Chapter 29
twenty-nine
THE WATCHER
He had been steaming with frustration, wishing that his was a personality that lent itself to violence so that he could vent some of the aggression thrumming in the pit of his stomach onto someone else.
Regrettably, he was a pacifist who enjoyed a low-key lifestyle. He’d joined the hiking club in Dublin because Bébhinn was a member, and then studied night and day about the outdoor activity.
Truly, it was a miracle that he’d been able to find his way to Conwy after the storm, and he probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t had tracks to follow.
He’d never been the best student in class or entrepreneurial. He wasn’t boring, but he was far from charismatic. His only tech skills included linking a Ring camera to his phone, which was how he was currently inside her bedroom.
By the time he’d gotten a ride to his vehicle and driven to Holyhead, he’d barely made the last ferry. He was finally home, in their new apartment, sipping on wine and watching Bébhinn sleep.
She was in her favored position. Her legs and head were slightly twisted to the left while her back remained flat on the mattress.
He was disappointed she chose to wear such a large shirt and shorts to bed. He loved to prop his phone on his nightstand and watch the tiny tank tops she preferred to sleep in shift while she moved, where he could catch glimpses of her smooth, creamy skin and the top swells of her firm breasts.
He couldn’t imagine going to sleep without her soft breaths and sighs next to him. The Wales hike hadn’t ended as he’d hoped, but she was still his. There had been no romantic gestures between Bébhinn and that man who must have sheltered through the storm with her.
She hadn’t strayed. She was still his.
There would be another opportunity for grand gestures.
He would make sure of it.