“Okay.” He reaches over and turns the bedside light off and snuggles in behind me, his arms around me, his lips at my temple.
“I love you, Kate,” he whispers.
“I love you too,” I whisper back. We lie in the darkness, so physically close and yet I’ve never felt so alone.
If he knew me at all, he would know that.
A tear rolls down my face in the darkness; it’s hot and salty and feels a lot like betrayal.
Elliot Miles isn’t the only one who wanted a fairy-tale ending.
I did too.
And sadly, I know this isn’t it.
Chapter 25
ELLIOT
I wake with a start, a bang in the distance.
I look over to Kate, but I’m in bed alone. I sit up. “Kate,” I call.
Is she in the bathroom?
“Kate?”
I get up and walk to the bathroom, it’s empty. Panic floods through me and I flick the light on. “Kate,” I yell as I look around. “Where are you?”
I march into the living room. “Kate,” I cry with urgency. “Kathryn.” I look around, where’s her handbag?
Her bag is gone.
No.
I run from room to room, screaming her name as my heart races.
She’s not here.
I dial her number, it rings out. I dial it again and it’s switched off.
Anger surges through me and I kick the wall.
I dial security. “Yes sir.”
“Where’s Kate?” I growl.
“Um . . . she’s with you . . . isn’t she?”
“Explain to me . . . how the fuck she got out of here unnoticed,” I yell.
“I don’t understand, sir, we’ve been on the doors all night.”
“You’re fucking useless,” I cry. “Find her!” I hang up and begin to pace back and forth, my chest rising and falling as I grapple for control.
I go to the window and look down over the street.
“Kate,” I whisper. “Where are you?”
I sit in the back of the car and dial Kate’s number; it goes straight to voicemail.
I inhale sharply—I’ve searched for her all night. She simply disappeared into thin air.
Not a trace.
She hasn’t gone home, her phone is off.
“This is the house sir.”
I peer in. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, this is her brother’s house. We dropped her bag off here as she requested.”
I get out of the car and march up to the front door, knock hard, and it opens in a rush. A young man comes into view, early thirties.
“Hello, I’m Elliot Miles—”
“I know who you are.”
“Can I see her?”
“She’s not here.”
“I need to—”
“You’ve done enough,” he snaps, goes to close the door, and I put my hand up to block it, push it open, and barge my way in. “Kate,” I yell. “I know you’re here.”
“You’re too late. She’s gone.” He sighs.
“Where?”
“She flew out first thing this morning.”
The room spins. “To where?”
“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”
“What are you talking about?” I throw my hands up. “She has to work tomorrow.”
He screws up his face. “You dumb fuck, she resigned last Wednesday, she’s taking a job overseas. If you’d have bothered to come back from your artist’s bed, you would already know this.”
The earth spins on its axis.
My nostrils flare as I battle for control.
He shakes his head, with a deep exhale. “Just, get out, man. You’ve fucked it.” He glances at his watch.
“Where is she, tell me,” I demand.
“You’re too late, she will have already checked in.”
My eyes widen, her plane hasn’t left yet. “I can still catch her then.” I turn and run for the car.
“I didn’t say that,” he calls after me. “She doesn’t want to see you,” I hear in the distance as I dive in the backseat. “Heathrow Airport, quick,” I cry.
Andrew pulls out into the traffic with speed and I dial Kate’s number. Ring, ring . . . ring, ring . . . ring, ring.
“Come on, pick up. Pick up,” I whisper. It rings out and I dial her number again. I imagine her staring at her phone ignoring my call and my fury begins to boil.
At her, at me . . . at this entire fucked-up situation.
Why did she run out in the middle of the night, what was she thinking?
When this is all over, I’m going to kill her . . . that’s if I don’t have a heart attack beforehand. I peer through the windshield. “Drive faster.”
“I am.” Andrew huffs as he changes lane, then he changes lane again and I dial Kate’s number with my heart in my throat.
Please pick up, baby.
It rings out again. “Answer your fucking phone, Kathryn,” I yell as I hit my phone on the back of the seat in anger.
Andrew’s eyes flick up to mine in the rearview mirror. “Don’t fucking start!” I growl.
He puts his foot down and we fly through the traffic, and half an hour later we pull up at the airport.
I dive out of the backseat and run in, my eyes scanning the check-in lines as I turn in a 360.