Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Mina
The house Leo booked out for our two-day stay is straight from a modern architecture magazine.
It’s all-white everything: white marble kitchen, floors, walls, the couch cushions are white, and even all the bed linen is devoid of any color.
The only non-white is the glass, and the silver hardware—save for the two gray throw blankets in the living room.
There’s nothing warm or homey about this two-story house. It’s too clinical. But I suppose it doesn’t entirely matter how the décor makes me feel when I can already breathe a little easier from the miles we put between us and the things we’re running from.
Leo makes his second trip to the rental car and comes back in with all of our things—namely, the several bags of snacks we bought on the way here from the airport.
He sets everything on the kitchen counter while arguing with his agent on the other line.
No one’s happy that he changed his flight to an early morning one and skipped out on going in for exit meetings, medical checkups, and some media work.
But I understand his refusal to have any further interaction with people who aren’t on his side.
We’re in the same boat, except my avoidance is fueled by cowardice.
I snuck out of the house before either of my parents woke up, then texted Mom that I was moving out, and that I’d be away for a couple of days. She left my message on read.
A quick check of my texts tells me my blackmailer hasn’t responded either. Maybe I just need to wait a couple more days for the peace of mind to hit me that I’m finally safe from him. That he’s gone.
Until then, I need to be more in the moment.
The cold tile floor chills my sock-clad feet as I check out the ranch slider that leads into the backyard. There’s nothing special about it, but the fresh air helps my nerves. I jolt when arms wrap around my waist from behind and Leo presses a kiss to the top of my head.
Butterflies swoop in my stomach. He makes it seem so easy to love me.
“What do you think about moving here?” I’ve never heard him so at ease before. Even the arms wrapped around me are relaxed, as if this were a random morning, and our biggest concern in life is what we’re having for dinner.
I tell myself this is a glimpse into our future.
“To Chicago?” I arch a brow.
“Why not?”
I turn around in his grip to look up at him, and I’m momentarily disarmed by his smile. “Is your agent talking with the team here?”
He nods, eyes dancing over my face like he’s trying to memorize the sight of me. “I’d still be reasonably close to Sabrina.”
The mention of her name has me tensing. “Do you think she’ll hate me once I tell her I’m not who she thinks I am?” I’m not sure what I’m feeling. Is it . . . shame? Guilt?
“You’re the same person she knows.”
I grimace. I feel like both the Duvals fell for a liar, but I was always still me in a way. “I told her a different name.”
“Nickname,” he amends, even though he’s in the doghouse too right now for not telling her that he has a girlfriend.
I snort. “I made an entire social media persona and got into fucking influencing just to befriend her.”
“You did the same for me.”
“I don’t think that makes it better.”
He shrugs. “You don’t need to keep lying to her. Just tell her you’re an author, and you haven’t told her about it for safety and anonymity. You don’t exactly go around telling people what you really do for a living generally.”
Look, he’s got a point. It’s not exactly a lie, but it sure as shit isn’t the full truth—and telling her the full truth sounds like a terrible idea.
Either way, since it seems like I’m happily stuck with Leo, I need to mend the bridge I made with his sister, and that starts with apologizing for ghosting her ever since my shit was stolen.
I just haven’t been in the right headspace to talk to her properly. Or anyone but Leo, really.
“We both need to tell her the truth,” I say. The lies to Sabrina have piled too high.
“She’s going to be so pissed.”
“So pissed,” I agree.
“She’ll be more upset about us dating without telling her.”
I nod. She has every right to be more than just “upset” over everything we’ve done.
Because I’m a sadistic bitch, I slide my hands under his sweater and shirt, and plant my frozen palms directly onto his back.
He doesn’t so much as flinch.
I’m a simple woman. That was hot as fuck.
I flip my hands around to use his body heat to warm the other side. Still no reaction. How does something like that make my insides gooey?
He smirks like he knows exactly the effect he has on me.
I clear my throat in an attempt to cleanse myself of my impure thoughts.
“How long until you need to go?” A change of topic is my only solution.
Leo sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Not for a couple more hours, but I have work I need to do before the off-season.”
“Do you want to borrow my laptop? I won’t turn down an excuse to not work.” I’ve got approximately a million emails waiting for me because I’ve neglected any form of author work since . . . yeah.
