Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Then his last entry made my stomach twist.
May 2
Today was a shit show of the highest order. Daniel continues to elude me, and there’s no other explanation for it—missing Aria as much as I do means I’m unable to separate myself from the part. My love for her, my grief, is all-consuming. Therefore, I can never be anything but North. It pissed Blake off. His silent warning means I’m on thin ice. I have to find a path to Daniel.
Surprisingly, the best advice I received today came from Theo. He suggested I show Aria that I trust her implicitly, hoping that in doing so, she’ll reciprocate my trust. I was just considering that it might actually be good advice when, to make the day an epic shit show, Preston Holden walked into the pub we were in. I should have taken the high road, but I wanted that smug bastard to know I knew he was scum. Decking him had not been in the plans, and hopefully he doesn’t press charges, but I found some satisfaction in watching the bastard bleed. Mostly, it made me feel empty. He deserved to get hit, but I’m not proud of doing it. It came from a place of anger at myself more than anything. I walked away from the woman I love. Like a fucking coward.
But Theo’s right. I won’t give up. Before I can find my way to Daniel, I have to find my way back home. And my home is with Aria.
She needs to know that.
A sob burst out of me as I closed the book and pressed it hard to my chest. That emptiness inside was already filling just from his words, from this tangible connection to him. God, I missed him so much.
I stood, staring at the journals. Everything he was, was in here.
Every private thought he’d ever shared with these books.
All here.
And he’d handed them over to me.
Trusted me.
My fingers skimmed over the leather-bound journals that catalogued North’s life for over a decade and a half.
He loved me.
He really did.
I sucked in a sharp breath. Because I believed him.
And I didn’t need to read through all of his thoughts to cement that belief. He could keep some things to himself. Everyone deserved to have thoughts be only theirs. Hands shaking with my decision, I repacked the journals into the box. Now that I thought about it, I was a little angry that he’d taken the risk of sending this when anyone could have broken into the box and sold the contents to the tabloids.
There was no way I was sending them back via courier.
No.
I’d just have to return them myself. Along with the reciprocation of the faith North had placed in me.
Decision made, my first call was to my boss.
My second call was to my dad.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he answered. “It’s good to hear from you. Your mother’s been calling, and she says you keep sending her to voicemail.”
“Dad, I need a favor,” I said, not addressing my mother’s complaint.
“Oh?”
“Can you find out if the film crew for Blake Forster’s current production is still in London?” I could have called Walker to ask, but I didn’t want anyone acquainted with North to know about my plans.
“Uh … sure, I guess. Can I ask why?”
“I need to know ASAP.”
“Okay. Again, why?”
“There’s someone on the crew I need to talk to.”
“I’m going to need more than that, sweetheart.”
I sighed, fearing his judgment, but not enough to not get what I needed from him. “North Hunter is the lead, and I have something of his that I need to return. Immediately.”
“Aria …” My dad’s exhale crackled the line. “Maybe you should steer away from actors for a while.”
“Dad … I won’t explain who North is or what’s between us. I just need your help.”
“If he hurts you—”
“Dad.”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But this better not mean we’re losing you to Scotland permanently.”
I smiled, staring out my office window at the castle grounds, but I didn’t answer because I was suddenly excited to discover if that was a promise I couldn’t keep.
Twenty-Seven
NORTH
“Cut!”
I blinked, coming back to myself as Blake Forster stepped into the scene. My head throbbed and the stuntman, Dec, I’d been fighting, pulled me to my feet. “Staircase caught you there.” He looked past the cameras to the crew. “Medic.”
“I’m all right.” I dabbed at the shallow cut I’d sustained when Dec had thrown me against the stair banisters on the set.
Blake took in the minor injury. “We’re switching out with your stunt double, so get that looked at.” Then he grinned as he smacked my arm. “That was perfect. Whatever rage you’re channeling, keep it up.”
My “rage” was actual fear manifesting as fury. As soon as I’d sent Aria my journals, an overwhelming terror of rejection and abandonment flooded me. It didn’t take a fucking psychologist to work out where the fear stemmed from.