Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
My laugh is real. Easy. I like Ian. He knows Shep. Knows how to push his buttons. Knows there's something unusual about our arrangement.
I'm not sure how much he knows, but it's enough he's helping us convince Jeff, not fighting for the truth.
"Please," Shep says. "There isn't any coffee in the world as dark as my soul. But I wouldn't expect you to know your beans."
Ian holds up his cup of tea as if to toast.
I raise mine to meet him.
Shep shakes his head how ridiculous. It's sweet. Loving. Like we're a real couple having a normal dinner with friends.
"Sounds like an invitation to Hawaii to me," Ian says. "Tour every Island looking for Kona coffee as dark as your fiancé's soul."
"I have to agree. It's not possible." My eyes meet Shep's. God, it's hard looking at him after that. I'm still buzzing. "But it would be fun to try."
"Think about it, Jasmine," Jeff interrupts. "Marcus and I own factories all over the world. He insisted on sending the two of you on a tour of one. Our treat. Think about where you'd like to go."
I guess this is a perk of marrying a rich man. The world is my oyster. I have to get used to it.
After dinner, we take a cab back to Shep's apartment. Apparently, he gave Lock and Key the night off. Apparently, he wanted privacy at home.
"Don't they live with you?" I ask.
"Key has a room, yes," he says. "But she enjoys nightlife too."
"Really?" It's hard to imagine his buttoned-up assistant tearing up the dance floor. But then I'm sure it's hard to imagine me touching myself in the coat room. At least, for people who see me in my assistant gear.
"Yes. She loves jazz. Why? Would you like to attend a show?" His eyes meet mine. His voice stays curious. Like he really is interested in my feelings about jazz. Like he really does want to find an activity that will please me.
"Maybe. I can't say I know much about the genre." Or music, in general. I grew up on Mom and Dad's favorites. They were always exposing themselves to American culture, so they could feel more assimilated. The old and the new. Somehow, that ended up being some mix of the Beatles, the Beach Boys, and disco.
Lots and lots of disco.
Seriously, we could run a roller rink with all the disco Dad owns.
"Dad mostly listens to ABBA," I say.
"Really? Did you take him to see Mama Mia?"
"I did." I smile at the memory of our cheap theater seats. It was the first time, the only time, I saw him captivated by the stage. I'm sure it was just the familiar songs, but it still felt right, connecting over something I love so deeply. "He adored it. The movies too. The first. He didn't like the second as much. He wanted new songs. Though he did love the setting. He was surprised by how beautiful Greece was."
"Was he?"
"You have to see the movie to understand. It's all sun and sea and beautiful white houses. Like Greece is the happiest, easiest, safest place in the world."
"You liked the movie?" He helps me out of the car. For a moment, we're on the street outside his apartment on a beautiful May evening. The air is still warm. The breeze is light. It even smells like spring.
For a moment, we're a normal couple, coming home after a date, ready to kiss goodbye.
Then I reach for my key and realize I don't have one. I'm still leaving the apartment when he allows, returning when he says okay.
That can't be an oversight. More likely, he's testing me. Letting me prove I can behave with this much leash before he offers more.
I turn to the sky. That New York blue. A beautiful shade that only exists here. The light pollution dulls the stars, but it makes the sky so gorgeous.
"Do you mind if I take a walk?" I want to say fuck off, I'll walk wherever I want, but that's a luxury I don't have. I know better than to bite the hand that feeds.
If it was just me, my needs, my desire for a safe place to rest my head, I might do it.
But Shep is paying for Dad's treatment at home. Dad has Mariah three shifts a week. An aide, no doubt one who likes Dan Brown less, keeps an eye on him the rest of the time.
He's safe. That's what matters.
I motion to the river, half a dozen blocks away. "I need to clear my head."
His eyes pass over me slowly. "You shouldn't wear that alone, this late at night."
"This is a nice neighborhood."
"I don't care. I don't like it."
My cheeks flame. My chest too. I shouldn't like him being protective as much as I do. I should find it annoying. Imposing.