Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Oh no.
He was handsome before. When he smiles, he’s devastating.
“I’m not marrying you,” I mouth at him.
His smile only deepens.
Somehow, I don’t think he believes me.
Chapter Five
Edison
Ben arrives with twenty grocery bags full of takeout containers from the local delicatessen and I’ve never seen people eat so fast in my life. The children shove fistfuls of French fries into their mouths and chomp on burgers, not bothering to wipe their mouths. Of course, my future wife doesn’t sit down and eat, she flits around the tiny dining table making sure the children get enough down their gullets.
That is, until I hook an arm around her waist, pull her down onto my lap and hold a grilled cheese sandwich to her lips. “Eat.”
“I just want to make sure—”
“No.”
“Eat, Blessing!” one of the young boys yells from the other end of the table.
I’m going to give him a hundred dollars. Maybe a thousand.
Blessing is still trying to wiggle off my lap. “I just want to make sure Paul doesn’t choke—he eats too fast—”
“Angel,” I beg into her hair, the clawing misery becoming too much to bear. “Please.”
She blinks at me, surprised by my agonized tone. Doesn’t she realize it’s killing me slowly the longer she goes without food in her stomach? I’ve been living a mile away from her all this time. I could have been caring for her, but I didn’t even know she existed. Knowing I laid my head down on the pillow every night and slept while she suffered is going to haunt me for the rest of me life. “Very well,” she murmurs, still looking at me curiously. She sinks her teeth into the grilled cheese and moans, her eyes glazing over. Taking it out of my hands, she eats the half of a sandwich in five bites, covering her mouth as she chews.
My gratification knows no bounds.
Taking care of her is more intoxicating than I could have imagined.
She doesn’t even need my coat anymore, because my body heat is sustaining her.
This sense of responsibility forces me to recall the prior evening when I fantasized about her, calling myself Daddy. I am fulfilling that role now, petting her hair and wiping crumbs from her mouth with a napkin. Holding a milkshake to her lips to drink, my pulse speeding up when bliss crosses her masterpiece of a face. Her head tilts back and I zero in on the tiny pulse at the base of her neck, wishing we were alone so I could lick it.
So I could care for her in other ways.
Is it our age difference—twelve years—that makes me feel this way? Like her protector, her provider, her…Daddy? No, I don’t think it’s our ages. This privilege that throbs inside of me is only for her. It would be for her, no matter her age. It simply is. As soon as I saw her pass my house, I became the man who makes her whole. And she became the girl who makes me whole.
Now I just have to convince her of that.
Good thing I’m an expert at making deals.
“Hey kids.” I gesture at my assistant. “As soon as you’re done eating, Ben is going to bring you outside to play soccer for a while. While I speak to Blessing.”
“I am?” Ben squawks, mid chew.
In lieu of responding, I give him a hard look. He still has a long way to go before I forgive him for last night. Feeding me unverified information about Blessing. It’s my fault for listening, sure, but I’m not reasonable when it comes to her. At all. Therefore, he’s still in the dog house.
“We don’t have anything to talk about privately,” Blessing informs me.
“I beg to differ,” I say, standing up with her cradled in my arms. “Kids, which way is Blessing’s bedroom?”
“She sleeps in the attic,” they call back to me.
Anger wraps its hands around my throat. “In the fucking what?”
“Language!” Blessing gasps.
I grind my teeth together and storm toward the staircase leading upstairs, daring her to struggle with a sharp glance. We haven’t even gotten to the attic yet, and my chest already wants to explode. “No,” I say adamantly. “Please tell me you haven’t been living in the attic space. I won’t survive that knowledge.”
“It’s really not so bad.”
There’s no way to hide my skepticism. Three narrow, treacherous staircases later, we reach a ladder. Mentally preparing myself for what I’m going to see in the attic, I settle Blessing onto her feet. “After you.”
“You go first.” She crosses her dainty arms. “I don’t want you to look up my night shirt.”
“I am absolutely going to look up your night shirt.”
I’m sure she believes her frown is terrifying, but it’s adorable. And a relief. The meal has brought the color back to her cheeks and she no longer seems listless and weak.