What We Do in the Night (Day to Night #1) - Stylo Fantome Page 0,116
lurking around again.
But it wasn't that – it was something else. Something was ... missing.
His TV and his laptop were still there, as was his expensive Rolex, which was sitting out on his night stand, so clearly he hadn't been robbed. He stomped through his living room, looking for anything out of place, then it hit him.
Valentine's backpack was gone.
After Harper had left, he'd picked it up and put everything back inside it, then he'd left it sitting on the coffee table. It wasn't there now.
“Clever girl,” he murmured. Then he hurried off to the closet.
All of Valentine's clothing was gone. Every last stitch of spandex and lace and mesh. Her gigantic tote of makeup was also missing from under his sink, as were all her toiletries. He couldn't even find a single hair left behind – she must have wiped the place down.
She must have come almost immediately after I left. Taken everything, then gone to Caché to hide.
Fuck her. He'd been out of line, okay, yes, sure, but not so far out that he didn't deserve a chance to apologize. He hadn't known about her grandmother – how could he have known!?
If this was how she reacted to the first real test in their relationship, Ari was sorely disappointed in her. He'd expected better from her, knew she was capable of better. She'd seemed so sure of their feelings last night, staring up at him with her dewy eyes, begging him to let her stay.
Fucking women. Fuck them. Fuck her. Begs him to let her stay, then when he does, she fucking bolts. Makes him feel like he's capable of feeling more than just apathy. Makes him feel like someone understands him, like there's someone he can finally be himself around. And what does she do? She throws it all back in his face the first chance she gets, all because he was having a bad day and snapped at her.
Fuck her. I'm glad she's gone. Fuck all of this, and fuck her for -
He was angrily pacing around his apartment, and before he could finish the very eloquent rant in his head, he felt his foot connect with something. It went skittering across the floor and lodged partway under the rug in his living room. He glared at the item for a moment, then strode over to it and snatched it off the ground.
It was a key. His apartment key, if he wasn't mistaken. Valentine's key. She must have slid it through the mail slot after locking herself out.
But there was something else. The key was on the chain she'd always worn around her neck, and now there was something else attached. A piece of paper was wrapped around the chain. A note.
Serge is right, we're like a couple of junior high kids passing notes back and forth. I'm almost ashamed of myself.
Ari ripped the note away from the chain, tossed the key onto the table, then went about unfurling the paper. He glared at the words. Blinked his eyes rapidly to clear his vision. Then read them again.
There were only ten of them, but they were causing a short circuit in his brain. His glare fell away, his expression going slack, and he read the words over and over again. Seared them into his brain. Repeated them while at the same time wondering how he'd ever, even for one second, thought he could be anything better than an asshole. She could be the actual incarnation of a saint sent to live here on earth, and he would still be the goddamn devil.
I'm Ari Sharapov, and I can fix anything, I can get anything. But I don't know if I can fix this, and I don't know if I can get her back.
But he was going to try. He owed it to her. He owed it to them. He would do whatever it took. Whatever it took to make her to believe him when he apologized. Make her believe when he explained that it was all a misunderstanding.
So he took a deep breath, then he sat at his dining room table, and he flattened the note out so he could read it one last time. And then he was going to burn it, because all the best new beginnings came out of destruction.
He looked down and let his eyes wander over the delicate script, and he almost smiled at how feminine it was. Feminine ... just like her.