Burn My Hart (The Notorious Harts 2)

‘Gone where?’

‘Miss Sauvages asked me to explain, when the official photographs were completed, that she had an urgent situation at work. She sends her apologies and best wishes.’

‘What else did she say?’

‘I’m afraid that’s all, sir.’

I glare at the waiter and then nod tersely, something pushing at my gut. I pull my phone out and type a text.

Where are you?

No answer. It’s my brother’s goddamned wedding so I can’t leave, but something feels strange, despite the explanation the waiter gave me. I just can’t imagine what emergency would have required her to leave then and there.

A little before midnight, I send another text.

I’ll be back at the apartment soon. Hope everything’s okay.

No answer. And, for no reason I can think of, a sense of unease grows within me. I leave as soon as I can politely do so, disembarking and getting straight in a limo, heading back to the penthouse with a dozen questions tumbling through me.

‘Hey, babe? Is everything all right?’ I ask loudly as I push the door inwards. The apartment is pitch-black.

‘Asha?’

I move from room to room, my mind slow to accept what’s patently obvious. I leave my bedroom until last. When I step inside, it’s empty. Devoid of almost everything of Asha’s except for two things. Her beautiful floral scent lingers in the air so if I close my eyes I can imagine she’s standing right in front of me. And there’s a note on the edge of the bed, her handwriting unmistakable.

I pick it up with an inexplicable sense of trepidation, unfolding the paper and reading it with my jaw clenched.

Theo,

Sorry to leave so abruptly. I had an urgent work thing come up and didn’t want to pull you away from the festivities.

Pass on my best to Jagger and Grace.

Thank you for everything.

Asha

I stare at her words, written in that beautiful cursive script of hers, with a squeezing in my gut. I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster and I can’t slow it down. The note is so formal, so businesslike.

This is my fault. I knew she was upset with me; I’d planned to talk to her but there was no time yesterday. Or perhaps I didn’t want to make the time. I knew she was still upset this morning, and I knew it when we got to the wedding and I said goodbye so I could go stand with Jagger. She was so tense it was as though she was holding a part of herself back from me. I pretended it didn’t matter but, Christ, now I see. She was hurting, even then. I hurt her.

I call her number. It goes straight to voicemail.

I try again ten minutes later. Nothing.

I send her an email. No response.

I try calling a little while later, then reread the note, slamming stuff in my own bag as I skim the words.

This makes no sense. I load up a new text message.

Where are you?

It’s a while before she finally replies.

Just landing in LAX.

Nothing else. Nothing more.