She didn’t have the energy to call out or be afraid. Grace couldn’t stop staring at the phone lying beside her manicured feet encased in Jimmy Choo shoes. “Grace?” a masculine voice called. “No,” she moaned and covered her face with her hands. Not him. Anyone but him. He called her name again and she sensed him pause in her bedroom doorway. She caught a whiff of that cologne she wished he would stop wearing as he knelt in front of her. “Grace?” “I told security not to let you in here.” Her voice was muffled because she refused to lower the hands that shielded her devastated face from his view. “You didn’t come to the party. You wouldn’t answer your phone. What’s wrong?” She’d known he would come. While she stared at the phone by her feet she saw his name appear at least four times. She couldn’t find the strength to answer, to tell him she was fine because she knew she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
