22. Twenty-Two

Twenty-Two

I wake the next morning with a rumbling stomach and the smell of coffee. I climb out of bed, get washed, and pull on a light-grey baggy jumper and soft bed socks before heading into the kitchen.

Art's laptop is on the kitchen counter, and he's stirring two mugs of coffee.

"Morning."

He looks up as I slide onto a stool and lean forward against the counter. White T-shirt and navy sweatpants cling to him, and his hair's a mess. The just got out of bed look suits him. Come to think of it, every look suits him. He gives me a bleary-eyed smile.

"Morning, beautiful. I was just about to see if you were awake and wanted breakfast."

He slides one of the mugs towards me. I curl my hands around it with a grateful smile .

"Yes, please."

He ruffles his fingers through his hair to try and tame it, but it doesn't work. It looks even more of a mess. But I like it. The fact that no one sees this bedhead, slightly rumpled side of him but me warms my heart.

"You looked tired," I say.

"I couldn't sleep." He takes a sip of coffee and then puts the mug down, thinking carefully about what he's about to say. "I kept thinking about the stuff Tara said last night … about Theo. I've contacted the PI and asked him to up the surveillance. I want daily reports on his movements. I'm determined to get to the bottom of this. He's got something planned. I just know it."

My appetite vanishes. "We don't know that. No one's seen him for days. He's probably given up. Him calling Mum and Martin and showing up here were most likely a sick and twisted joke of his."

Art plants his palms on the counter and leans forward, clenching his jaw. "He says your name as he comes inside another woman. I doubt that was a joke."

I stare at my coffee, stomach rolling with nausea as I try hard not to think about what he just said. "Tara likes to cause trouble. She could have made it up …"

"Tara didn't realise you were his ex when she said that. Stop minimising." His voice is firm.

I freeze as his words land hard.

Concerned eyes meet mine. "You minimised what he did to you when you were together, and you're minimising this now."

He's seen right through me. I shift uncomfortably on the stool in the knowledge that Art's hit the nail on the head.

"It was how I dealt with all the crap …"

"Fucking hell, Sophie. I'm not getting at you." Art dashes a hand through his hair in irritation. But he's not pissed off with me; he's angry with Theo. "The shit he put you through …" He shakes his head like he still can't quite believe it. "I get it, but eventually, you have to face up to stuff. I've learned that the hard way. Theo called up your parents to try and turn them against me. He sent you a letter, asking you to meet him. After all this time and everything he put you through, he thought he had a fucking right to do that." He taps a finger against his temple. "The guy's not right in the head, which makes him a risk." He hesitates before carrying on, "I think he's laying low for a while."

I feel sick. I hate to admit it, but I suspect Art's right.

"We think someone's told Theo about my past and where we live, but maybe we're wrong. Maybe it's just him. He knows where you work. He could have followed you back here."

The thought sends a shiver down my spine. "But that doesn't explain how he knows about you going to prison."

Art shrugs and glances around the room. "I dunno … my PR stopped it from getting out into the press, but I went to court and got sent down. There are records. If he went looking for dirt on me, he'd find it if he searched hard enough. He seems unhinged enough to do it."

I twist my mug round.

Art picks up on it because he says, "It doesn't matter what he's got planned. I'm going to be ready for him when he makes a reappearance."

I feel slightly better. "So, we just sit tight and wait?"

"Pretty much."

I heave a frustrated sigh, put my mug down and cover my face with my hands. "I hate this. I'm tired of talking about him. I feel like he's still controlling me after all these years."

"He's not, Sophie." Art's voice softens, and the next thing I know, he tugs my hands from my face, and he's sitting on the stool beside me. He laces his fingers through mine. "It's like you said before; he'll only win if we let him drive a wedge between us. He's not going to do that, and he's not controlling our lives. I'm not running because of that twisted fuck. But I'm not letting you out of my sight."

I watch as he brushes his thumbs across my knuckles. Art's right. Theo dictated and controlled four years of my life. There's no way I'm letting him do that again. And there's no way I'm running either .

