Page 76 of Wanting Mr Black
He wraps his arms around me, and I close my eyes, relaxing against his soft black cashmere jumper. This is what I need. Him. I breathe in his fresh scent and calm. Everything’s better when I’m in his arms.
“When the time’s right, we’ll have lots of babies.”
I twist my face upwards and shoot him a hesitant look. “Lots?”
He smiles at my apprehensiveness. “Lots. I want a house full of little Arts and Sophies running round, and I can’t wait to start making them.”
I smile at the mental image. He’s made it all better, and suddenly, I don’t want him to leave, especially to go to that bloody club.
“Do you have to go now?”
His smile dissolves, and he kisses me. “I’m sorry. I won’t be long.”
Thirty-Eight
Ispend the next fifteen minutes sitting at the dining table, glancing through my work emails and trying to catch up on what I’ve missed.
I close my emails, Googlehoneymoon destinations, and press Enter. Glorious images of sandy beaches in the Bahamas and Maldives pop up on the screen. I rest my chin on my hands and type inwedding venues. Although I’ve spent the last three years helping to organise other people’s happily ever after, I’ve never really given much thought to mine. I chew the end of my Biro as I scan the images of grand castles and sublime manor houses, anda stab of guilt hits me. I really should tell Mum and Martin the news first before I go booking any wedding venues.
And it would be nice for Art and me to choose the venue together. I close the laptop.
I look across at the door of the apartment. He didn’t seem in the kind of mood to discuss wedding venues or honeymoons when he left. The cynical, nagging voice that’s never too far away has been replaced by a gnawing feeling that won’t go away, and my mind wanders back to the phone call he ended as soon as I walked into the kitchen. In fact, now that I come to think of it, he’s had lots of phone calls this past week, which he hasn’t answered when I’ve been around.
A knock at the door interrupts the doubts looming over my head like a big black cloud.
Derek, the concierge, is standing on the landing, waiting for me with his ever-ready smile.
“Good afternoon, Miss Ward. My apologies. I wasn’t aware that you and Mr Black had returned from your holiday last night; otherwise, I would have delivered this sooner.”
I smile politely. “Delivered what sooner?”
Derek produces a small white envelope from the front top pocket of his smart blue blazer and presents it to me with a flourish. “Your letter.”
I take the envelope from him and turn it over, noting it’s totally blank on both sides. Other than Mum, Martin, and Lucy, no one knows I live here.
“This is for me?” I check.
“Yes.” Derek gives a decisive nod. “Normally, I would have left it in the pigeonhole with the rest of your mail, but the sender was quite clear that he wanted me to hand it to you in person.”
This is growing weirder by the second. “The sender?”
“Yes. He dropped it off a few days ago and was quite specific with his instruction for me to deliver it in person.”
Now, I’m totally confused.Who would want a letter to be hand-delivered to me?
“But … why?”
Derek shakes his head. “He didn’t say. I presume it’s because he wants to ensure you receive it.” He gives a smile. “Maybe it’s important. That’s all, Miss Ward.” He bids me goodbye with a bob of his head and then disappears off down the landing.
I retreat into the apartment, turning the envelope over and over in my fingers, trying to work out what the hell it could be as I sit on one of the kitchen stools. I slide my finger beneath the white paper flap, tug the letter out, and open it up.
My heart plummets as my eyes scan the scrawly male handwriting covering half the page, and questions rapid-fire around my brain. An unnerving feeling of panic consumes me as I try to focus on the words I don’t want to read.
Dear Sophie,
Sorry for contacting you out of the blue after all this time. I hope you’re well and you have moved on with your life. I’m sure you have. I hope you’re doing great things. I’m sure you are.
Since we split, I’ve undergone a huge period of reflection and transformation, and it’s all thanks to you. I’ve sought help, stopped drinking, grown up, become accountable … all those things I should have done while we were together, so I wouldn’t have lost you.