Page 55 of The Best Wild Idea (Off-Limits #3)

Silas

I throw my arm over to her side of the bed without opening my eyes.

Still in disbelief that I’m waking up next to her in what I hope will be many future mornings wrapped up in bed together.

I’ve already made up my mind to take the next few weeks off work to focus on whatever this is growing between us.

I want my every day to be full of her, nothing but her.

My arm lands on a cold pillow instead of her warm body and I crack my eyes open.

The spot beside me is empty and cold, like no one has been in it for hours. I pat around the mattress, feeling for a warm spot in the sheets to indicate that she was only just here a moment ago, but my stomach sinks steadily as my brain catches up.

She’s not here. And she hasn’t been for a while.

I hop out of bed and walk toward the bathroom, straining to hear a shower running or see a light coming from under the crack of the door.

It’s not locked but I knock and wait, then push the door open. The room is empty but the first thing I notice is Grant’s letter, the one I’ve carried with me ever since we left Boston. It’s sitting prominently on the counter out of the envelope it’s been stored in.

Fuck .

My letter . The one and only letter Grant addressed to me.

The somber words that arrived at my office just a few days after his passing, handed to me by the same courier that dropped Jules’ first letter off at her door a whole year later to kick off this wild idea we’ve been working our way through.

No, no, no.

The flight crew must have placed the letter from Grant that I had in my belongings on the counter for some reason when they brought our luggage up to the suite yesterday. It probably fell out of my jacket pocket or something, and they put it there so I would see it.

I bet Jules thought it was hers from last night and opened it up before realizing it was mine.

I close my eyes to imagine her sitting in here in the dead of the night, just minutes to hours after we made love, reading the words that were never meant for her to see. Knowing how harsh they’d be without explanation.

I grab my phone off the nightstand, hoping to see a text or missed call from her, but there isn’t one. Only work texts and emails coming in one after another, just like they do every day without end.

I throw on a pair of pants from last night and half-run through the suite of rooms.

They’re all empty and the other bed is untouched.

While I know there are plenty of explanations of where she might be — the restaurant downstairs, out for a morning jog to clear her head after last night, grabbing coffee from a nearby café — something inside me tells me that she’s gone.

Truly gone. She read that letter and didn’t want to stay here another second.

I just know it.

I look for the other letter — the one addressed to her that she tossed on the coffee table last night — but that’s gone too. Just like her luggage. More confirmation I don’t need. How could I have slept so soundly as she wheeled everything out the door with her?

Three glasses of wine and the fuck of a lifetime, that’s how.

I grab my phone off the nightstand to call her, but the phone rings until her voicemail greeting picks up. The happy tone of her recording forms a pit in my stomach and I can’t bring myself to leave a message. I call two more times, then send her a text asking her to call me back.

Where are you? At least tell me that you’re okay.

I stare at the phone screen, hoping to see those three little dots appear that say she’s at least considering writing me back, even if it’s only to type a scathing reply. I wait, and wait, until I accept there’s nothing coming in.

I call Andy next.

It sounds like I’ve just woken him up.

“Have you or anyone else from the crew heard from Jules this morning?” I ask.

“Sorry, sir, no.” He yawns sleepily into the phone before I can practically hear the meaning behind my call register, and he startles, sounding instantly alert. “Wait, why? Don’t tell me she left on her own.”

“I’m not sure where she is yet, but if you hear from her, tell me right away. Even if she asks you not to.”

“Of course.”

I hang up and call Ryan next.

“I need you to look up the location of Juliet’s phone.”

“Sure,” he says, like it’s the most casual request in the world. I’m thankful he doesn’t ask why.

A few moments later, he tells me that he has her location, but that it doesn’t make any sense.

“I thought you were in Amalfi today?” he asks, sounding confused.

“I am.” I quickly correct myself. “ We are.”

“The GPS shows her in Paris,” he answers, reluctantly.

“Paris? What the—” I look at the clock. It’s nearly ten a.m. here. If she boarded one of the earliest flights to Paris, she’d definitely be there by now.

Jesus Christ.

“Change of plans. Get the flight crew ready to fly there. Now,” I bark at him.

“Sir?”

“Now,” I nearly shout into the phone. “And see if you can get her to answer her phone before we go. She’s not answering my calls.”

“Right away,” he says before hanging up.

I send Juliet another text.

Stay where you are. I’m coming to Paris.

This time, the three little dots appear for only a mere second or two before disappearing. I wait another moment, hoping they reappear, but no such luck. At least it means she’s okay. She might be fuming mad at me, but at least she’s safe enough to read a text and nearly send a reply.

I start throwing whatever the crew had unpacked yesterday back into my luggage, while pausing to pull a T-shirt over my head. I need to get to Paris before she takes off again.

Then I get an idea that makes my insides twist. It’s awful, but it may be worth a shot.

“Ryan.” I call him back as soon as the questionable plan enters my mind. “Call my connection at the embassy in Paris. We need to ask them a favor.”

I explain my asinine plan.

“Sir?” He doesn’t have to say the words for me to know how confused he is. Or, more likely, how disappointed. “I’d like to confirm this is the route you want me to take. Grounding her in a foreign country might not—”

“Just do it,” I interrupt before I can change my mind. “And do it now, please.”

Then I practically sprint out to the car that I know will be waiting in front of the hotel to get me to the airport as fast as I can.