“Is there something wrong?” I asked the butler.
“I don’t believe so, Ms. Howard. A package has arrived for you. It’s in Mrs. Hutchinson’s office.”
“A package?”
“Yes, Ms. Howard.”
Agnes hopped to her feet a few minutes later when I knocked on her open office door. She rounded her desk and gestured to the box sitting on it. “This arrived for you twenty minutes ago. It says it’s for the urgent attention of Ms. Aria Howard.”
Frowning, I crossed the room and looked down at the label.
It was handwritten.
And I knew the handwriting.
My pulse raced. “Who left this? When?”
“A courier. Twenty minutes ago,” she repeated, her brows drawn together. “Would you like security to open it fir—？”
“No,” I cut her off much too abruptly. “I mean, no. I’ll just take it to my office.”
“It’s rather heavy.”
I picked it up to discover she was correct. “It’s fine.”
My legs trembled as I hurried out of her office to escape more questions. Blood rushing in my ears, I barely noted anyone as I moved as swiftly as possible to my office. As soon as I got inside, I dumped the box on my desk and quickly locked my door. Then I kicked off my shoes and approached the package like it was an opponent I was about to face in the ring.
North’s handwriting stared back at me.
What could he have sent?
Why would he send me something now?
He’d left a month ago. According to Walker, he was already filming the spy movie in London, and there had been no more letters, no threats, no leads on the incident with the Defender. In fact, North was without a private security detail while he was back in the city he now called home, despite Walker’s recommendation that he at least have a bodyguard with him at all times.
Idiot. Why didn’t he have a bodyguard?
And what was this damn box?
Shaking with nerves and excitement, feeling more alive than I’d felt in the last four weeks, I cursed the Scot for doing this to me. For making me feel so much.
Then I tore open the box and frowned.
Books?
I picked up the first one and flipped it open.
My breath caught at the familiar scrawl of his words on pages that had been dated at the top.
Not books.
Journals.
Disbelief coursed through me as I pulled out journal after journal. I flipped through them quickly, searching the dates, and soon realized he’d sent me every journal he’d ever written. There were entries from when he was a boy.
And that first journal was his current one.
Tears blurred my vision as I practically collapsed into my office chair and clasped the book to my chest. With a deep breath, I blinked away the emotion and flipped open the journal to read about the last few months from North’s perspective. The tears I’d tried to hold back rolled down my cheeks as I saw myself through his eyes. How I’d become his confidante, the person he felt at ease with more than anyone. The person he looked forward to seeing every day. The woman who excited him. Who made him feel like a teenager again. I felt my cheeks heat at the mention of how phenomenal the sex was, though, thankfully he didn’t go into too much detail.
My chest ached at his admission that his favorite part was lying in bed afterward, talking about stupid things and big things … watching me sleep. He said he loved to watch me sleep, relaxed and warm at his side. To be the one privileged enough to see me at a moment so few people got to.
I grew angry with myself as I read about his subsequent hurt when I broke things off. The feelings of rejection. Of abandonment. Yeah, that killed. I hated how his hurt turned to self-flagellation. How he blamed himself for not trying harder to convince me to be with him.
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.”