If I really want to keep this career, I’m going to need to start working on a new book, like, yesterday.
Maybe I’ll read a book on my phone and tell myself it’s research.
Leo shakes his head and kills my dreams. Guess I have to work then. Ugh.
My yawn interrupts whatever he was about to say, and he chuckles. “You should take a nap instead. You didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“You’ve convinced me.” The answer is out of my mouth before I can reconsider it. “Join me?”
I’ve been awake since he broke into my room hours before the ass crack of dawn, and I can only assume Leo’s been up for longer. The twenty minutes of sleep I got on the plane didn’t count.
He chuckles, planting a kiss on the top of my head before sweeping me into his arms like I’m his bride. A girl could really get used to this. It’s hard to feel anxious about the future when he’s looking down at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted in life.
Through a feat of far more athleticism and dexterity than I hold, he manages to grab his backpack off the kitchen floor without dropping me, whisks me up the stairs, and sets me on the bed with so much care and gentleness that I could almost mistake myself for a priceless artifact.
Without a word, he starts tugging off my pants. My eyes bulge, and I’m about to point out that we have different definitions of sleeping when he tugs down the duvet and tucks me in. I frown at his sweats that are still on.
“You’re not going to nap too?”
His eyes find mine as he unzips his backpack. A satisfied grin lights his face. “We’ll compromise. I’ll work from the bed.”
Leo grabs his laptop and settles into the empty space beside me, and I place my glasses on the table, then shuffle right up to his side like it’s pure instinct.
That works for me. As he and I both know, I can sleep through almost anything. So the second my head hits the pillow, and I shut my eyes, I’m out like a light.
The last thing I remember hearing is my phone going off before I’m sucked into a plane without dreams.
Awareness pulls me out of sleep. It’s the same prickling sensation that someone is here, like when Leo woke me in the dead of night. The hairs along the back of my neck rise.
A sound comes from beyond the bedroom door.
I peel my eyes open and squint to make sense of my surroundings.
The glow from streetlights pours in from beneath the closed curtains.
My gaze slides toward the open door and the darkness beyond, but the world is made up of blurry silhouettes and still shadows.
I reach for my glasses and slide them on, sitting straighter in the bed. The silence stretches. One heartbeat rolls into the next. It’s quiet. All I hear is the thrum of the heater and the distant sound of a car driving along the road.
And beneath all that, nothing. I rub my eyes and slowly wake up. Maybe I had a nightmare I don’t recall.
I grimace at the time blaring up at me from my phone. It’s almost nine o’clock. I’ve practically slept the entire day. Leo should be home any minute now, assuming the run sheet was followed to a T.
My aching body protests as I pull myself upright and shuffle to the end of the bed, raising my arms to stretch my back. Sighing, I shuffle out of the room, ears popping as I do the most satisfying yawn ever.
I have to grope the wall to find the light switch, and I have major regrets when the white light beams on, making the already white space fucking blinding. But there’s something . . . My foot stalls in midair. Something sinister skitters down my spine—a shift in the air that heightens my senses.
There’s a flash of movement in my periphery, and adrenaline explodes through my system. I launch toward the kitchen at the first slap of shoes against tile, and I scream as loud as I can for help.
Oh.
Oh God.
It’s him.
He’s here.
He’s making me pay for not listening to him.
My socked feet slide against the smooth surface, giving the intruder the upper hand. A burning ache ruptures across my scalp as he yanks back on my hair and the floor goes out from under me.
No, no, no, no. My arms pinwheel as I’m torn between trying to gain balance and hitting somewhere that hurts.
He lets go of my hair to wrap his arms around me. One of my feet comes to a halt against his shoe, and I use the leverage to get enough momentum to swing my head back. A sickening crack pairs with sharp pain that radiates from the point of contact.
The intruder’s very distinctly male grunt blasts through my ears. I throw my head back again, and he loosens his hold around me to avoid the collision.
Please, God.
I use the opening to scream again, and free one of my arms to try to catch his face. He lets go of my torso to grab my arm. I dive forward before he can, hitting the cool floor with a thump that punches the air out of my lungs.
I scramble out of his reach as he tries to grab me, and I get the first glimpse of my attacker’s face. My stomach drops.