But once he’s standing on his own, he keeps hold of me. “My gods,” he feels the muscle in my arms. “No skipping workouts for you. At least, not arm day.”
I open my mouth to snarl and he holds up the last thing I’d expect. A rose.
And that’s when I recognize him. He’s the man I saw Daphne talking to at the most recent Ubeli ball. Armand. I pulled him aside and told him I was her secret admirer. I asked him to give her the message to meet me in the labyrinth along with her mother’s favorite rose. It feels like a lifetime ago now even though it couldn’t have been more than a month.
But now he’s handing me that exact same species of rose. Then he leans in, kohl-lined eyes twinkling.
“I have a message for you.”
“A message,” I repeat, fighting the urge to step back. What the hell is this guy playing at? What’s his game? He keeps holding the rose in my face until I snatch it away. “Is this it?”
“That’s half of it.” He hands me a roll of paper tied with a red ribbon.
I’m itching to study both the rose and the note, but not with him watching. “Who are you?”
“Me? I’m just a messenger.” He nods at the items I’m holding. “She wanted me to give you these.”
She? “Who?”
“You know who.”
Fucking riddles. I jerk off the ribbon and unroll the paper just enough to read the first part of the fancy script. Avicennius Grant…
I jerk my head up. “Is this...?”
“Daphne’s Avicennius grant. And I believe that second piece of paper is her college diploma. One of them.”
Sure enough, the paper reads Awarded to: and follows with Daph’s full name. “I don’t understand.” What the hell is this? How did he get these? Is he trying to threaten—
“Come on, Wulfe. You can do better than that. Daphne is smart; she deserves someone to match.” He taps the papers. “She sent these clues.”
Her award and diploma? How are they clues? “Why would she send these?”
“Fine,” Armand sighs in disappointment at my failure to play his made-up game. “I’ll spell it out for you. This is all she has left. And she’s giving them to you. Get it?” He cocks his head to the side, studying me.
When I still don’t give him a satisfactory answer, he just shakes his head and waves his hand like he’s done with me. “She wants to see you. You better hurry. She shouldn’t be alone.”
“Where is she?”
“You know where.” He gives me a patient smile. “Where did those papers hang?”
I answer automatically, “In her bedroom at...”
The man touches two fingers to his forehead and flicks them at me before striding off.
I whirl on my heel, crushing the papers in my hand. Only to smooth them out carefully once we’re in my car.
“Sir? Where are we headed?”
“Thornhill.”
Thirty-Six
Present Day
Logan
I give directions and ease back in the seat, clutching my rose like a gold ticket. My invitation back into Daphne’s world. Back to where we began.
So much has happened, though. It’s not like we can just go backwards. Just because her father died, am I just supposed to forget the pictures…the betrayal?
But maybe, for one night, none of that matters.
She shouldn’t be alone. What did Armand mean by that? Is she… I shake my head. Daphne isn’t like my mom.
But when the driver pulls up to Thornhill, it’s dark. No light in the windows. Including the ones I broke.
Shards of glass line my throat when I think of Daphne seeing how I smashed her childhood home.
“Should I wait, sir?” the driver asks.
“No. Come back in the morning.” Even if Daphne isn’t here, I’ll stay. I’ll spend the night in the only place that ever felt like home…and then only for one night. Because I was with her.
The floorboards creak and puffs of dust rise like ghosts. I turn in a circle, remembering when this place was beautiful. I never should’ve bought it. I ruin everything I touch.
“Daphne,” I whisper. The stairs groan under my weight. But then I see it—a flicker of light in the far corner of the house.
In her old room. Of course.
“Hello? Daphne?”
“In here,” she calls.
I rush down the rest of the hall and stand dumbfounded in the door. Daphne stands in the light of a single candle. The weak flame casts more shadows than light, emphasizing the dirty smudges on her face and furrows of exhaustion under her eyes.
She looks so beautiful.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” she waves a hand around her dark and dank room. She’s taken the curtains I ripped down and made a bed in the corner. Next to it is a table with a broken leg, propped up with books, that holds the candle. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got, for now.”
She’s grinning.
“Daphne...are you okay?” She shouldn’t be alone, Armand had said. With everything that’s happened, has she suffered a mental break?
“Never better.”
I cross to her, reach out to touch her flushed cheek, but my finger hovers in the air. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine. I was cuddled up with some of these fine curtains before I heard you.”
I’m already removing my overcoat. “Let’s get you warm.”
“No more trials? No more labors of Hercules?” she murmurs as she lets me wrap her in the dark wool. It drapes around her like over-sized wizard robes.
“No. No more games.” This time, I do touch her face. Her skin is cold, but not as bad as I thought. “What are you doing here?”
“Here? Well…” she laughs, her head falling back, which makes her hair cascade in a lush black waterfall. She looks so carefree, it’s freaking me out. Especially when she continues, “Dad’s estate is in probate. My townhouse was actually a perk of working at Belladonna so now that I’m no longer there, I don’t have a—”
“Wait...you’re not at Belladonna?”
“Nope.” Her head tilts to the side as she stares at me. “Where have you been? Didn’t you see the news?”
I could hardly miss it. The business newspapers in particular reported her termination as CEO with glee. “I thought they’d just demote you.”
“Oh no, they were real thorough about throwing me out.” She doesn’t seem concerned. She squats and pulls up the over-sized sleeve so she can rustle around in a half empty knapsack lying beside her makeshift bed.
A few seconds later, she holds up a protein bar. “Hercules bar? They’re actually pretty good. They have ten times the daily dosage of every vitamin, which is overkill and might possibly make a person sick, but I can’t resist the ones dipped in chocolate.”
She studies the bodybuilder on the package. “You know, if the reclusive dom gig doesn’t work out for you, you could probably model for this company— ”
“Daphne! What happened? Why are you—” I look around at the shambles of her dark room.