The Collector | 18+

【19】They're All Trash

On Saturday morning, we went to a flea market. Gigi loved those, always looking for things for our apartment or for her restaurant. As for myself, I enjoyed browsing through the antiques, trying to figure out which item was the oldest, which one should hold the most value—a fact that was often unbeknownst to its seller.

I hadn't told her about the guest I might be having that very evening, for fear she would overreact. But she would be at work the entire time, so unless things went very well and he stayed the night, she probably wouldn't know until I wanted her to.

There I was, already anticipating that he might end up in my bed, when I'd promised myself I'd slow down... Gigi was right. I needed more than silicon and batteries, and my body was craving the real thing. And especially for his real thing.

She left a little earlier than usual, to buy a few groceries they needed at the restaurant. As soon as the door was closed, I went to the kitchen to inspect the content of our well-supplied fridge. A few ideas came to me already, and I wondered which one would be best. We hadn't convened on a specific time, but I most likely had two hours ahead of me. One to cook, and one to get ready.

Before I began, I grabbed my phone to shoot him a text. Any allergies I should know about? I sent before taking a Korean face mask from the fridge's door and heading to the bathroom.

I was done cleaning my face when his reply came in. The broad smile on my face quickly vanished when I read it. Sorry, Miss Connelly, but I can't make it.

My heart twinged at the thought that I wouldn't see him tonight after all. Is everything okay? I sent.

Unsure what to do with myself now that my evening plans had been canceled, I returned to the common room and sat on the couch, a frown lingering on my brows.

He took nearly ten minutes to text me again. I got held up in New York.

Are you still there?

Yes.

My earlier disappointment turned into confusion. It took over seven hours to travel from New York to here. That meant he'd known for hours that our dinner plans had to be canceled. But he hadn't warned me, for some reason.

Willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, I texted him, Why didn't you warn me sooner? I hesitated on adding that I'd been looking forward to seeing him again, but decided that such an admission would depend on his answer.

It slipped my mind.

Those four words felt like a stab in the chest. Ever since our phone call, I'd been eagerly awaiting his return, impatient to welcome him into my home and cook for him, desirous to learn more about him and spend time with him. But while I'd been jittery and excited, he'd forgotten about it, to the point where he'd known for at least six hours that he wouldn't make it, but hadn't had the decency to warn me.

How could this man do everything right one moment, and then everything wrong the next? And what was his true face? The charming man who granted me two extra months with the sword, flirted with me unabashedly, took me out for lunch and dinner... Or the egotistical man who bought a sword despite my pleading, canceled plans hours too late, and asked my boss for personal information.

More than ever, I was realizing that I didn't truly know who Ulrik Westergaard was. He could be either those men and the rest was a fluke, or maybe he was both those men, but in what percentage?

Part of me wanted to figure out the answer and give him one last chance to see who he was, which man lay underneath his perfect facade. I felt weak, physically, mentally, and emotionally as I typed my next text.