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I laugh as his eyebrows rise watching me.
“Remember that day in the lift, when you helped me with all those folders?”
Marcus’s face lights up with the memory. “Yea?”
“God, I went on and on about that forages!I think Carter wanted to strangle me. So, yea… he’ll certainly be glad to hear the end of it!” I laugh. “Angela, on the other hand? She’ll want every steamy detail!”
Marcus smirks. “Well, maybe keepsomedetails just between us,” he suggests with a wink, and a delicious flutter runs through me just from the tone of his voice.
He finishes his coffee and grabs a bowl from the cupboard. “I don’t really share much myself, but I won’t deny it if people ask.”
I nod, unable to move the smile off my face even if I wanted to.
“Besides, everyone will find out by May anyway.”
I tilt my head curiously. That’s four months away. “Why May?”
“Because I plan to show up at the charity gala with the most beautiful woman in the entire company on my arm.”
My stomach flips and my heart liquefies into a molten puddle.
“I would love that,” I say, leaning across the counter to kiss him.
After breakfast, I open the French doors and step out onto the patio. The morning sun hangs low over the snow-covered fields, sparkling like crushed diamonds. The only sound on the air is the rustling of the trees and the sound of birds.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and take a few pictures. Angela won’t believe this place exists.
---
That evening, Marcus insists on taking me to dinner, despite my protests about the cost of everything already. He finds a little Italian place on the edge of town and books a table.
I wear a low-cut black tee with my favourite jeans, and while it’s nothing compared to the plunging V-neck dress I wore for our first official date, he can’t keep his eyes off me, and honestly, Ican’t stop looking athimeither. The way his shirt clings to his arms, the fabric straining around his chest with each breath, keeps pushing my mind to picturing the perfect skin underneath.
We share a bottle of wine over delicious mains of pasta, conversation flowing effortlessly between bites. But just as our plates are being cleared away, something shifts – a subtle flicker of unease I thought I’d shaken off creeps back ever so slightly.
My gaze sweeps the restaurant – couples chatting, a few families enjoying their evening, everything seemingly ordinary. And yet, a prickle crawls up my spine, a creeping sense that we’re being watched.
I force a smile and brush the thought aside, letting another sip of wine melt the edges of my nerves until they blur into a warm, hazy glow.
All I can think about now is getting back into bed. My eyes have been hungry for him all day, tracing the lines of his shoulders in stolen glances, but earlier, the steady rhythm of conversation had kept the ache at a low simmer. Now, with the night drawing in and the wine loosening every thought, all I want is to feel him again - his body against mine, his warmth enveloping me, his hands gripping me with that force that’s equal parts possessive and worshipping.
I stretch my leg beneath the table, running my foot slowly up his calf.
“Let’s get back,” I murmur, and the devilish glint in his eye flashes as he flags the waiter down for the bill.
Outside, the wind bites at my skin, sharp and cold, but I barely feel it. I’m wrapped in the lingering warmth from the wine and the heat of his hand in mine.
Nevertheless, as we reach the car, reality tugs at the edges of my mind, creeping in like a shadow I can’t quite shake. I slide into the seat,pull out my phone and quickly type “Manchester stabbing” into the search bar.
No new headlines.
I open the same article from before, skimming through it for anything I might have missed, but there’s nothing.
No new info. No updates. Just silence.
I sigh and slip my phone back into my coat.
“Everything alright?” Marcus asks, glancing at me as he starts up the engine.