Page 19 of Yours Suddenly

“Good afternoon,” I say. “I'm looking for a woman called Alexandra Trent.”

The woman looks up at me with her mouth slightly open, probably wondering if she should give away information about her guests.

“One second,” she breathes, turning to her old computer.

I feel bad. She’s probably scared something will happen to her if she doesn't cooperate.

“I have an Alexandra Brooke?” she offers.

Brooke?

Anger flares inside of me.

Her name isTrentand, whether she likes it or not, that will forever be her name.

“Yes, her,” I grind out. “What room is she in?” I try to sound friendlier. “Can you please show me?”

The woman hesitates, and I don't have time for this. I turn and walk down the short hallway that leads to the rooms.

There are about five doors, and a very faint layer of dust has collected on the handles of four of them. I don't even bother to knock on the door with the clean handle.

I step into a room that smells of her.

Fuck. I missed that all-consuming scent.

The room perfectly encapsulates what she is: it’s warm, late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows and pooling on the walls and on the bed she lies on, fast asleep.

“Sir,” a voice says tentatively behind me, and I turn to the woman.

“Don't worry,” I say quietly. “I'm her husband. I'm not going to do anything.”

I take out my phone and show her my lock screen picture of us kissing at our wedding after-party. The old woman looks a little more reassured, but that’s still no reason to let someone into her room, no matter who they say they are. I could be an abusive husband trying to track down my runaway wife.

She leaves, closing the door carefully behind her, and I sit on a chair in a corner, watching her like I sometimes do when we're back home.

Across the room facing me is a mirror. I glance at myself before focusing back on Alexandra, but it's enough to see how disheveled my hair is, how bloodshot my eyes are, how pale I look.

Now that I’ve found her and she's near me, I start to feel a little drowsy for the first time in nearly two days. Fuck, I wassoworried. I tried to call her, but she wasn't answering her phone. She had good reason not to.

She has good reason to be here.

I watch her sleep. Her face is swollen, and fuck,Idid that. Pain and regret close around my throat, but I push it down. Get a fucking grip. That was my father's favorite phrase.Get a fucking grip on yourself. That's the only way you can be a man and protect your family.

I rest the back of my head on the armchair and feel my eyelids droop slightly. If I sleep, she could slip from me again. Not that it would be hard to find her. There's nowhere on this planet she can go that I won't follow and find her.

Ever since I laid eyes on her in my hotel, she was mine to forever keep. You don't fucking wander into the lion's den and expect to escape… to leave the lion hungry…

A creak of the floorboards. I jerk awake to find her standing before me, her mouth slightly open. For a moment we stare at each other, her eyes bloodshot like she hasn't slept too.

Slowly I stand up, towering over her. She slightly shrinks away from me, and fuck,fuck. I hate that. I fucking hate the expression that's on her face. And it's all because of me.

“Alexandra,” I say finally.

“How did you find me?” she whispers.

“I know my way around this country. I have contacts in every single corner. You can't escape me,” I say.

“I'm not going back with you if that’s why you’re here,” she says.

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