Chapter 319
**Sara**
I stretched and rolled over, reaching for my phone out of habit. No messages. Weird.
The clock read 9:47 AM. Mr. "I-love-you-so-much" was suspiciously quiet this morning. Maybe his phone died. Or he got eaten by a kangaroo. That seemed more likely than Thomas Blackwood missing an opportunity to torment me with his messages.
Coffee. I needed coffee before dealing with this emotional rollercoaster.
I padded to the kitchen, my bare feet cold against the marble floors. His fancy coffee machine stared at me like some alien spacecraft.
"Okay, you overpriced heap of metal," I muttered, pressing buttons randomly. "Work your magic."
The machine whirred to life, making concerning noises. I checked my phone again. Still nothing.
"He's probably in meetings," I told the coffee machine. "Important, billionaire meetings. With other important billionaires. Discussing billionaire things."
The machine spat out what looked like actual coffee. Success!
I raided his fridge, finding eggs and some fancy bread. As I cracked eggs into a pan, I definitely didn't check my phone five more times.
"This is ridiculous." I flipped an egg with more force than necessary. "He's busy. That's all. Not everything is about you, Sara."
My phone stayed stubbornly silent.
"I mean, what did I expect?" I stabbed at the eggs with a spatula. "Good morning messages? Declarations of undying love? Pictures of Australian wildlife?"
The eggs didn't answer.
I settled at his absurdly large dining table with my breakfast, feeling like a kid playing house in a mansion. Everything in this apartment screamed money - from the crystal glasses to the expensive artwork.
"And here I am," I announced to my eggs, "eating breakfast alone like some lovesick teenager because he hasn't texted in..." I checked the time. "Eight hours and twenty-three minutes."
The coffee machine beeped again, reminding me I'd left it running. Great. Now, I'd probably broken his thousand-dollar coffee maker. Add that to the list of things going wrong today.
"This is your fault," I informed my phone. "You've turned me into one of those clingy girlfriends who can't function without constant attention."
The phone remained unhelpfully silent.
I finished my breakfast, cleaned up (probably not to his exacting standards), and decided to take a shower. Maybe by the time I got out, he'd have remembered I existed.
"Not that I care," I told his bathroom mirror. "I'm completely fine. Totally independent. Absolutely not checking my phone every thirty seconds like some desperate-"
My phone buzzed.
I practically leaped across the bathroom, sliding on the marble floor in my rush to get to the bedroom. My wet hair left a trail of water drops behind me as I dove for my phone on the nightstand.
Please be Tom. Please be Tom. Please be-
Charles: I'm picking you up at 4. Be ready, or I'm leaving without you. I'm not kidding.
"Are you kidding me?" I threw my phone onto the bed. "Out of all the people who could message me right now..."
Another buzz.
Charles: And don't give me that 'five more minutes' nonsense like last time. 4 PM SHARP.
I rolled my eyes and typed back.
Me: I'm not twelve anymore.
Charles: Yeah? Tell that to the girl who made me wait 45 minutes last time because she 'couldn't find the right shoes.'
Me: That was different! Those shoes were important!
Charles: 4 PM. Or you're taking a cab.
Me: Fine!
I flopped back onto the bed, my wet hair probably ruining Tom's fancy Egyptian cotton sheets. "Great. Now I'll have to explain water stains to the man who probably has his sheets imported from space."
I grabbed my phone again, scrolling through old messages. Still, nothing from Mr. "I'll send you flowers." Maybe the Australian wildlife finally got him. It serves him right.
My brother's message glared at me from the screen. Four PM. Sharp. Ugh.
Wait.
I sat bolt upright, sending water droplets flying everywhere. "Oh crap." Charles was picking me up from my place. But I wasn't at my place. I was here, surrounded by fancy furniture and probably ruining thousand-dollar sheets with my wet hair.
"Charles can't know I'm staying here. He'd never let me live it down." I stared at the ceiling, imagining the endless stream of jokes and comments he'd make. "Hey, Mom, guess where I found our little Sara? Living it up in some rich guy's apartment!"
My brother had the subtlety of a freight train and the discretion of a gossip columnist. He'd probably start planning my wedding before I even made it to the car.
"And then Mom would get involved." I rolled onto my stomach, groaning into the pillow. "She'd start picking out china patterns and asking about grandchildren."
The mental image of my mother's excited face made me cringe. She'd been asking about my love life for months, and finding out I was staying at a billionaire professor's apartment would send her into full wedding planner mode.
"Sara, sweetie, when were you going to tell me about this wonderful man?" I mimicked her voice, waving my hands dramatically. "Does he come from a good family? When can I meet his parents? Why didn't you mention him at Sunday dinner?"
I buried my face deeper into the pillow. "Because Mom, I'm technically dating my professor and living in his apartment while he's in Australia, and oh yeah, his family expects him to get married within a year."
That would go over well.
"And then there's Dad." I rolled onto my back again. "He'd probably run a background check. Start investigating the Blackwood family history. Looking for skeletons in their billion-dollar closets."
The clock on the wall ticked away, reminding me to head to my apartment before Charles showed up. But the bed was so comfortable, and moving seemed like such an effort.
"Charles would never shut up about it." I kicked my legs in frustration. "He'd probably start calling me 'Princess Sara of Blackwood Manor' or something equally stupid."
My phone lay silent beside me, still showing no messages from Tom, which was fine—totally fine—not that I was checking or anything.
"At least Jessica finds this whole situation funny." I sat up, running my fingers through my damp hair. "But Charles? He'd turn it into a whole production. Complete with sound effects and dramatic reenactments at every family gathering for the next decade."
I could already hear him: "Remember that time Sara tried to pretend she wasn't living in her boyfriend's fancy apartment? Classic Sara, always going for the subtle approach - like an elephant in a china shop."
The thought made me groan. I needed to get to my apartment before four, making it look like I was just living my normal, totally-not-staying-at-a-billionaire's-place life.
"Just a quick trip home." I flopped back down. "No big deal. Plenty of time."
The ceiling had no comment on my excellent planning skills.
"I mean, what's the worst that could happen?" I asked the empty room. "Other than Charles telling Mom, Mom telling the entire extended family, and suddenly having fifty relatives asking when the wedding is?"
The silence was judgmental.
"Fine." I grabbed a pillow and hugged it to my chest. "I'll go. Eventually. Just five more minutes in this ridiculously comfortable bed."