Warmth thawed out my ready-to-run limbs and my shoulders unlocked. “He makes me really happy too,” I said. “It’s early days and the way things started for us—”
“The cream puffs!” Autumn said. “He told us all about how you peeled one from your dress and took a bite. He knew right then and there he had to take you out.”
A smile unfurled on my face and I turned to Tristan. “That’s when you decided to bid?”
“I didn’t know you were being auctioned at that point. But I knew I wanted to get to know you. Any woman more concerned with enjoying a cream puff than preserving her dress is a special case.”
I laughed. Tristan slid his hand over my leg and squeezed.
“I think what my beautiful fiancée was trying to say was,” Gabriel said, his tone low and steady, “we care about Tristan a great deal. We just want to see him happy.”
“I am happy,” Tristan said.
“You hear that, Americans?” Gabriel said. “He’s happy.” He shot them a look that said they needed to watch what they said. From the way they responded, they’d had the look before.
It was no wonder Tristan was a flirt—it would be a waste if he wasn’t. With his smile and those pale blue eyes, most people probably assumed he was flirting even when he wasn’t. Now he flirted with me exclusively. I made him happy. The idea that Tristan’s happiness was something I contributed to filled me with a warmth I’d not experienced before. It was like an ice cube, buried deep in my heart, that I’d resigned myself would stay frozen forever, had started to melt.
Twenty-Six
Parker
I hadn’t been back to my apartment since before the honeymoon. I needed to collect my post and check that everything was okay—run the taps, grab a few items of clothes. I slid the key into the bottom lock and tried to turn it anti-clockwise, but it didn’t work. I turned my key in the opposite direction and managed to lock it. It hadn’t been locked in the first place.
That was the second time I’d left my flat’s second lock undone. I was normally so fastidious. I must have just forgotten in Tristan’s impatience to leave.
I opened the door tentatively and stepped inside. Everything was familiar, but I didn’t feel the same vibe of coming home that I was used to feeling when I walked through the front door. In the last months, Tristan’s house had been the place where I slept, showered, cooked. Despite having barely anything of mine surrounding me, Tristan’s place had started to feel more than familiar, even if it wasn’t quite home to me yet.
I picked up my post from the mat and plodded into the kitchen, where I glanced around for a phone charger. There was always at least one in here. I started to sort my post when something caught my eye. A single red rose sat in a mug on my kitchen table. It was very much dead. And it had very much not been put there by me.
Cold whooshed through my chest and I swallowed before asking myself a million questions. Had Tristan come in and put it there for me to come home to weeks ago and then forgotten? Had I absentmindedly put it there and not remembered? There had to be an explanation. Who else had a key to my flat? My parents had one, but I was one hundred percent sure that they hadn’t used it. If my mother couldn’t find a lead crystal vase, she would have dumped the rose in the bin before putting it in a mug. I pulled out my phone and took a picture, then sent it to Tristan, asking him if he put it there. I’d not told him I was coming today. The mysterious payments from the charity bank account had stopped and Tristan hadn’t seemed concerned for my safety recently. I’d assumed everything was okay.
Tristan’s name flashed up on my phone.
“You’re back in your flat. Why?”
“I came home to check on things and collect my post.”
He didn’t respond, which was always the worst kind of response from Tristan. He always had something to say.
I heard the jangle of keys and rustling as if he were putting on a jacket. “Where are you now?”
I was just about to tell him I was sitting at my kitchen table when he said, “Don’t say anything.”
My heart began to race. Something in Tristan’s voice worried me.
“Don’t make any sudden movements, but go to the front door and leave. Don’t argue with me. Don’t say anything. Please, Parker, just do this. Stay on the phone with me. Head to the stairs. Don’t use the lifts.”
My hands started to sweat but I picked up my post and stood. “Okay.”
“Do you have a lot of post?” Tristan asked.