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“Thank you. I’ll do the same for you. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” Arianna tried to infuse some excitement into her voice, but it was lacking. She hung up the phone, walked to her bedroom, and lay down face first on the bed. Her makeup was going to get smeared all over her Lux Sateen bedspread—a find at Harrod’s—and she was going to ruin her expensive dress. She couldn’t have cared less.
Brad had stayed by her side until the Gifted Genius was caught. That was all he’d really promised. Right?
She’d told him she needed time. It looked like he was going to give it to her. Maybe eight more years of it.
Tears stung her eyelids and dripped down her nose, and her body heaved a sob.
Had he really left her? Let her kiss him and then simply walked away again?
She’d been so set on telling him she forgave him, that she loved him, to see if a Christmas miracle was in store for her.
She was betting on a no.
ChapterTwelve
Arianna woke to a pounding noise.Sitting up on her bed, she reached for a tissue and swiped at her nose and eyes. The tissue came away black and brown from her smeared makeup.
The pounding came again. She glanced at her clock. It was only ten-thirty. Not insanely late, but late for someone to be pounding so insistently. Something had to be wrong. What if the Gifted Genius had escaped?
She scrambled off the bed, through her room, and down the hall. Every light in her living area was on, so she could understand why somebody thought she was home and awake.
The pounding stopped. She hurried to the door and looked through the peephole.
Brad.
The fear of the Gifted Genius fled, but all the longing and love for Brad swelled inside. He hadn’t run away. Had he come for her?
He stood there, looking glorious in his black guard uniform. He also looked … beat up. Who had hurt him?
She flung the door open. They both stared at each other as freezing air swirled around her and into her home.
“What happened to you?” she asked. “You look a fright.”
He smiled. “I’d never say you look a fright, but … are you well?”
Arianna could not imagine how awful she looked. She’d laid face down on her bed, cried herself to sleep. The tissue she’d swiped under her eyes would’ve just smeared the mascara, eyeliner, base, powder, and eye shadow. Who knew how horrible she looked? Her lipstick was probably gone, and her hair was surely mussed.
His gaze traveled over her dress and heels. “That is a beautiful dress.”
“Thank you.” At least part of her didn’t look a fright.
“You and those heels of yours,” he said softly.
“What?” Her voice broke. “They make my legs look fabulous.”
“I cannot argue with suchpracticallogic.” He smiled. “What happened to you?”
“You first.”
He nodded. “May I come in?”
She stepped back and walked over to the couch. He followed her in, shutting the door behind him. Neither of them sat down. She wanted to go wash off her makeup and reapply. Her hands trembled. The implications of him being here hit her as hard as thinking he’d ditched her again. Did he love her? Or was he here to explain why he couldn’t?
“Can you give me a moment?” she managed.
He tilted his head. “To wash off your makeup?”
