From: Ellie Hastings
To: Isobel James
I’m sitting in the car, waiting for Will. He’s standing just outside my door in the brisk night air, finishing one last business call for the evening.
I wish you were here, Isobel. I’m tired of feeling subjugated by my childish fears. And the anger. I’ve been so angry, but tonight? Tonight, I wish we could sit on your bed with a plate of Gran’s soft cinnamon biscuits, like we did as girls, so I could tell you about him.
We talked a lot about boys as we were growing up. It was one of the few areas of common ground we shared as sisters. Even as adults, we carried on with that one little thrill: the secretive midnight boy talks. It was similar to the tea parties we’d had in Gran’s hidden room as young girls, during which we giggled about the silliness of the boys in our classrooms. But as we matured, the content of our chats did as well. The boys became men.
If you were here, I could tell you about Will. I would tell you everything, even the boring stuff that makes me happy, like the first time I visited his office.
As I was led by my protection officer through a second reception area, a large, silhouetted figure came toward me from out of the daylight cast through a wall of glass. The movement was familiar. Confident and dangerous and carnal. It was Will’s strut. As he came closer, the features of his handsome face were revealed, the strength of his jawline, his full lips. I was desperate to run my fingers through the strands of his dark blond hair.
Will’s dark charisma never fails to captivate me.
He wore black that day, dressed in a suit tailored for his powerful body. Despite his broad shoulders and chest, his frame appeared tall and lithe. I remember how long and elegant his neck seemed and how the pale blue tie there complemented his beautiful eyes. Light blue eyes that sparked with white fire. He stole my heart all over again.
His warm smile twisted into a panty-melting smirk, and he pulled me into his arms to kiss me. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his deep voice low and full of gravel.
Will led me to the wall of glass and showed me his incredible view of the River Thames.
I was floating euphorically. Then, my lying brain told me I’d lost control of my body, that I was about to plunge forty stories to my death. As my stomach tightened and trembled, he sensed my disorientation, wrapped his arms tightly around me from behind, and pulled me away from the wall, rescuing me from my own illusion.
Will knows what I need usually before I do. He knows me beyond words. I’m not angry tonight, and it’s because of him. I need you to know this, Isobel. I want you to know that Lissie and I, we’re okay without you. Because of Will.