CHAPTER 35
For many days afterwards ...
The warm summer air of London kissed Penelope's cheeks as she stood across the narrow street from the antique bookstore. She had been there long enough for the tips of her fingers to feel slightly sweaty inside her gloves, but she didn't care.
Inside, behind the warm glass and rows of mismatched shelves, "Alex" moved with the same maddening calm that had haunted Pen since that day in prison. The woman wore a grey wool cardigan, hair pinned back loosely, head bent as she slid a stack of worn hardcovers into place. Every movement looked too... normal.
Pen's jaw clenched.
She wasn't wrong. She couldn't be wrong. That was her. The same precise gait. The same stillness that wasn't shyness but control — calculated, almost military.
"Alex" straightened to greet a customer, and Pen's eyes darted to the tall, striking woman who appeared from behind the counter — curly black hair, green eyes, and an easy, confident smile. The girlfriend. Daphne.
The sight made Pen's stomach twist. Not from jealousy, exactly — more from the sheer absurdity that someone like "Alex" could simply... settle into domesticity. After everything she had been in prison — the quiet strategist, the woman who'd seen through every lie — she was now chatting about bookbinding techniques over the counter like nothing had ever happened.
Pen stayed there until the lights in the shop went dark and "Alex" and her girlfriend locked up together. The two women walked side by side down the foggy street, their coats brushing, the curly black hair girl talking animatedly about something while "Alex" listened, expression unreadable but softened at the edges.
Pen trailed them from a distance more than once over the following days. Always careful, always just another shadow in the London crowd. Sometimes she'd spot them in the corner café near the shop, the "Alex's girlfriend" laughing over coffee while "Alex" idly stirred hers. Other times she caught them inside the store together — "Alex's girlfriend" unpacking boxes while "Alex" arranged displays. There was a rhythm between them Pen couldn't quite place.
By the fourth day, the thrill of the chase had given way to a tight, frustrated ache. Pen knew she was circling prey she couldn't touch — not yet.
The phone call from her parents came in the morning.
It wasn't a request. It was a summons.
Her father's clipped tone left no room for argument:
"London is over, Penelope. You will be on the evening flight. End of discussion."
Her mother's voice, warmer but equally firm, followed:
"We expect you home tomorrow. No delays."
Pen stared at the muted television in her hotel room long after the call ended, fingers drumming against her thigh. She hated how final it felt.
That evening, she passed by the bookstore one last time. The lights were on, the windows glowing in the dark. "Alex" was behind the counter, speaking to an older man buying a set of leather-bound classics. "Alex's girlfriend" leaned against the counter beside her, head tilted toward "Alex" in a way that made them seem... settled. Safe.
Pen turned away before they could see her.
For now, she would leave London. But this was not over.
Meanwhile, in their small flat above the bookstore, Viv and Daphne's life rolled on in its quiet rhythm — breakfasts with coffee and toast, afternoons in the shop, evenings curled up with Duke Pudding sprawled across the couch. Outside, the city was grey and restless. Inside, for the moment, it was peace.
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen3h.Co