21

The morning light in the dining made Richard’s head ache. He taken some extra time to sooth himself and his erection before coming down for breakfast. He sat at the head of the table, his hot cup cooling in front of him. Amelia entered, carrying a plate of food. She set it down quietly.

"Where is Giselle?" Richard asked, his voice gravelly.

"Mrs. Hemingway said she won't be joining you for breakfast, sir," Amelia replied, smoothing her apron. "She said she isn't hungry."

Richard’s brow furrowed. He set his spoon down with a soft clink. "Why? Is she unwell? That’s not even the question because I saw her about thirty minutes ago"

"She didn't say, sir. She just seemed... distant. She told me not to disturb her."

"Distant," Richard repeated. A knot of anxiety tightened in his gut. He thought back to the things he said in the room; the way he had turned her down. On a casual day, he would pass it off as one of those occasions where a woman couldn’t handle rejection, but Giselle wasn’t just any woman in this situation.  Had he pushed her too far? He wondered in those slippery moments.

"That will be all, Amelia."

Richard didn't touch his food. He stood up, pushed his chair back, and headed straight for the staircase. He took the steps two at a time, his heart racing for a reason he couldn't justify. He reached Giselle’s door and knocked firmly.

"Giselle? It’s Richard. We need to talk."

But Silence reigned surreptitiously.

"Giselle?" He knocked again, harder this time. "I know you're in there. Open the door."

Nothing. No sound of movement, no muffled reply.

Richard didn't hesitate. He turned the handle. The door wasn't locked. He stepped into the room, expecting to see her huddled under the covers or standing by the window.

The room was empty.

His eyes immediately flew to the bed. It was scattered. Then he saw them. Two large suitcases sat by the wardrobe, zipped shut and standing upright. Her vanity, usually covered in small bottles and brushes, was stripped bare.

"No," Richard whispered.

He lunged for the closet and threw the doors open. Empty. The hangers swayed mockingly in the draft.

Panic, cold and visceral, surged through him. He turned on his heel and sprinted back down the hallway, his feets thundering on the hardwood. He reached the kitchen, nearly colliding with Amelia as she was drying a dish.

"Amelia! Where is she?" he roared.

Amelia jumped, dropping the towel. "Sir? Who?"

"Giselle! Her bags are packed. The room is empty. When exactly did you see her last?"

Amelia’s eyes went wide. "I... I saw her about forty minutes ago, sir. She came down to tell me about breakfast. She was wearing her coat, but I thought she was just going for a walk in the gardens."

"Did you see her leave? Did a car come?"

"Not at all, sir. I’ve been in here the whole time. I didn't hear the front door."

Richard ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. "Do you have her number? Her cell line?"

Amelia shook her head frantically. "No, sir. I’m so sorry. I always just spoke to her in person or through the house intercom."

"Dammit!" Richard turned away, pacing the small width of the kitchen. "Continue with your work, Amelia. Just... stay here in case she calls the house."

He walked back into the dining room, but he didn't sit. He stared at the empty chair where she should have been. He felt a sickening sense of guilt. He should not have spoken to her the way he did, maybe applied other ways to reject her advances without embarrassing her. He had spoken to her with a resolute that must have embarrassed her. He tried to put himself in her shoes and understood why she would have left, but still maintained that she shouldn’t have, as he was also trying to process everything too.

I was too hard on her, he thought, his jaw tightening. I should have been gentle. I should have worded my resistance better.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Chase’s number. It rang three times before his son picked up, his voice thick with annoyance.

"What is it, Dad? I’m in the middle of a briefing."

"Your wife is gone," Richard said, skipping the pleasantries.

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a dry, careless chuckle. "Gone? What do you mean? Did she finally move her luggage out of our room?"

"I mean she is not in the mansion, Chase. Her bags are packed and she has disappeared. Amelia hasn't seen her leave."

"So? She probably went back to that tasteless friend of hers. Serayah, or whatever her name is. Honestly, Dad, it’s a blessing. Now I don't have to look at her moping around the hallways."

"Listen to me very carefully," Richard’s voice dropped to a dangerous, low hiss. "You are going to find her. You are going to track her down and you are going to bring her back to this house safely."

"And why would I do that?" Chase snapped. "I want a divorce. You're the one holding it up. If she’s gone, the problem is solved."

"The problem is not solved until I say it is," Richard growled. "If Giselle is out there alone, she could be in some sort of danger. You know how the press are trying so hard to find dirt on us, if the press finds her before we find her, or if she goes to a lawyer with the things you've said to her, I will strip you of your title before the sun sets. I will freeze every account with your name on it. Do you understand me?"

"You're threatening me over her?" Chase’s voice rose in disbelief. "She’s a nobody, Dad!"

"She is a Hemingway until the papers are stamped. Now find your wife. If you don't bring her back, do not bother coming back yourself. The consequences will be more than you can handle."

Richard hung up before Chase could respond. He felt a tremor in his hand from a terrifying, primal fear that he had lost his second chance before he even knew he had it.

"Amelia!" Richard called out.

The maid appeared in the doorway. "Yes, sir?"

"Clear the table. I’m not hungry. I’m going for a walk."

"But the eggs, sir—"

"Pack them up! Give it to the security dogs, I don't care!"

Richard stepped out onto the terrace. The morning air was crisp, but it did nothing to cool the fire in his blood. He began to walk toward the edge of the estate, his eyes scanning the tree line, the gates, the long winding driveway.

"Where are you, Giselle?" he whispered to the wind. "Don't make me hunt you down. Because if I have to come find you, I’m never letting you go again."