Chapter Five
WHAT AM I DOING, REALLY?
Memories of their conversation in the limo played in her mind over and over, and every time she remembered the way he had stared at her with intense gray eyes as he answered her question—
You’re the first one. The only one.
I can’t believe this is happening!
How can this be happening?
Is this really happening?
Andie tossed. And turned. Then tossed and turned again and again and again.
But the restlessness churning inside her refused to be quelled.
She had asked Paul for a night to think things over, and he had been swift to say yes.
She had thought she had won herself a little reprieve.
..only to find out after dinner that he had no plans of letting her out of her sight.
“You’ll sleep under my roof.”
“But—”
“It’s non-negotiable, koukla mou. So deal with it.”
Hence the reason she ended up occupying the suite closest to the master’s bedroom, struggling but failing to fall asleep in the past eighty minutes.
Argh.
The guest suite was roughly the size of her entire apartment back in Kansas.
Maybe bigger.
The bed alone could fit four of her comfortably, its mattress so soft she’d practically sunk into it when she first sat down.
The sheets were some kind of fabric she couldn’t identify—not cotton, not silk, but something in between that felt like sleeping on a cloud made of whispers.
Thread count probably in the thousands. The kind of sheets she’d only ever seen in magazines at the SaveMart checkout line, usually accompanied by headlines like “Live Your Best Life!” and price tags that made her laugh out loud.
She wasn’t laughing now.
The December wind rattled softly against the windows, though it was too dark to see much beyond the ghostly shapes of bare tree branches and the distant twinkle of Christmas lights strung along what might have been a gazebo. Or a pool house. Or a small cottage.
Maybe even all of the above, considering how astronomically wealthy Paul seemed to be.
She kicked at the sheets, suddenly too hot despite the perfectly calibrated temperature. Then she was too cold. Then too hot again. Her skin felt electric, hypersensitive, like every nerve ending had been rewired during that limo ride and now refused to settle back into their normal patterns.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt his hands on her.
Every time she tried to think, she heard his voice.
You’re the first one. The only one.
So this was what it felt like to be haunted...never mind if the ghost still happened to be alive.
Andie sat up and looked around in desperation, searching for something to distract her.
The bookshelf next to the window had a nice selection of books, leather-bound classics with gold lettering on their spines, a few titles in fantasy, and then a larger selection of books in business and non-fiction.
In most cases, any of them would’ve piqued her interest. She liked to read just about anything. But right now, none of it seemed enough. She needed something else. Something more.
Her gaze strayed to the massive flat screen mounted on the wall opposite the bed, sleek and black and probably connected to every streaming service known to mankind.
But...nope.
It was as if her heart knew exactly what it wanted, but her mind had yet to catch up.
She paced back and forth. Gazed out the window in search for something she couldn’t name. And when all seemed lost, the bedside drawer caught her eye, and Andie pulled it open, not really thinking she’d find anything, but...oh.
Guest rooms in Paul Mitropoulos had Bibles in them?
Andie was already reaching for it in her amazement even as her mind had yet to process this incredible surprise. The cover was a burgundy leather that was exceptionally soft to touch. The weight of it felt right in her hands somehow, substantial but not heavy, like it was meant to be held.
She ran her thumb along the gilded edges of the pages, watching them flutter like wings. Andie opened it with care, and her eyes widened at the handwritten note on the blank space below the publisher’s description.
The handwriting was lovely, flowing script in blue ink, and every word penned with unmistakable care and intention.
Dear Friend,
I’m Star, and my husband Wynd is a friend of Paul, whom you likely know as well.
About a year ago, I started this little ministry where I’d ask permission from my friends about placing Bibles in their guest rooms. Paul was one of the first to say yes, and I just want you to know that it’s no accident you’ve found this.
God wants you to know that He loves you, and He’s always been there for you.
If you seek Him with all your heart, you’ll find Him (Jeremiah 29:13).
He has so much to say. And this book, this very precious book that wouldn’t have been possible if not for Jesus dying on the cross to save each and every one of us even when we didn’t yet know Him—this book is God’s love letter to you.
