DAPHNE'S RETURN

DAPHNE'S RETURN


Andrew's Pov

I shift under the sheets, almost restlessly, as I scroll on my phone. I'm not relaxed, not in the slightest, and I think it's a combination of not doing a single productive thing all morning as well as the waiting.

And I am. I'm waiting. Not consciously but I feel on edge and I know what will get me down. I’ve been floating through the hours with this sensation in my chest

My room isn't warm and neither am I, even though the water I used to take a shower was almost scalding.

The remnants of breakfast the help brought up on a tray is on my bedside table and I've taken to picking it off little by little. Anna isn't back here, although she did text me last night to assure me she’s safe.

My phone buzzes in my hand, the notification that appears at the top of the screen making it known who's texting me. It's Hank.

‘Thanks for our gifts.’

He adds a smiley face, the one that's just a line and a full stop. I grin before I can stop myself, rolling onto my side like a teenager. It got to him.

Of course it did. And if he knew what I’d embedded inside that teddy, he might just lose his damn mind. I chuckle just thinking about it.

A bottle of the perfume I use is deep in the stuffing, enchanted to release a few drops every twelve hours. The spell is subtle, easily done — my nose barely bled. That was a gift to me.

It was so worth it. That stuffed dog will keep smelling like me for months. Every time Angel curls up with it, every time Hank walks past it, he’ll catch it. It makes my chest warm in the most self-satisfied way imaginable.

It's kind of fun to mess with him. I'd he's decided he's going to date Angel then I feel obligated to be this way to him. Maybe I should see if I can embed more of my scent in Angel's apartment.

‘You’re welcome,’ I type back. I add in lots of the cutest emojis, then I send it, letting the glow of it ripple through me. Suddenly I'm feeling much better than I did a moment ago.

Not even a minute later, my phone pings again. And again. And again.

It’s Angel.

Her notifications keep rolling in. She’s gushing, sometimes capitalizing her words. She's not frugal with with exclamation marks either, as she talks about the flowers, the renovation progress, and the dog.

I picture her, strolling around her living room barefoot, as she types to me. The image blooms in my mind so vividly I almost laugh. I'm wondering if she's spinning in a circle? Squealing? From her texts, it's entirely possible.

Is Hank beside her? Maybe leaning over her shoulder reading the texts? I hope he is. I hope he sees how she is to me. If he even thinks about not treating her right, I'll bash his face in.

I stretch out on the bed, phone resting on my chest as the buzzes keep coming, although getting slower now. I feel. . . oddly content, pleased with myself in a frivolous way.

Mostly because of Angel. She's almost the whole reason. But I can't deny a little part of me likes that Hank is there too, tangled up in this, my little gift sitting between them.

My phone pings again. I don’t even look before smiling, assuming it’s Angel again. Maybe she'll send me a picture, it's been a little while since I saw her last.

But it’s not.

It's Daphne. Slowly, I sit up staring at the text in my hand. ‘On my way! Just boarded. See you soon.’ Attached is a photo of her at the airport, coffee in hand, looking all cosy and relaxed.

I stare at it for a moment without moving. I’d forgotten she'd be coming back today.

Not on purpose, definitely not, but. . . I had. It’s been silent between us since I replied that card she sent me. I didn't text and she didn’t either.

I should get up. I should prepare. I should care.

And I do. I do care.

I stand up slowly, exhaling as my spine cracks. It’s past noon now. I’ll give myself enough time to arrive at the airport before she comes through arrivals. I could send a car but I won’t. I should be there. I’m her fiancé.

I get dressed, my mind running a mile a minute.

I decide I’ll drive myself, with the guards following in separate cars.

As I get dressed I think about her, really think about her. The very slight scruch of her nose when I talk about something she doesn’t understand but doesn’t want to admit it. The way she holds my arm when we walk into a party. The way she holds herself even when there's no one else watching us.

I know Daphne.

But if I’m so sure about her, then why did I hire a PI?

Because if it turns that that the drunk PI is wrong, this will sow a seed of distrust in her heart about me. And I wouldn't blame her.

I grab my coat and head out, after texting Anna that I won't be home. The guards fall behind me as expected, in two black cars

I drive across town, my hands steady on the wheel, though I keep checking the time even though I know I won't be late.

This doesn't really mean anything to be honest. Me doing this doesn't mean I don't want to be with her, that I'm not sure about that night.

I am. I want to be with the woman I spent that night with. That this is just me. . . being cautious.

At the airport, I find a bench relatively near the crowd of people holding signs and sit. I know I won't have to wait long.

About ten minutes later, my phone buzzes. It's Daphne texting again. “Just landed. Coming through the gate. I'll be with you soon, baby.’ She even added emojis this t
ime. I've noticed she doesn't text with them a lot.

And then, there she is.