Page 90 of Devotion
The divorce papers weren’t for ending us. They were for ending the contract. So I could marry her for real.
But she didn’t know that. And I hadn’t told her. And now she was gone.
I called my grandmother.
“Is Miley with you?”
“No. She called this morning and said she wasn’t feeling well. I assumed she was resting at the house.” A pause. “Christopher. What happened?”
“She’s gone. She found the divorce papers and she saw photos of me with Seraphina and she thinks I’m choosing my ex over her. She left a letter. She signed the papers. She’s gone.”
The silence that followed was the loudest thing I’d ever heard from my grandmother.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” Her voice was steel. “Find her, Christopher.”
“I’m trying?—”
“Don’t try. Do. That girl is my daughter-in-law. I don’t care what the contract says. She is family. You find her and you bring her home and you tell her the truth and you do not let your pride or your fear or whatever broken thing lives inside you get in the way.”
“I will.”
“Am I clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Call me when she’s safe.” Her voice softened then, the steel giving way to something that was just a grandmother who was scared. “Please, Christopher. Bring her back.”
I hung up and called Trisha.
“Miley left. I need you to find her.”
Trisha didn’t ask unnecessary questions. That was why she was the best person I’d ever hired. She said, “Give me twenty minutes,” and hung up.
I spent those twenty minutes standing in the kitchen staring at a smiley face on a sticky note and making promises to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in. If she was safe. If I found her. If she let me explain. I’d tell her everything. That I was terrified and in love and had bought a ring and called my grandmother for help picking it and had been planning to propose to a woman who was currently on a plane believing I’d thrown her away.
Trisha called back.
“Charlotte, North Carolina. She booked a flight this afternoon. Anna Hunter’s parents live there. Anna is visiting for a family anniversary.”
“Book me on the next flight.”
“Already done. You leave in ninety minutes from Miami International. Gate 14B.”
“Trisha—”
“I know. Go get her, I’ll handle things here as much as I can. And Christopher?” Her voice changed. “I’m rooting for you. Soyou get on that plane and you say whatever you need to say and you bring her home. Because if you don’t, I will personally resign and go work for her instead.”
“Noted.”
I grabbed my phone. My wallet. The letter. I folded it into my jacket pocket because it was the last thing she’d given me and I was going to carry it until I could give it back and tell her she was wrong about every word except the part where she said she loved me.
Jace Hunter opened the door.
Six-foot-three. Barbecue apron. Tongs. The same expression he’d worn every time he’d seen me since we were fifteen—the expression of a man who found my existence mildly inconvenient and was too well-bred to say it directly.