Andie only realized she was crying when she saw her tears splash against the pages, small dark spots blooming on the cream-colored paper, smudging the edges of Star’s careful handwriting.
She had never ever prayed before.
Never.
She knew of God. Heard people share about God. But she had never really tried to talk to God of her own volition. Never thought there was a reason to do so, not even during the days when she felt as if she just wanted to give up because life seemed so hard and unfair.
Those days, she would go to sleep and secretly wished that she would never wake up...and then the next day she would feel so ashamed for being so weak and wanting to give up, even if it meant abandoning her mother.
Today...wasn’t that kind of day. Today...was actually the opposite. Today, she felt as if she was on the brink of having her life completely changed, and she realized now that was what terrified her the most.
Bad days, she was used to. But days that were just too good to be true?
It didn’t even have anything to do with Paul.
What scared her right now was how real God felt—
And how desperate she felt to believe that He loved her, that He was there for her, and that all she had to do was—
God?
—search for Him with all her heart, and she would find Him.
ARE YOU REALLY...THERE?
Her tears fell even faster as she found herself praying the hardest prayer of all...because all her life, she had trained herself to only hope for the minimum. But this time—
Please be real.
This time, for once in her life—
Please.
She would stop being a coward and start praying for the impossible.
I know I’ve been proud about being tough and resilient.
Her throat tightened, making it hard to breathe.
I know I’ve acted like I don’t need anyone, and I can handle everything on my own.
Andie fell to her knees.
But the truth is, I’ve just been pretending all this time, and I’m so, so tired of pretending.
So please.
If You’re real...
Please be with me.
And as she forced herself to her feet—
Peace.
The kind that transcended all human understanding.
She could feel it enveloping her like a heavenly embrace with every step she took.
How...utterly impossible to explain.
She didn’t hear any other voice in her mind. Didn’t see any supernatural sign around her.
And yet...
She could just feel that she was no longer alone.
Never would be.
And this...
This gave her the courage to do what she did next.
Andie set the Bible carefully on the nightstand, right where she’d found it, and rose from the bed.
Her bare feet sank into carpet so plush it felt like walking on moss. The oversized t-shirt she’d borrowed from the stack of guest clothes in the closet—all still bearing tags from stores she’d never heard of—fell to mid-thigh, and she probably should have put on something more appropriate, but...
The peace was humming through her now.
Warm and certain.
Guiding her toward the door.
The hallway beyond was dim, lit only by small sconces spaced along the walls at intervals, their light warm and golden against the dark wood paneling.
Her feet made no sound on the hardwood floors—real hardwood, she could tell, not the laminate stuff she’d grown up with—as she padded toward the door at the end of the hall.
His door.
She knew it was his without being told. Something about the weight of it, maybe. The way it seemed to anchor that end of the hallway like a period at the end of a sentence.
Through a window she passed, she caught a glimpse of the grounds outside—the December night had turned everything silver and shadow, and she could see her breath misting faintly in the cooler air of the corridor.
Somewhere in the distance, those Christmas lights still twinkled, patient and hopeful in the darkness.
She stopped in front of his door.
Her hand rose.
Hesitated.
The peace was still there, but so was her heartbeat—thundering now, so loud she was half-convinced he could hear it through the wood.
This gave her the courage to raise her hand and knock.
The door opened almost immediately, and Paul stared at her, his expression impossible to read.
He had changed out of his suit and now wore a simple white t-shirt, the cotton stretched across the broad planes of his chest, and dark pants that hung low on his hips.
His feet were bare. His hair was slightly mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it.
He looked almost...human.
Almost vulnerable.
Almost like someone who’d been waiting, too.
Almost.
But truthfully, he still looked so, so intimidating, and she would have been so, so tempted to just turn away and forget what she had come all the way here to say...if not for his eyes.
Oh, those gray, bittersweet-morning eyes...
They showed the same questions she had. The same fears. The same pain.
And it was this that had her mustering the courage to ask—
“May I come in?”
“Only if you’re fine with not being able to leave.”