I walk around the property, feverishly texting her. I don’t bother to wait for her to answer and call her as well. But no one responds. The call goes directly to voice mail and the text goes unread. Caroline is never without her phone. This isn’t good, I say to myself. But then I realize that there may be a perfectly reasonable explanation for her not answering as well. I mean, I’m as much of a phone addict as she is and my phone was just in my jacket while I was busy with Aiden. And then, of course, there’s sleep. She always turns her phone to ‘Do Not Disturb’ once she goes to bed. Otherwise, she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. All the notifications would drive her completely nuts.

Meandering through the meticulously manicured foot paths around the back of the Warrenhouse mansion, I come up on one cottage upon another. The one that Aiden and I are staying in is just one of the many guesthouses that exist on the property. Caroline must be staying in one of these. But, which one? Each one has a little white picket fence out front with rose bushes. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, making the space out here look like an enchanted forest. The Warrenhouses must spend a fortune on gardeners to make everything look so shabby chic. The plants, bushes, and trees are just overgrown enough to give the illusion of a quaint English garden. It’s perfect, but not too perfect. If I weren’t so focused on finding out if Caroline is okay, I would love to lose myself in this world.

Meandering past the guesthouses, I notice that there are cars parked out back, just outside the main garden areas. They are tucked out of sight and out of mind, as if they are keeping the twenty-first century at bay. I try to remember which car Caroline took to get here. I’m pretty sure that her date rented a car, but what kind? I walk past a Bentley, a brand new Tesla, and a couple of other name brand cars that I know cost a fortune but not exactly how much.

Once I reach the edge of the guesthouses, I shrug and turn around. I feel like crying because I’m at a complete loss as to how to go about finding Caroline. Or whether I even should. I mean, it’s barely morning and the last thing I want to do is barge in on her sleeping and create a scene. Or even worse - what if I were to barge in on a couple of complete strangers? No, I guess I should just make my way back to Aiden and just wait until it’s a more reasonable hour before finding her.

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down. Just because she called you earlier, doesn’t mean anything. I mean, she didn’t come around looking for you. Everything is probably fine. I mean, when is it not? I know that bad things happen out there, but that doesn’t mean that they’re going to happen here in this multimillion dollar mansion overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. I’m just overthinking things. I’m riding a high from having one of the best orgasms of my life, and then seeing that all those people have downloaded my book, and having an awesome writing session. That’s why I can’t quiet my mind down. It has nothing to do with Caroline. Yes, of course.

I’m not always successful in talking myself down, but this morning I surprise myself. In addition to calming my erratic thoughts with soothing thoughts, I also do a breathing exercise that I learned in yoga class. I close one nostril and take a big breath in. Then I open it, pinch my other nostril and breathe out through the other one. This focuses my breathing and I feel myself taking in air further into my stomach instead of just into my lungs. Okay, okay, I say to myself. Everything’s going to be fine. There’s nothing to worry about. Just go back to Aiden and try to get some sleep.

I make my way down the now familiar path back to our cottage at the very end. But just as I walk past the one with the bright blue door, I hear a familiar voice. I can’t make out what he’s saying. It sounds more like grunting. Moaning, maybe. I furrow my brows and stop in my tracks. What could that be? I walk over to the window on my tiptoes to take a peek inside. I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to myself just in case the people inside are having a good time.

Luckily, the blinds and the curtains are wide open. I stand really close to the glass and cover my face to block out some of the gray light coming from the outside. Oh my God, I whisper to myself when I see the guy’s back to me. He’s stark naked except for a pair of black socks and he’s having sex with someone who is lying on the bed. I can’t see his face or the woman’s face, but I can tell that it’s a woman because she’s still wearing her high heels and her legs are listlessly open to either side of him.

The guy looks familiar, but with him facing away from me, I can’t really place him. He must be someone I met at the party since he’s staying at a cottage on the Warrenhouse property, but who he is exactly I don't know. Still, I get the sense that I know him. I look at his dark hair and his shoulders. He’s relatively thin but muscular as well. Strong.

I watch, feeling very much like the creep that I am. But something is holding me by the window. And it’s not anything good. There’s something about the girl that doesn’t look right. Her legs are spread open before him. He’s holding one of them up by his shoulders and the other one is laying bent to the side. But it’s the way it’s bent. As he continues to come in and out of her, she’s barely responding. No, she isn't responding at all. Something feels very wrong about this.

Suddenly, the guy tilts his head back and gives out a big moan. Then he speeds up his tempo. And yet the girl continues to lie there, without much of a response. I glare over to the other side of the door. There’s another window there. Maybe it will give me a better angle on what’s going on.

Not wanting to look away, but having the urge to get to the bottom of this situation, and to find out if the girl is actually okay, I push myself off the window sill and walk over to the other window. The blinds are down on this one, but they aren’t entirely shut. Again, I cover my face and peer in.

My heart drops. At first, I don't believe what I see. This can’t be him. No. Can it? I look closer. I can see his profile. No, I’m not wrong. It’s Tom.