Chapter Seventeen

Sophie snuggled further under the quilt she'd thrown over herself. She was safely ensconced on a sofa in the conservatory – on the opposite end of the house from the kitchen. Though she knew the rodent-y threat was gone, she still wasn't ready to hang out in there all night.

Plus, she liked the view of the stars through the glassy ceiling.

Sophie sighed, her head leaned back and looking at the dark sky, her mind running a thousand miles an hour.

This wasn't her best day ever, she thought wryly. She'd almost broken down and sobbed with Kat, she'd been petrified by a mouse, she'd gotten a postcard from Peter, and on top of all that, Daniel Davies had been…

Nice.

To her.

Sighing, she tried to organize her swirling thoughts into some semblance of order.

The gentleness in the way Daniel had lifted her off the counter, his words trying to soothe her, had her more confused and turned around than the arrival of the postcard.

After all Daniel's arguing with her, all his gruff demeanor, the brush offs he'd given her, to come in and rescue her from Mighty Mouse and then actually be… kind.

Well, to say it was throwing her off balance was an understatement.

She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined the feel of his body against hers for that brief moment when she had slid down his body to the floor. He was all hard planes and smooth skin… from what she could remember through the abject terror of the mouse attack.

And his eyes had actually been… soft as he looked at her.

Just for a moment, but there was definitely a flash of softness, of sympathy.

It was just too much to process from Daniel the Disagreeable.

She just didn't know what to think of that situation, her crying, his rescuing...

Dammit, she hated crying.

She wasn't a cryer.

She didn't cry.

And of course, she had cried in front of HIM. The one man who already thought she was weak and silly, now he had seen her at her most vulnerable.

Spectacular, she thought ruefully, just what I need.

Dammit, dammit, dammit, she thought angrily as tears threatened to fall again. It's just the emotion of moving here, of taking on this colossal task…

Of being alone, with no one around to comfort her, or hell, just to be friendly and pal around with during mouse attacks or ex-boyfriend troubles.

She toyed with calling Kat, but didn't want to burden her new friend with her problems – again.

What was wrong with her? She thought angrily. She was tougher than this – moving four hundred times by the time you're eighteen makes you tough as nails.

So why was this so hard?

Her eyes fell onto the postcard she'd received in the mail, and involuntarily rolled her eyes.

Peter.

Still trying to control from four thousand miles away.

Peter, who spent their years together molding her into his perfect mate, and she had thought she was so in love with him, she let him. Let him manipulate and change her, let him erase her personality piece by piece, take away her sense of self and put into place his image of the perfect girlfriend.

Perfect wife, if he'd had his way. She'd worn his engagement ring, though she's never actually come out and said yes at all. He never gave her the chance to refuse him.

After all those years together, it was as though something in her… snapped one day as she looked down at that ring.

She realized that she'd lost herself, lost who she was, and she really wanted that girl back.

She liked that girl. She missed her.

She'd stormed into Peter's office, demanding a conference with him, only to be soothed and shushed and hustled away so as not to cause a scene in front of his colleagues.

But she sure as hell caused a scene that night at home, screaming and crying, demanding that he let her go, let her be who she was going to be, regardless of the consequences. She was tired of being his puppet, of being his perfect hostess, his perfect mate, his perfect maid. She was done with being perfect, tired of keeping up appearances for his sake and that of his precious career.

Tired. Of. It.

She wanted, no, needed, her independence, needed to be her own person again. He'd nearly flown into a rage when she had told him she was leaving for Wales, leaving him behind – and had no plans to return to his life when she came home. Ever.

She had long thought that the timing of Auntie Barbara's letter to be some sort of divine intervention – a sign that she had to get out now, or she never would. She'd be forever grateful for the opportunity to come here, but more for Auntie Barbara rescuing her from her own life, without ever really know she'd done it at all.

Peter had cajoled and cried when Sophie had told him about her plans to flee, and then gotten nasty about it. "If you go to Wales, you'll have to do everything for yourself. You won't get to rely on me to get you out of the situations you get yourself into. If you go to Wales, Sophie, we're through," he had spat at her. "And I mean it."

She had merely smiled, handed him his diamond engagement ring, picked up her suitcase, and walked out the front door.

And she'd never looked back.

And now here she was… yes, she was alone, but she was doing alright. Except for a few mishaps involving uninvited animal guests in the house, she was getting by…

She wasn't the person that Peter had made her into anymore, but she wasn't yet herself either.

She was just…

Sophie.

A work in progress.

Who was very afraid of mice, and who couldn't get the image of her neighbor's kind eyes out of her head.

Sophie sighed, then curled up further beneath the quilt, and before she knew it, was fast asleep under the stars.

19763/50000