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Harper insisted on staying with me because she felt so bad about what happened. I happily accepted because I still felt shaken.
She wanted to talk and make sure I was totally okay, but I didn’t have the strength.
There are some shocks that can wipe you out. Tonight was one of them, although it’s not the worst thing to happen to me.
I head straight to bed and it’s not long before I drift off to sleep, where images of rich blue eyes and the handsome face of my dark knight fill my mind,
I sleep through the night and wake to bright sunlight spilling through the already opened long French windows. The last couple of nights have been so hot I’ve slept with those windows open.
As I shuffle against my stack of silk-covered pillows, my mind becomes more alert and lucid. Then it takes mere seconds to recall last night’s encounters— the good and the terrible.
The icky sensation of that creep’s hands is still on my skin. But… the memory of my handsome hero softens the blow of the disturbing ordeal.
I can’t believe what almost happened to me. If my hero had appeared seconds later, I don’t want to think about what could have happened.
He was so strong and powerful. As if fighting came as effortlessly to him as breathing. That creep never stood a chance.
I was also impressed by how quickly my hero got to me. Surely, to do so, he would have had to be watching me.
Was he? Still?
He must have been. Maybe he was going to talk to me when he saw me leaving.
No, that doesn’t make sense, or he would have talked to me after I went to the first-aid room.
Men.I definitely can’t figure them out. They’re one hell of a mystery to me. I totally believe they come from Mars. At the same time, I’m not entirely sure what planet I’m from. I seem to fall outside the rules of the Universe.
The scent of pancakes wafting into my room stirs my stomach, interrupting my thoughts.
That would be Harper making breakfast. Another great thing about my best friend is that she’s an excellent cook. She inherited the talent from her parents who own a chain of award-winning French restaurants across the country.
Rather than confining myself to any further deliberations, I get up, pull on my dressing robe, and leave the room.
The sun from the skylight greets me when I step onto the black floating stairs leading me down to the main hallway. This area is my favorite in the entire apartment because it looks like somewhere an artist would live.
Dad got me this place weeks before I returned to Boston. I never even knew what it looked like until two weeks ago when I stepped inside.
Everything was all set up for me to live in. The apartment is one of the luxury suites in this building that used to be one of the old factories back in the 1920s.
I have a great view of the Boston skyline and the river, and the apartment itself has two bedrooms, a sitting room, and an open-plan kitchen, which Dad packed out with enough food in the fridge and the cupboards to last a month. Or more.
It was his gift to me, which I appreciated.
Despite Dad getting Miko an apartment on the other side of the building, the gesture showed steps toward him respecting my independence. Although I’m not sure how long that respect will last.
Now that I’m home, I’m sure Dad will try to gain more control over my life.
I find Harper in the kitchen preparing a full breakfast.
Alongside a stack of mouthwatering-looking pancakes, I spot scrambled eggs, strips of crispy bacon, French toast, and other little platters with an assortment of dishes.
Everything smells like I just walked into a Michelin-starred restaurant.
“Good morning.” She opens her arms, showcasing the food.
“Morning. My gosh, Harper, you are amazing, but you didn't need to do this.”
She comes over and gives me a quick hug. “Yes, I absolutely did. I feel so terrible about last night.”
