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I understand why he needs to hear this. We both need to know we belong to the other as we’ve never belonged before.
“I’m yours. Always.”
With a smirk, Quinn pushes me onto the bed, but a soft rap on our door interrupts us.
“Um…Mia?” Cynthia mumbles through the door.
“Hi,” I say, making it clear that if she wants to speak, it’s through the door.
“Is this a bad time?”
Quinn shakes his head when he reads I’m about five seconds away from telling her to come back in an hour.
“It’s fine. Everything okay?” I say as we quickly compose ourselves before I open the door.
She doesn’t seem to notice my flushed cheeks as she has other pressing matters to deal with. “Have you seen Polly?”
“Um…” I look at Quinn, who shrugs. “No. We haven’t seen her.”
“Oh dear.”
“What’s the matter?” I ask, sensing a whirlwind of chaos about to form.
“I t-think…um.”
“What’s going on, Cynthia?”
Meeting my eyes, she wrings her hands in front of her as she whispers, “Polly is missing.”
“Missing? Why do you think that? Maybe she just went out for a walk?” I suggest, which is improbable, as I haven’t seen Polly do any kind of walking since I’ve met her.
But I try and stay positive before I go jumping to conclusions.
However, Cynthia shakes her head, determined she’s gone. “I checked her room. It looks as if it’s been ransacked.”
My hand flies to my throat, as her comment worries me. “Ransacked? You don’t think—” I say, leaving the sentence unfinished, as there is no way Thomas and Phil have been here undetected.
Cynthia quickly shakes her head. “No, I don’t think…that. I think she’s run away.”
Quinn is the first to speak up. “There’s no way someone like your daughter would run away. No offense,” he adds with a strained smile.
“Then where is she?”
“Maybe in true Polly fashion, she’s just thrown a temper tantrum, trashed her room, and gone to harass Tristan?” I offer, as it’s a plausible scenario.
Speaking of Tristan, I look at Quinn, silently asking where he is. “When I left him, he said he was taking a walk…to clear his head.”
The way his mouth dips into a tight frown pulls at my heartstrings.
“Maybe you’re right, Mia,” Cynthia concedes, but her tense voice tells me otherwise.
Pushing past her, I storm down the hallway into Polly’s room. This little brat has once again become the center of everybody’s universe.
Cynthia is right—the place does look like it’s been ransacked, but Quinn also has a point. Someone like Polly wouldn’t last one minute out there alone without her damn lip gloss or moisturizer. And let’s face it, where would she go?
We’re out in the middle of nowhere.
“I’m worrying over nothing, aren’t I?” Cynthia asks, needing reassurance.
