Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
His words are like a slap to the face, even if I’m not sure how to take them or why they matter, but they do.
Of course, he gives no explanation, only an order. “Go up to your fucking room and stay there.”
“Go fuck yourself and pretend to hate it.”
That glare of his doubles, but something flashes in his eyes. His mouth opens but closes just as fast on an annoyed growl. He turns around, walks back to the still idling Hummer, and climbs inside.
He’s gone in an instant.
The guard presses the button on the elevator, so I turn in the opposite direction and take the glass stairwell. When he doesn’t follow right away, I glance down, and a smirk pulls at my lips.
“Did I just discover the secret to not being followed with every step?” I tease loudly, staring at the crystal-clear reflection of my bare ass beneath my skirt in the see-through, yet mirrored glass beneath me. “Tell me, what would happen if you dared to follow?”
The man doesn’t even look my way, deciding to watch my every move from what must be considered a safe distance.
I reach the top of the stairwell, and a satisfied breath escapes me.
The sensation lasts all of two seconds as a guard appears from both the right and left, leaving me no option but to walk straight…right into my room’s waiting open doors.
I slam the door shut, tossing my purse to the floor and groan up at the ceiling.
“Damn, took you long enough.”
I nearly jump out of my skin, barely managing to keep in a scream, but I’ve got her feet swiped from beneath her, sending her falling to the floor, a small squeak escaping when I realize she’s taking me with her, her feet having accidently tangled with mine on her way down.
I’m millimeters away from wrapping my hand around her throat, fully intending to choke her ass out, when she starts laughing. My hand freezes.
“Okay, that was unexpected…but fun.” She shoves at my shoulders, but I drive my knee into her thigh, making her wince before moving of my own accord.
I glare at her. “Who the hell are you and why are you in my room?”
“I’m Katana.” She smiles, holding her hand out. “I’m Enzo’s other wife.”
Chapter
Seven
Boston
I blink and blink again, both of us still sitting on the hard floor.
I had to have heard her wrong, right? There’s no way she said what I think she said.
It takes her a few moments to realize I have zero intention of shaking her hand and she lowers it.
“Want to smoke?” she asks, reaching out and lifting a cigar off the end of my bed as if she didn’t just blow my fucking mind. “That’s why I snuck over. I was bored and figured you probably were too, so I came, but then you weren’t here. But now you are…unless you aren’t bored, and if you’re not I can totally go back to my room. I’m definitely going to get caught on my way back, though, or sooner, so maybe I could just smoke a little in here first?”
I can hardly keep up with her rambling; I’m too busy taking her in from head to perfect toes. Literally, she’s wearing no socks or shoes, and her toes are painted a bright shade of pink. Perfectly proportioned without flaws. Callous free. No scars.
From this angle, we look to be around the same in height, but visibly speaking, that would be where the similarities between us end.
While I'm a golden blonde, her hair is as black as night, shining with a deep burgundy hue when she turns, the light hitting it just right. Where mine reaches the middle of my back, hers is cropped short. It’s sleek and silky, lying just beneath her chin, millimeters away from meeting the skin of her elegant shoulders.
While my eyes are a softer shade of green, hers are full-on emerald, shiny and deep and framed by long lashes. She wears zero makeup on her face, yet her cheeks are bright with life and her lips a deep mauve in color. But it's her body that stirs up that familiar, stomach-wrenching awareness of inadequacy I know all too well. The more I look her over, the deeper that feeling grows.
For as long as I can remember, all I wanted to do was dance, but once I hit puberty and my body didn't change the way everyone else’s did, I wanted nothing more than to have the opposite of a ballerina's stereotypical stamp.
Unfortunately, I fit that particular mold, and in the event I suddenly wouldn't, I would do whatever it took to get it back - it was a twisted game I was the only player in. It didn’t matter that, logically speaking, my fifteen, seventeen, and nineteen-year-old body shouldn’t fit into the same size leotard I was fitted for at thirteen; I did what was necessary to make it happen anyway.