terrible mistake.
What if he has forgotten me? Worse, what if he’s with someone else?
Twice I walk away and get my phone out to call a cab, and twice I walk back to the gates and look through them at the huge ornate mansion. I debate once more, trying to will myself to press the buzzer and announce that I am here.
But I am very scared and doubtful and resent having flown all the way here. His home looks like a castle. A beautiful haven. It’s so far from anything I have known. He has surprised me again, just like he always did.
My heart beat is so rapid, I’m scared I’ll have a heart attack and collapse outside these gates. Now, that would be a sight. Something ghoulish for him to discover.
The intercom I’ve been too afraid to touch now buzzes and clicks, catching my attention. Someone speaks. “How long are you going to stand out there?”
It’s him.
He’s seen me, and now I’m doubly embarrassed. He’s probably seen me walk away and come back and walk away and come back.
“Mari?”
His voice, thick and velvety, sends goosebumps breaking out all over my skin. My heart jumps to life again. It’s truly frightening, the surge of excitement that courses through me, as if his voice, as if he, is the only elixir I need.
“Should I come in?” I ask, becoming that unsure, hesitant woman again. Why does he always reduce me to this? But I realize now, it’s not because I’m scared of him, it’s because I’m crazy about him and I’m terrified he won’t feel the same.
“Do you want to?”
“Do I want to what?” I ask him.
“I don’t know, Mari. Do you want to follow through on why you’re here, maybe? Why are you here?”
“I came to see you.”
“You can see me a whole lot better if you come inside.”
He lets me in, and I walk along his long, beautiful driveway, staring at the magnificent house and trying not to hyperventilate.
I barely get a chance to raise a hand to the door knocker, when an elderly woman opens the door. “You must be Freya,” I say, seeing the crinkles in the corners of her eyes as she smiles at me.
“And you must be Mari.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yes, I am.”
“He hasn’t stopped talking about you,” she says, opening the door to let me in. He talks about me? This isn’t like him, the man who holds every minute detail close to his heart. I’m too shocked to speak.
“What did he say?” I laugh nervously.
“That you used to write him little notes. Food notes, he called them.” She chortles with laughter. “I don’t know what you did to him, but he’s a whole lot more bearable these days. He’s in the conservatory, let me show you the way.”
I follow her through richly carpeted hallways and note the stained glass windows, and rich dark wood paneling. I lose count of the number of sparkling chandeliers.
This place is steeped in a bygone time, but it feels strangely comforting, strangely luxurious and decadent. I would never have expected this to be Ward’s home, but now that I know it is, it doesn’t seem so absurd. Coming from where he has, I understand why he is here, in this magnificent home.
Freya opens the door and motions me to go in. There, in the middle of the room is Ward. He’s standing expectantly, with his hands in the back of his jean pockets, as if he’s waiting just for me. He looks thinner than last time. Smarter, too. More dressed up without wearing anything fancy. No sweatpants, but jeans, and a t-shirt. Smart shoes. He looks drop-dead gorgeous. It’s too much for me to take in. His surroundings, and him all at once.
My brain fogs over in a mist of desire. I’m irritated and annoyed with myself for not having an ounce of resistance. This man’s effect on me is potent and resisting him is not an option.
“You look good,” I tell him, keeping it cool, or trying. Holding back while I can.
“Thank you. You look …,” he pauses, “You look as though things are getting better.”
I raise a hand to my hair. I had it cut and colored before I came and now I’m self-conscious. The months haven’t been good to me, but I am hopeful and more optimistic than I was when we last met. I’ve lost weight, I don’t sleep well, and I’m aware that Ward is being kind to me. A haircut and color