Chapter 40
EVANGELINE
Flopping to my side, I shove away the heavy blankets bunched up around my face. The room is still dark, and I’m warm. Like way too warm. That’s probably what woke me. That, or the caffeine in the second scoop of mocha gelato.
I twist under the covers, keeping my movements gentle so I don’t wake Alaric. But when I turn to my other side and find the space beside me empty, a bolt of panic hits.
I sit up too quickly, my head spinning, and scan the room. He’s not here—I’m completely alone.
Shrouded in a sense of foreboding, I grab for my phone on the nightstand. According to the screen, it’s 3:32 a.m. Maybe he’s in the bathroom?
Quietly, I slip out of bed and tiptoe to the en suite, using my phone as a flashlight.
On my way, I snag Alaric’s shirt off the floor, shoving my arms through the sleeves and securing a few of the buttons so I’m not walking around his house completely naked.
I push into the bathroom, only to find it empty.
Though I suppose empty isn’t the right way to describe it. Because while it’s devoid of the man I’m looking for, the floor and countertop are littered with all kinds of stuff.
I flick on the light switch, wincing at the sudden brightness of the room, and as my eyes adjust, shame trickles through me.
My clothes and makeup are everywhere.
We rushed to get ready for dinner, hence the massive mess.
One of my suitcases is open in the middle of the marble tiled floor, clothes bursting out of both sides as if it’s been ransacked.
A few stray pairs of underwear frame the open suitcase like confetti.
Is that my strapless bra hanging from the faucet of the soaking tub?
My toiletries are scattered all over the vanity, some of the bottles on their sides with a few even on the floor. My mascara is still open and—shit. I left my straightener plugged in. I stalk over to it and yank on the cord.
A deluge of embarrassment crashes around me.
I’m a fucking disaster. How did I create this much chaos in such a short amount of time?
Did Alaric see what I did to his gorgeous, palatial bathroom and decide to sleep elsewhere?
The urge to run thrums through every limb.
Except I can’t flee this scene. I made this mess. I’m in a foreign country. It’s the middle of the night. I have nowhere to go, and even if I did run away from this, it wouldn’t help the situation.
Get a grip, Evan.
I wasn’t a classic eloper as a kid, but throughout my adolescence, the urge to get up and leave would hit hard and fast. I’d look forward to a party, only to discover that I couldn’t wait to leave once I arrived. As I got older, many of my nights out with friends ended long before last call.
It’s one of my least favorite parts of how my brain works. The need isn’t always triggered when I’m overwhelmed, but when it is, the urge to flee is like an incessant, unreachable itch.
That sensation hits me now, along with a wave of sorrow. This is not what I expected to feel tonight.
Dinner was perfect. Our time together after was, too.
Yet here I am, overreacting, tarnishing it all.
With a shaky breath, I fight back tears. I use the bathroom, wash my hands, and splash cold water on my face, but all the while, the compulsion to go plagues me.
Maybe a glass of water will help. Or I could step out onto the terrace and get a bit of fresh air.
Quietly, I crack open the bedroom door. Then I tiptoe into the main living space, hoping I don’t wake Alaric, wherever he may be.
“Evangeline,” a low voice says when I’m mere feet from the kitchen.
I shriek, practically jumping out of my skin, my adrenaline skyrocketing as I whip around.
Alaric rises from the couch, holding a large hardback book.
With a hand to my chest, I suck in a harsh breath and force it back out.
He’s shirtless, with a pair of joggers slung low on his tapered hips. And he’s wearing the most adorable wire-framed reading glasses.
Drinking him in does nothing to calm me, though.
“Angel…”
He takes two steps toward me before he stops himself, concern marring expression.
“What’s wrong?”
Nothing.
Everything.
“I’m so sorry about the mess,” I mutter. “I don’t know if that’s why you’re out here, but I swear I’ll get it all cleaned up tomorrow.”
Expression hardening, he sets his book on the couch. Then with measured steps, he crosses the room.
“Come here,” he insists, pulling me into his chest.
Pathetically, I sink into him.
“Baby, you’re trembling.”
I’m also on the verge of bursting into tears.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp out.
Gripping my shoulders, he cranes back, assessing me with a frown. “I don’t know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, but you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about.”
“But the bathroom. My mess—”
He brings one finger to my lips and hits me with the sternest glare, effectively silencing me.
“I don’t always sleep well,” he murmurs. “Especially the first night in any place. Reading helps, but I didn’t want to disturb you by turning on a light, so I came out here.”
I peer past him to where his book is open on the couch, noting the soft glow of the lamp on the end table.
“When I went into the bathroom and noticed the mess, you know what I thought?”
I shake my head, anticipatory shame swirling in my gut.
“I thought that I owe you an apology. Nothing about yesterday went according to plan, and you had very little time to change before I was whisking you off again, let alone the opportunity to unpack. That’s on me.
How unfair was it for you to have to scramble to get ready for an activity I didn’t even warn you about? ”
I loop my arms around his bare torso and hold him a little tighter as a weighted sigh presses out of my lungs.
I’m okay.
Alaric isn’t upset with me, and despite the validity of my initial fear, nothing is wrong.
With my cheek resting on his chest, I say, “I woke up disoriented, then panicked when you weren’t in bed.”
He holds me tighter. “I shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I’m so sorry.”
I scoff. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
He arches back, looking down at me, one brow cocked in challenge. “Fine. Then neither do you.” He smooths his hand over my low back, cupping my head with the other. “What can I do for you right now?”
“I’m fine. I already feel a little better,” I promise.
Yes, I’m slightly mortified he had to see me like this and that I ruined what has otherwise been a perfect night, but the kindest thing I can do for myself right now is let go of that emotion. After a glass of water, I’ll go back to sleep, and I’ll feel better in the morning.
“Do you want to sit with me for a while? Then go back to bed together?”
That sounds nice, actually. Heaven knows it’ll take time for me to settle down again.
“Okay,” I agree timidly, following him over to the couch. “What are you reading?” I ask, tucking my bare legs underneath me as we settle into the cushions.
He side-eyes me. “Don’t laugh.” He holds the heavy tome up. On the cover is a sweet older woman holding up a platter of dumplings.
The title is Homestyle Cooking for the Modern Chef.
I fight back a smile, but a quiet snicker escapes without my permission.
“I said don’t laugh,” he scolds.
“I’m not.” I giggle. “I just assumed you’d be reading a serious book about business, or an anthology about the history of motorsport.”
He shrugs, holding out one arm, silently inviting me to snuggle into his side. “I read cookbooks from cover to cover. They soothe me, especially when I can’t sleep.”
I settle my head in his lap, and he repositions his book in one hand, then runs his fingers through my hair with the other.
“That feels nice,” I murmur, my body already relaxing.
We stay like that for several minutes—me, nestled into Alaric’s side; him, focused on his book while stroking my hair and touching me in the most reassuring ways.
“Tell me when you’re ready to go back to bed,” he says. “Or if you want to try to sleep out here, that’s fine, too. I’ve got you, angel.”
With those comforting words, I close my eyes and drift to sleep.