The Ex (18+ Only) [COMPLETED]

4: In Which She Feels So Close

4: In Which She Feels So Close

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It might’ve been the birds chirping out on my windowsill that awoke me – or the sound of floorboards creaking outside my bedroom door.

Either way, I was wide awake and when I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and saw that it was a little after eleven in the morning, I flew into a mad panic. Kicking the duvet off and getting to my feet, I threw my nightgown on, acutely aware that I needed to grab the nearest thing I could use to defend myself from an intruder. The nearest thing just happened to be my battered polka-dot umbrella. Wielding it like a sword, I pulled open my door and tiptoed onto the landing, wincing as the floorboards groaned beneath me.

The manor wasn’t the vastest but it had four en-suite bedrooms, a toilet and a storeroom on that particular floor. I paused in the corridor and listened.

Wind whistled past me, prickling my skin and sending shivers down my spine. Cocking my head, I tried to listen again – silence.

And then, as if in an alternate universe, I heard the loud growl of the lawnmower outside. Shaking my head, I marched downstairs and threw open my front door. What kind of nut trespassed so that he could cut my grass?

“Morning, sunshine,” Konstantin’s baritone came from behind me, sending a new slew of goosebumps over my skin.

I spun around, dropping my umbrella to my feet. “Who the hell is he?” I jerked my thumb at the tall, shirtless teen who, after a number of false starts, finally began to push the mower across the high blades of grass.

“Peter. Don’t worry about paying him. I’ve got it covered,” Kon replied, as if that were the most natural thing on the planet. “That jungle must be home to all kinds of creatures, Frankie. You’re so tiny, you could trip and fall and never be seen again. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

My jaw clenched. “How dare you? And how the hell did you even get in?” A quick inspection of the door showed no clear sign of forced entry.

Konstantin dangled a bunch of keys above my head. “You still haven’t changed the locks.”

“I could call the police. This is trespassing.”

He quirked a brow. “And say what?” He cleared his throat: “Oh, Mr. Officer, there’s a horrible man in my house who hired a boy to cut my neglected lawn. Come quickly!”

I pushed past him and shuffled into the kitchen, intent on getting as far away from the object of my desire and irritation. I stopped short in the doorway and squeezed my eyes shut. After counting to ten, I opened them again. No, I wasn’t hallucinating: Breakfast was indeed on the table. As if on cue, my stomach growled, loud enough for Kon to hear.

“I figured you’d be hungry. It’s almost eleven.”

I turned to shoot a glare at the man. “What do you expect, a medal?”

He laughed, a low sound that filled the suddenly cramped kitchen and went straight to my belly. “Nothing. I don’t expect anything from you, Frankie.”

I gingerly sat on one end of the table. It was a gorgeous oak table, an antique I’d found one weekend right after our honeymoon. Worn with age and memories, it was one of my favourite pieces of furniture in the entire house. Now, ornamented with plates of bread rolls and what I knew was a feta omelette, it had never looked so beautiful. I rarely sat down and ate, especially in the kitchen. There were too many memories in that kitchen.