Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“I work at a gallery in Mayfair.” I keep my answer deliberately vague. As the area has dozens of galleries, there is so much less chance of him just wandering in. “And you?”
“I help my father with the estates,” says the future lord or baron of… I don’t really care. “Getting into the role before he pops off this mortal coil.”
“Of course,” I reply with a nod that feels about a foot long. Exaggerated and slow. I suddenly feel strange, and my hand seems huge as I try to bring it to my temple. Huge and with a strange kaleidoscope tail of dozens of fingers. “Oof.”
“You okay there, Izzy?” When I look up, the concern on Giles’s face seems to have been imprinted on a balloon.
“I … I think I need some air.” I shove my glass at him, finding that my feet have also grown. They feel huge and uncooperative. “I feel …” Dizzy? That’s not the word. Unreal? There’s something wrong, yet I don’t feel at all panicked.
“Keep it with you,” he says, ignoring my champagne glass as he slides his hand across my back. “You look thirsty. Take another sip, then we’ll take a walk around the gardens, eh? Some brisk, March air will sort you out.”
“Yes,” I think I reply as I swallow, my tongue thick and woolly. I haven’t had that much to drink, have I?
The entrance hall is a crush, grotesque and gargoyle expressions zoom in and out of my vision like a slow-motion carnival scene. Everything seems amplified—braying voices and deafening music, yet internally, I feel the opposite. I feel numb, and my brain feels sluggish, my every movement taking effort. The only part of me that feels at all animated is my heart as it ricochets from my ribs.
“Let’s get you somewhere quieter.”
“Yes.” At least, that’s what it sounded like in my head. I need space. And a moment. Somewhere to gather myself.
“Good girl.” There’s a note in Giles’s tone that I don’t like as his hand tightens around my waist. He takes the glass from my hand, and then we’re suddenly halfway up the first flight of stairs.
“Is she okay?” I hear a woman inquire.
“She’s had a little too much to drink,” Giles offers in that jolly tone of his. I know he’s not right, but I can’t coordinate my tongue and brain to dispute it. “She lives here. I’m a friend of the family. I’m just taking her to her room.”
I don’t…
“Come on, Izzy. Nearly there.” If we’re going to my old room, maybe that’s good. I just need a moment. “Up the apples and pears,” he cajoles, the cockney rhyming slang sounding odd delivered in such plummy tones. My feet falter as we reach a half landing where the stairs turn back on themselves.
“We can take a little break,” he says, pressing my back to the wall. “Here, take a little sip of this.” He presses the rim of the glass to my lips. “It’ll make things easier.”
“Easier for who?”
I didn’t say that, did I? No, my voice isn’t so deep. Though I know someone whose is. Niko. I spot his fair head a little lower on the previous flight of stairs.
“This is nothing you need to worry about,” Giles mutters, lowering the glass. “I have this in hand.”
“I see you do.” His eyes dip to where Giles holds me, and when they lift again, his expression is murderous. “But I am not so familiar with the rhyme.” Suddenly, his accent is anything but English. “Up the apples and pears? I think you are referring to the stairs.”
“What’s it got to do with—”
“And into the garden shed? That’s the next part of the rhyme, yes? Bed?”
“Yes, she’s had too much to drink,” Giles blusters.
“And you thought you’d helpfully put her to bed. You’re going to tell me that’s perfectly acceptable, aren’t you? That there is nothing nefarious here.”
“Nefarious is more your line,” Giles mutters in an undertone, his fingers suddenly gripping my waist as he turns us both.
“Then wouldn’t it be wise to let me take it from here.”
Light footsteps sound on the stairs before Giles mutters something that sounds like, “Fuck off back to Russia.” Then he squeals.
I find myself dropping, falling, though I’m caught before I hit the landing. Careful hands turn me, seating me on the bottom of the next flight of stairs.
“Open your eyes, Izzy.” Fingers stroke my cheek as I struggle to peel my eyelids apart. “Fuck.” I hear his sharp curse as I close them again. “Try to stay awake, darling.” I try because there’s something compelling about him, but they feel weighted down.
“You’ve broken my fucking fingers!” Giles squeals.
“I’ll break more than that. What have you given her?” Niko growls. “She’s smacked the fuck out.” A heavy clunk sounds, and I peel my heavy lids open to see Giles’s head being bashed against the wall in time to Niko words. “What the fuck was it?”