Page 41 of Two days, One Pucking Night

The time on the bedside tables says it’s six. I rush to my room, keeping my steps light as I make a singular decision. I have to leave this house. Leave this country. Leave him right now. Not tonight, but right now.

Reaching for my phone on my bedside table, I check the British Airways website and swiftly change my flight to the earliest available one today, which is at 11:55. I book myself onto a first-class seat and quickly pack my clothes, skincare, makeup, and the additional items I bought during our shopping spree yesterday.

Goodbyes have never been my strong suit. I’m still reeling and grieving from my last goodbye, and another one so close, fresh, and raw would be my undoing.

Always. Xavier’s words echo in my head on a loop as I quickly shower and dress. My hands shake as I close my suitcase one final time.

I’m at the elevator door at seven on the dot. My fingers hover over the button. My stomach is in knots, and I find myself paralyzed to the spot for a minute.

Leaving like this feels … wrong. Xavier deserves more. He deserves better. But right now, I’m unable to give another piece of me away. I gave away too much, and I have to hold on to something.

I pull out a pen and sticky note from my bag and scribble out a quick note. I rush into his room, place it by his bedside table, and make my way back to the elevator.

My driver is waiting for me when I arrive at the main reception area. He quickly places my suitcase in the car, and I hover beside it.

Putting my glasses on, I enter the car and get seated, allowing the tears I’ve held at bay to fall. Tears of joy as I was afforded the opportunity to experience something so profound with him.

Another fresh dose of tears falls as the car drives further and further away.

Tears of loss.

Tears of uncertainty.

Tears for what could have been and what can never be.

13

XAVIER

The jarring sound of my alarm wakes me up. Eyes closed, I intuitively reach out for Sofia.

The bed is cold, empty. A deep ache punctuates my chest.

My gaze turns to the clock over the door, which says 10:45, the latest I’ve woken up in a long while. And the most sound I’ve slept for even longer.

A smile curls my lips, thinking about the reason behind it. Sofia.

Last night was filled with heart, passion, and emotion.

Sofia is softer and sweeter than I'd imagined, more addictive, and unlike anyone I've ever known. And last night, I realized that letting her go isn’t something I want to imagine. Maybe if she’s open, receptive we could—

I get to my feet and head for my room. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and do the one thing that’s become like second nature—search for Sofia.

Excitement thrums through my chest at the prospect of laying everything on the table for her. I’m not expecting this thing between us to be easy or smooth, but being with her is better than not.

I head for the kitchen first. When I find she isn’t there, I head for her room. “Sofia?” I call her name as I turn the handle to the door.

Her bed is neatly made, and the room is spotless. Odd since her skincare products and perfume were scattered on her bedside table.

I rush into her bathroom. The counter space there is also empty. The rising ache in my chest spreads and grows into discomfort.

In her wardrobe, I find her suitcase gone, the shopping bags from yesterday neatly stacked, yet empty.

I run out of the room, go through the office and the additional two guest rooms. She’s nowhere to be seen.

We had agreed I was going to drop her off. She told me her flight was in the evening. She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, right?

I speed back into my room and take out my phone, attempting to call her phone. Initially, the phone rings until the fourth try, then it immediately goes to voicemail. My skin prickles with unease, a knowing it refuses to accept. One that stares me directly in the face.

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