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I decide to walk around. The living area opens to a den, which leads into an alfresco area, then wraps around into an adjoining balcony. He could be anywhere.
The decorations look classy, and Polly has transformed this house into a black-and-white Christmas wonderland. I sigh when I see her dragging some poor chump over to the hanging mistletoe, puckering her ruby lips.
Thankfully, the chump isn’t Quinn, but suddenly, I begin to worry. It’s not like he would bump into anyone he would know to stop and chat. My anxious eyes do a quick, last sweep, but I don’t see him anywhere.
“Shit,” I mumble to myself.
Politely pushing past the mingling guests, I make my way into the den, which is a little smaller but still nothing. Dammit, where is he?
The cold air brushes my cheeks as I step out into the alfresco area, where patrons enjoy a cigar and liquor. They stand, casually chatting around the in-wall fireplace, none the wiser that I’m about five seconds away from losing it.
Stepping out onto the balcony when Quinn is nowhere to be seen inside has my teeth chattering because it’s about zero degrees. Thankfully, it’s not snowing.
Doing a quick look around, I don’t see him anywhere, so I take a look over the railing, just in case he took Lucky out to do his business. Pushing into the banister, I look out into the open vastness. All I see are tiny candles lining the driveway and manicured lawns. But no Quinn.
Where is he?
My eyes once again fruitlessly search the area below, hoping he’ll magically appear, but deep down, I know something is wrong. I have to find him because wherever he is, I know he’s in trouble.
With my heart in my throat, I quickly turn but am stopped mid-spin when a set of warm hands wrap around my middle. I instantly sag in relief, but as I lean back, I realize the body is not Quinn’s.
But it’s also not a stranger.
“Don’t be mad,” the husky voice whispers by my ear as he loosens the grip around my waist.
Spinning around so quickly, I stumble in utter shock. His hand shoots out to steady me, and I let him because I’m seconds away from collapsing.
The moment I see those familiar blue eyes hidden behind a black mask, my pounding heart threatens to rip through my rib cage, unable to accept the reality of who stands before me.
And that’s because there’s no fucking way I am staring into the eyes of…Tristan Berkeley.
“Tristan?” I choke out, holding the wooden banister for support as my eyes widen, not believing the sight before them.
“Hi, Mia,” he gingerly replies, confirming he’s real and standing before me.
“Wh…what are you doing here?” I stutter, apprehensively reaching out to touch his arm to ensure he’s actually here.
“I had to come. I couldn’t stay away. Abi told me everything. She told me what Quinn did. You should have told me.” He sighs, taking off his mask.
“I…I…” I can’t construct a coherent sentence because I still can’t believe he’s here.
“I’m sorry for lying to you.”
But I remain immobile; the only things moving are my eyes as they appraise the man in front of me.
I’ve forgotten how much he resembles Quinn, but while Quinn is sharp planes and rugged angles, Tristan is softer and easier to read. However, now that Quinn’s hair is shorter, they do bear more of a likeness to one another than they did before. But the differences between them are what make them unique in their own personal way.
“Mia?” Tristan asks softly as I remain frozen.
“You’re really here?” I stupidly ask just above a whisper.
“I’m really here,” he affirms with a nod, his blond hair catching in the breeze.
“Oh God, you’re really here,” I reiterate, my hand falling to the center of his chest over his beating heart.
The memory from when I saw him last plagues my mind, and my eyes fill with tears.
I slowly trace my fingers down his side, stopping where his stab wound gushed out bright red blood. I squeeze lightly, staring at the spot and remembering the pain I felt when I saw his life source rapidly draining out of him.
