Page 9 of Entwined

MY HEART IS WEIGHED down by an anchor. Heavy chains drown it. For a moment, back in Exmoor, I felt as if I’d beat this feeling.

But I can’t.

Not here.

With a shaky breath, I insert the key card into the suite Christos booked. The Christmas tree still twinkles by the window.

I see him, us, everywhere.

I didn’t take much with me when we left Exmoor. I’m packed in less than five minutes.

My hand stroked the telescope where I left it in a bed of tattered tissue on the floor. I debate leaving it behind with my wrecked heart.

But I don’t. He left me one suitcase. Of course, he did. The man thinks of everything. His mind is always steps ahead of everyone else’s.

With still shaking hands, I pack up my last gifts from him. I need to hold on to every last scrap of him. Proof that he was here, that what we shared was real. I know it was.

I fought him at first. But what I was really fighting was myself; the truth I tried to bury, that maybe I am a sub. But only for him. I craved his dark seduction. Was turned on by his dominance and absolute power. It was sexy AF.

But I also know he needs me. A strong woman in both mind and body to be his match. Any other woman would’ve been crushed by him in the first few weeks. I lasted months. Almost eight since the day I boarded the Oasis in Capri.

Looking around one last time, I zip up the suitcase, adjust my backpack over my shoulders and let the door click shut behind me.

I straighten my shoulders with a bravado I don’t feel as the private elevator opens into the bustling lobby filled with elegant couples. The men have long overcoats and shined shoes. The women don fur coats and high heels that click across the smooth polished floors.

I wheel my suitcase behind me, keeping my chin straight and my head high, I ignore the stares in my direction and cross in my faded jeans and barn boots.

“Miss? Miss…!”

I don’t stop until I feel a hand on my suitcase handle beside mine.

“Yes?” I arch an eyebrow at the bell man.

“Please. Allow me?”

“I’ve got it. Thank you.”

“I insist. Our guests don’t cart their own luggage.”

“I’m not a guest. I’m a leftover.” I firmly tug my suitcase forward, ignoring his surprise. Another man opens the lobby door.

Cold, gray air nips my nose.

I’m homeless. Alone. In the middle of London on an icy gray afternoon with nothing but a backpack and suitcase full of memories, both good and bad.

I breathe in deep, letting the frigid air enter my lungs.

I have no idea where I’m going or how I’ll get there. There’s nothing but a blank slate in front of me. Just like the London sky overhead. It’s flawlessly gray; without a speck of dust.

How ironic.

I have the fresh start I was always seeking. A chance to chart my own course. Find my way in the world, just as I wanted all those months ago when I left California. But I’m worlds different than that naïve girl. I feel edgier. Stronger—even in my despair.

I will find him.

I won’t let him escape our love, just as he wouldn’t let me escape his dark passion.

I always felt our souls are bound together; entwined. He’s deluding himself if he thinks leaving me will change that. We’re still connected.

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