AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“There was no date,” she insists, but her resolve doesn’t last. “I ran into Finn Hughes at the gala. He helped me with the mince pies.”
The mince pies were ruined at Christmas. Actually they were fine, but our mother didn’t think they were up to par. I put a hand to my chest.
“I’m offended. I offered to help you, and you invited Finn Hughes down to the kitchen instead?”
“Please. He wandered in.”
“So you—” I bat my eyes at her, exaggerated enough to make her laugh. “Oh, Finn, please, I couldn’t possibly fix these mince pies by myself.”
“Yes, Daphne. It was exactly like that.”
I remember her talking about how she’d never marry a Constantine. Finn Hughes doesn’t share the last name, but he’s in their family tree. Is that who she was thinking about?I wouldn’t trust one as far as I could throw him. No matter how charming he looks. Or how nice he seems. It’s all a front.
We move on from Christmas to Leo’s wedding and then to general Bishop’s Landing gossip. Eva hears a lot, though she lives in the city. I’m lulled by her stories and the chance to tell her about my paintings and I almost,almost, forget that every move I make is being watched.
Until it happens again.
This time I turn my head to the side and try to find the watcher. No one meets my eyes. No one looks in my direction. It’s a restaurant full of people eating a lunch that’s basically a dinner at this point. No hint of Emerson’s blue-green eyes. No hint of his hair, or the way he stands. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
“What is it?” Eva peers around me, trying to see what I’m looking for. “Somebody here?”
“No,” I tell her. “I thought I heard my name.”
I thought I felt eyes on me. IknowI felt eyes on me. Unless I’m losing my sense of reality. That happens to artists sometimes. They get lost in a piece, or in a project, and the real world fades away.
That’s not what’s happening to me. My concentration on my work lasts an hour at most, and then I’m back to thinking of Emerson.
The bodyguards accompany me home from lunch in a black SUV. I’m not supposed to take Ubers anymore—Leo doesn’t think it’s safe. And yet…the SUV didn’t stop someone from watching me in the art supply store, or the restaurant.
By the time I close the apartment door behind me, it’s a pressure on my skin. My heart races. Someone is watching. I know they are, and I think I know who it is. I perch in the window seat in my bedroom and look down on the street below.
I’m tired of waiting.
The thought trickles in, tiny drops of realization that slowly fill my gut.
I’m tired of waiting for him to get closer and closer until he catches me. That night at the gallery. The painting in my apartment. The flowers. Emerson talks to me over text with the kind of infinite patience that tells me he has a plan. He’s in no rush because he’s made a decision about me. He wants me, and he’s going to keep doing this, and I am tired of playing games.
I want to be the one to choose. No more waiting for him to reveal himself. He’s already shown me what he’s capable of. The lock on the door of this place won’t keep him out.
I don’t want it to keep him out.
I want to go to him.
Daphne: Are you in the city?
His reply takes almost no time.
Emerson: Yes.
Daphne: Can you come get me?
Emerson: Are you hurt?
No. No, I am not hurt. I want out of this pressure around my ears, around my head. I want out of this little apartment with the security off this street. I want a few minutes where nobody is watching me.
Except Emerson.
Daphne: I want to go with you. I’m not hurt. Can you come?
