Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
He stands and walks toward the door, and I sink into the bubbles, relaxed and happy, but I’m aware of the problems we have hidden from, the way they lurk just beyond the present. Eric does, too. It’s why he’s not with me right now. I cut my bath short and dry off, pulling on a pink silk gown Eric picked out today, and a matching robe. With my feet in slippers, I walk into the dark bedroom and go still.
Even before I see him, I feel Eric in the room. My eyes reach to the corner of the room, where he sits in an oversized chair, and I am certain there’s a Rubik’s cube in his hand. He’s back in the real world now, strategizing his next move, our next move, but I believe it’s more than that. I believe the numbers torment him, and keep him up at night.
I cross the room and curl up next to him. “How often do you stay up all night?”
“Too often.”
“Right here in this chair.”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess I’ll be sleeping here often.”
He sits there for several silent beats and then reaches behind him, grabs a blanket and pulls it over me. I smile. He likes that I’m with him. And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Chapter one hundred eleven
Harper
The next morning, I wake to the buzzing of an alarm, immediately aware of Eric’s hard body next to mine, of me still pressed to his side. He shifts and reaches for his phone and silences the noise. “Damn,” he murmurs, sitting up straighter. “I fell asleep.” He sounds befuddled by this information, but I am pleased. My brilliant, amazing, gifted man is too troubled, and I can only hope I allow him some calm in his mind. Because no one else will. His phone is already blowing up with text messages, which tells me his silent mode goes off with his alarm. “And, of course,” he says, “I have about twenty text messages.”
“I’ll put on the coffee.” I kiss him and when I would stand, he captures my hand and stills the action, running his fingers through my tousled hair, tenderness in the action that steals my breath.
“I don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs softly.
It occurs to me that he might actually feel I disrupted his process of problem solving. “Is that a good or bad thing?”
“Life is better with you in it,” he declares, his finger tracing my jawline.
Warmth spreads through me with those words, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel as if I’m where I belong. “Eric,” I begin, but his phone begins to ring, and he grits his teeth. “I need to find out what is going on.”
I nod, kiss him on the cheek, and then whisper in his ear, “I love you,” before darting away, feeling as if sunshine is on my shoulder.
With my phone in hand, I hurry downstairs, get the coffee started, and then check my messages, only to note a missed call from yet another unknown caller. It has to be Gigi, but there is no voicemail. In other words, Walker will already be aware of the call, and there is nothing I can do at this point that matters aside from wait for the caller to try me again.
There’s also a text from Mia, just checking on me, and we talk about and forth by text as I wait on the coffee to brew. It’s actually nice to have someone to chat with and tell about my shopping trip yesterday and at least live the short fantasy that is perhaps what would be normalcy in this new life of mine. A chat with a friend and coffee with the man I love. It’s a bittersweet symphony as I know the calls and messages Eric is juggling at this very moment, says my sunshine will soon be suffocated by heavily burdened storm clouds.
The beeping of the coffee pot tells me the brew is complete and I shake off my thoughts, and steel myself for whatever news Eric will deliver when I return upstairs. We must endure the turbulence to find steady air. I learned that on the flight over here. With two cups of coffee in hand, I travel to the bedroom and enter just as Eric is hanging up from a phone call. I hand him a cup. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
Not baby. The gentler moments, lost in each other, have officially passed.
I wonder what that call was about and I sink onto the cushion next to him. “Any news?”
“My father remains stable. No news on the birth certificate. And Blake tracked the guy who poisoned my father. He left the city and disappeared, which only supports the theory that he was a professional.”
My brows knit. “Oh. I’m not sure if that is good or bad.”