Page 47 of Moonstruck at Midnight
William sent it, and I couldn’t shake the thought of what would’ve happened if I opened this in front of Thomas. He would surely think the worst. I probably would, too, if I were him.
What does älskling mean?
I moved on to the second envelope, and there was a photograph of me inside it. When William took my camera, I saw him clicking twice. This was a zoomed-in photograph of just my face, smiling. Lily had been cropped out of the frame.
The doorbell rang, and the sound of it startled me. “Billie! It’s Thomas!” he shouted over the door. I quickly threw everything back inside the envelope and shoved it underneath the sofa.
“Coming!” I shouted back.
“Babe, your cheek is red. What happened?” Thomas said as soon as I opened the door.
I was so caught up reading William’s letter and agitated about having to hide it underneath the freaking couch that I forgot about my face. I hadn’t even looked at myself in the mirror.
“Oh, that. Um, these photographers were taking pictures of Lily at the coffee shop, and one of them hit me with his camera when we were leaving.”
“What? Who was on duty?” He wanted to blame someone, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault but the photographer’s. David couldn’t have been standing any closer to me when it happened.
“They handled it pretty well. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t hurt.”
Thomas ran to the kitchen and brought back a small bag of peas. He lightly pressed it on my cheek. I hissed. “Ow!”
“I thought you said it didn’t hurt. Let me take care of you.”
“Aren’t you cute?” I smiled. “Speaking of cute …” Lily mentioned how Thomas was cute and seemed like a nice guy, so I relayed her evaluation to him. He couldn’t hide his endearing excitement nor his genuine surprise. I thought it was adorable, though, and thought nothing of it other than what it was—he was starstruck.
“I think I’m getting a bit jealous now,” I toyed around with the idea as he held the frozen peas against my cheekbone.
“I thinkyou’re cutewhen you’re jealous,” Thomas replied, pulling my chin up, looking down into my eyes.
“Well, in that case, I’mveryjealous,” I stretched out the joke.
He threw the frozen pea bag on the floor and lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms behind his neck.
“I’m a bit jealous, too.” His tone suggested he was veering away from the innocent game we were playing. “I’m always jealous.” He kissed my neck.
That threw me off a bit.
He carried me to the living room and threw himself back on the couch in a seated position. I landed on top of him with a gasp. I took his cap off and ran my fingers through his messy hair. I couldn’t fully understand what could make this beautiful person in front of me, making me drool, feel insecure. All I wanted to do was kiss him and have him kiss me back, but his eyes were gloomy.
I straight out asked him what made him feel this way, wondering if I would regret asking such a question. But his eyes were begging me to ask, and I would usually find it hard to deny him.
He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as if organizing his thoughts to answer. It was making me feel like there wasn’t something specific he had in mind but an overall sense of doubt that made him feel this way.
“I don’t know. I keep thinking about that party you went to on Saturday.” He lowered his brows. Well, I guess that was specific, and he wasn’t kidding. I wanted to know what he needed to know to help him put his mind at ease.
We had previously talked about this, so I thought we had cleared the party already, but Thomas wanted more details. And I hated that I was probably going to have to lie to him regarding a few questions if he made them.
And just so, he startedgrillingme on the specifics of the event: Who attended, who I hung out with, who I hung out withthe most.
I moved to sit beside him and answered thoroughly and with no hesitation. I enumerated the guests by their name and apartment number and explained how I hung out with Lily most of the time, having admitted that I got to talk to everyone. I told him it was important for me to meet my neighbors. Still, he wasn’t satisfied; he wanted more.
He continued with what felt like a full-on interrogation. He asked again if I had drunk any alcohol—a question he knew the answer to. That, too, had been previously discussed. “I did, but only a spritzer and a few shots.” I innocently shrugged.
“Shots? Since when you drink shots?” He was getting pretty fired up. After his reaction, I immediately regretted having answered that question the way I did—even at all.
I tried explaining how they weren’t normal-sized shots but tiny glasses that didn’t hold much alcohol in them and how it’s part of a tradition where they sing different tunes and drink the shots afterward.
I smiled a little as I reminisced on the events of that day. I had a lot of fun. And the feeling of freedom of not having my bodyguards with me made it even more special. That reminded me how I hadn’t mentioned thatlittledetail to him, and I hoped his cross-examination wouldn’t lead there.
