Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
The trunk is slammed shut right before the driver gets in. “Do you need to stop anywhere on the way?” he asks over his shoulder, and I just shake my head, looking out the window. Luckily, they are tinted so no one can see inside. He stops at the gate, and it opens slowly, the paparazzi standing at the side of the gate waiting to snap pictures of us driving away.
“Please make sure no one is following us before you head to my house,” I instruct him and he nods.
“We are going to be changing cars in ten minutes,” he says, and I look over at Gabriella, who gasps.
“Is that necessary?” she asks, and I nod.
“I don’t know, but I’m not willing to chance your safety, so this is what I’m going to do,” I inform her, and I feel my body go tense. “It’s a whole different world now.” My thumb rubs her arm. “We aren’t in Dallas, where there are a couple of pictures here and there. We are in LA.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes softly. “Maybe it would have been better if I met you here.”
“Wasn’t an option,” I tell her, kissing her head. We pull into an underground parking structure while security stops three cars behind us. We switch cars and drive out of another exit. Only when we are in the other car, and I see that no one is following us do I sigh with relief.
“You can relax now,” she says softly, holding my hand. I bring her hand to my lips, kissing it before looking back out the window.
He stops at the gate, where the security guard comes out and asks for my identification. Taking my wallet out of my jacket pocket, I hand it to him. He writes down something before walking over and pressing the button for the gate to open.
We drive in, stopping in front of my house. “Where are we?” she asks when I open the door and step out.
“My house,” I tell her as I walk toward the glass door with cast iron decorations on it. I toss my keys on the glass table on the side with a vase of fresh white roses in the foyer. The guy comes in and leaves the bags in the entranceway. I close the door, thanking him, before turning and making my way into the house. You don’t really see into the house with the big white wall not showing you anything.
“This isn’t your house,” she says beside me as we walk from the entranceway inside the house. The lights are on in the house, and the back wall of windows is pushed open. The sound of the ocean waves hitting the shore can be heard.
“It is,” I assure her, taking in the house as she looks around.
“What happened to your other house?” she asks, unsure of where to go.
“Sold it after you sent me my shit,” I tell her the truth. “Truth be told, I wanted to set the place on fire, but my father said I’d get more money if I sold it.” I shrug. She takes a step, and she looks around. I can see the shock on her face when she sees all the little touches that I had put into place. “I bought this house when we were in the South.” Her eyes go wide.
“But you never left,” she says, flabbergasted.
“I saw pictures,” I inform her, and she throws her hands up. “Besides, I had my father come out and look at it. My only stipulation was that it was on the beach because I know how much you love sitting out and listening to the water.” I smile at her. “When I saw the pictures, all I could do was see us walking down the beach hand in hand.” She puts her hand in front of her mouth. “Everything came furnished, but I wanted it to feel like home, so I sent them pictures of the house in Dallas,” I tell her as she notices the same throw pillows and blankets on the couch.
“Just like that,” she says, looking around and walking over to the fireplace mantel, where she picks up a picture frame. “This picture.” She holds up the frame, and it’s the one they took of us at the game.
“It’s my favorite,” I tell her the truth as she puts it down and then picks up another one, this one of her and Abigail. “I wanted you to feel at home,” I tell her nervously. She looks at me and then back at another picture of us taken at a Sunday lunch, my arms wrapped around her from the back. “Welcome to our home, Gabriella.”
THIRTY-ONE
GABRIELLA
I feel the bed dip on my side before the kiss on my neck. “I’m leaving,” he whispers, and I just grumble before blinking my eyes open. “Call me when you get up.” He bends and kisses my lips, but I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer to me, making him laugh.