screen, only to see the nameHandsome Strangerflashing up.
What the fuck?
Why is he calling me?
I pick it up and stare at the screen in disbelief.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?”
I jump, nearly falling off the stool, the phone sliding through my fingers and clattering to the island, where it vibrates against the stone.
Rafe stands in the doorway, legs planted wide. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight as he shifts his chin. “Go on. Answer it.”
Oh, fuck.
We stare at one another as, with a shaking hand, I pick up my phone, sliding the display to answer and press it to my ear. “Hello?”
My voice echoes from across the room, small and tinny and coming from Rafe’s phone. His eyes drift closed, his fingers clenching around his handset, which he lifts to his ear. “Who the fuck is this?” he growls.
“Wh-what?”
“Tell me your name.”
I’m going to lose control of my breathing. I’m going to start hyperventilating. “Diana.” It comes out feeble and shaky.
“Again,” he demands. “Tell me again.”
“Diana. Diana.” I sound broken. “Diana Marchetti.”
