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Her boyfriend also upgraded the security system in their apartment in an already highly secured building, which has made it impossible for us to enter again without being noticed. And I’m not risking tipping them off.
But if this hunch turns out to be nothing, I’ll have no other choice but to use different methods to get my hands on that phone.
Is Ella going to be here this weekend?
After nine of the longest weeks of my life, will I finally get her back?
I’ve forgiven her for running away. She was upset with me, and after my chat with Mateo, I understand why.
I’ve had enough time to contemplate, and I’d like to think I’ve learned from my mistakes.
Ask her for help, Mateo keeps telling me. And I need help if I want our relationship to succeed. But do women really like that? According to my brother, they can’t resist a vulnerable man.
But Ella isn’t just some ordinary girl. She’s special. Would it really work with her? I guess there’s only one way to find out.
Being a boyfriend, or better yet a husband—because I will marry Ella—is a new life skill. One that’s harder to learn when she isn’t compliant, and I’m used to everyone doing exactly what they’re told.
Having her challenging me goes against everything I grew up with, and it will take some getting used to, but for her, I will try… and succeed.
Having her back in my life is all that matters. The need to see her, hold her, and make her mine again is all-consuming; it’s become an obsession.
Just like yesterday, I stroll through the VIP section with Santino in tow. My men are spread throughout the crowd, searching for Ella. The problem is, we don’t know what she looks like these days, and they might be walking right past her.
But I will recognize her no matter what. I will feel her just like I always have—the tell-all tingling sensation and the heat spreading through me whenever Ella is nearby have never let me down. But they have yet to make an appearance, and my impatience is growing.
It’s a long shot that she’s here… I know that, but the glimmer of hope inside me just won’t die.
I head towards a café. I need more coffee to get through today… or alcohol. But I need to stay alert, so the latter isn’t an option.
Plus, it’s only ten in the morning, too early to drink.
As I wait for Santino to place our order, I study the collection of framed calligraphed quotes on the wall. One in particular catches my attention.
Love does not claim possession but gives freedomby Rabindranath Tagore.
What a load of crap. He’s probably a hippy.
I turn away from it, disgusted, and don’t bother to check out what other new-age bullshit they want the world to see.
Coffee in hand, we walk towards pit lane, our all-access pass letting us in everywhere. I find a quieter elevated spot that lets me watch the action around us.
There’s tension in the air as the teams scurry about, getting ready for their qualifying sessions. The sun is burning down on us, and I feel sorry for the poor bastards in their fireproof overalls. But the forecast for the race tomorrow is anything but sunny, with heavy rain meant to hit later tonight.
Taking a sip of my hot brew, warmth sprouts in my abdomen… but it’s not from my coffee. My eyebrows draw together. This is different.
Then the familiar tingling spreads up my arms.
Yes! Fucking hell. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I knew it… I knew she’d be here!
“Santino, we’re on. Keep your eyes peeled.”
I straighten up, scanning the people below coming out from the shops.
Where is she?
I study each face in the small crowd. My attention is drawn to a tall, muscly guy in a white t-shirt and camouflage cargo shorts, carrying a tray of cups and a brown paper bag. My heart speeds up.