"I just want to switch my brain off from thinking about this whole bloody mess for a while."

Art nods. "Well, I need to pop by and see Mum this afternoon. And she'll be gagging to bend your ear off about the wedding." He smiles. "Do you want to come?"

"Of course. That sounds great." Wedding talk is bound to take my mind off things.

Art grimaces. "Actually, it's her birthday, and I completely forgot. Thank God for online florists and birthday cards."

"Tut-tut. You're a bad son," I tease.

"I know. I feel bad, but everything's been so hectic lately." He kisses the back of my hand. "I want us to forget about all this shit for a while too. Why don't we take a look at some wedding venues this evening?"

The wedding.

"You were right." I hesitate. "The hotel is a nice wedding venue. And I've been thinking … it's kind of an important place for us, isn't it? Without it, we wouldn't have met. It would be nice for us to get married there, and it would be a lovely sentiment to get married on the twenty-third of December too."

Art's face lights up. "Really? Are you sure? I don't want you to feel as though you have to do any of it."

I cover his hands with mine. "Yes, I'm sure. It's a special date to you, so it's special to me. And the hotel is beautiful at Christmas. Hopefully, we might get snow."

He cups my face and kisses me. "I can't wait."

I beam at the thought. "Neither can I."

His hands glide up the bare skin of my thighs and disappear beneath the edge of my jumper. He presses his lips to mine. "I like this. It looks cute."

My breath catches in my throat as his fingertips stroke the sensitive flesh between my legs. He moans softly against my mouth at the discovery I'm not wearing any knickers, and the vibration sends a bolt of desire to my core.

A knock sounds at the front door.

"Who's that?" I breathe, not wanting to move or to stop what's about to happen .

He pulls away and looks at me. "Why don't you go and answer it?"

I draw my head back and frown in confusion. "Me? But I'm not wearing any underwear."

He laughs softly. "Just make sure you don't flash them then."

I slide off the stool and tug my jumper down to make sure it's covering my bum. "Are you sure? It could be a man, and I'm practically naked," I tease.

Art rolls his eyes at my jibe and smirks, sipping his coffee.

I head down the hall and open the front door to be greeted by the biggest bunch of flowers I've ever seen. Beautiful cream roses and purple gypsophila, interspersed with forget-me-nots.

The young delivery lad peers around the tops of the flowers and flashes a polite smile. "Good morning, madam. These are for Sophie."

"Erm … yes, that's me. Thanks."

"Here you go," he says cheerily, handing them to me. "They're quite heavy."

I carefully take the bouquet in my arms.

"Have a good day now." He bobs his head and disappears down the landing.

"Thank you again," I call after him and push the door closed with my hip.

"Can you manage?" Art asks as I appear in the kitchen.

"Just about." I heave the bouquet on top of the kitchen counter and touch one of the tiny forget-me-nots. "These are beautiful." My eyes slide to him. "Thank you."

He gives me an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I've been a bad son and bad fiancé."

"How come?"

"I realised this morning that I'd never bought you any flowers. I gave you the forget-me-nots, but those don't really count because we weren't together then."

"So, these are guilt flowers."

He pulls a face. "Yeah, that makes me a shit boyfriend and an even shittier fiancé."

I scrunch my nose in disagreement. "You're not that bad." I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his neck. "I suppose you do have some redeeming qualities."

"I'm very glad to hear it." He loops his arms around my waist and pulls me close, kissing me slowly .

I tangle my fingers through his thick hair and lose myself in him. The scent of him, the taste of his kiss, the feel of his silky hair running through my fingers. All of him. This is what I need. This is what makes me forget.

"What do you want for breakfast?" I breathe, pulling my lips from his.

Shimmering, dark eyes hold mine and give me his answer before he opens his mouth. "You."

I smile. "I was hoping you would say that."

He kisses me once on the lips. "Always, Sophie. For eternity. I'll always want you."