Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Chill,” he says dryly. “I’m not here to play peeping tom. I’m leaving some bandages and cream on the sink for your wrists from the rope burn.”
My heart swells at his words. He brought me cream and bandages? Who is this man? One minute he’s all sexy, kissing me like crazy in the club, and then the next, he’s mean and growly, threatening me. And now he’s being accommodating and sweet. He is such a contradiction.
After I finish showering and applying the cream and bandages to my burns, I get dressed in the clothes Ethan gave me. Before lying down, out of habit, I drop to my knees by the side of the bed, ready to say my prayers. Only, for the first time, I stop myself.
Rising back onto my feet, I sit on the edge of the bed and think about everything. Before I learned of my mother’s betrayal, before I saw my brother’s dead body on the floor, before I learned how evil this world is, I would’ve prayed to God, thanking him for everything he’s provided. But with all my new knowledge, I have no desire to thank him for anything. To converse with him in any way. And that thought makes my heart hurt. I was taught, it’s during our hardest times, we should seek the comfort of God, but I just can’t do it. It feels like the church and God and my mother are all wrapped up into one suffocating package, and in order to breathe, in order to live, I need to break free from all of them. I need to put myself first and live my life for me. It’s what Stephen wanted. It was his last wish before he died, and I’m going to do my best to honor him.
With the thought of Stephen on my mind, I lie down in bed and sink into the mattress. I pull the blankets up to my neck and allow myself to cry once more. I’m trying so hard to remain strong because I know it’s what he would’ve wanted. But every time I’m alone with my own thoughts, my heart breaks all over again. Every time I close my eyes, I see him lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood.
After a couple hours of crying, until I’m completely stuffed up and can barely breathe, I get up and blow my nose. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since this morning before I went to see my mom at the church. I consider whether I should leave the room to go in search of food and decide to risk it. If Ethan wanted to hurt me, he would’ve done it already. For whatever reason, he saved me from that Logan guy, so I need to trust him. Because right now, I don’t have many people I can trust.
I lift the covers, and my bare feet hit the soft, cream-colored carpeting. My initial thought is that I hope Ethan doesn’t get mad at me for snooping through his kitchen for something to eat, but my second thought is Oh well! He should’ve fed me, and I’m not going to be a prisoner here. None of this is my fault.
Tiptoeing out of the room, I tug on Ethan’s white shirt, which reaches the middle of my thighs. His boxers are rolled up to where they don’t fall, but because of having to roll them up, they might as well be another pair of underwear. They’re probably the shortest shorts I’ve ever worn. Blaire would be proud. Speaking of Blaire… I need to ask Ethan if I can use his phone so I can call her and let her know I’m okay. I should also call my dad, so he doesn’t worry, and the church so they know I won’t be coming back to work.
Holding on to the wooden banister, I walk down the spiral staircase, and when I get to the bottom, I’m able to look around freely. The walls are all a soft taupe and go up a good fifteen feet. There’s another fireplace, like the one in the bedroom, but this one is probably four times the size with a beautiful mantel running across it. I notice, though, there aren’t any photos anywhere. Tons of art, but no family pictures in frames. Nothing personal at all actually.
I’m tempted to look around the rest of the house—I bet all the other rooms are just as gorgeous—but don’t want to be rude. I’ll have to ask Ethan to give me a tour in the morning. I picture his scowl when I ask him and giggle. He’s so darn broody, except for earlier when he laughed—and what a sexy laugh it was.
As I walk past the dining room I saw earlier, I look up and see a big venetian-style chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s decorated with hundreds of teardrop crystals, creating a dazzling focal point in the room. It’s beautiful and elegant and I can’t fathom why Ethan would live in a home like this. He seems more like a top floor-penthouse-bachelor pad kind of guy.