Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
We stayed like that as we drove through the crowded streets of New York City. The city was bright even in the middle of the night. I was in awe of all the tall buildings. It was true I was from Chicago but in the suburbs. I didn’t often go into the city growing up and soaked in all the sights along the way.
When we turned into a parking garage, there had been nothing to indicate a hospital. But what did I know? He drove by several open spots as if he knew where he was going and parked in a numbered reserved spot. Maybe it was a private hospital, I thought to myself.
He backed in and removed his hand from mine to maneuver. The loss of contact impacted me more than expected. How could I feel so deeply for this man? We hadn’t known each other that long. Yet, I’d had months to dream about seeing him again. And I hadn’t been wrong about our connection.
Once the car was off, I followed his lead and exited the car. He moved with purpose to an elevator that wasn’t marked with any signs or notifications I would expect from a hospital. I kept my questions to myself and assumed all would be revealed soon enough.
And it was. He hit a floor button, and we went nearly to the top of the tall building. We exited to a hallway that had nothing to do with a hospital.
“I thought she was in the hospital,” I said.
He paused and turned to face me in the hallway. “Like I said, she was in the hospital. She checked herself out and said she wanted to die at home.”
That left me gaping as I stood there a second longer as he pivoted and headed to a door at the end of the hall. I caught up with him just as a housekeeper, who wore a black button-up dress with a white collar and white apron, opened the door.
“Mr. Moore,” she greeted.
“Lydia,” he said and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “How is she?”
“Is that Matty?” came a voice from out of view until a stunning, leggy blonde came barreling into Shawn and wrapped herself around him.
A second later, a very attractive man with an amused expression stepped into view. “Babe, we should let them come inside.”
The foyer was full of people. The blonde pulled away, and I noticed for the first time her red-rimmed eyes. The man took her hand, and they stepped out of the foyer around a corner. The maid ushered us in and the opulence of the place came into view. Above, there was an enormous chandelier in the center of the foyer as we stepped onto marble floors. We turned to the left and a bank of windows lined the walls on the right, giving a stunning view of the city.
The room we entered had to be a sitting room with dainty furniture that was fit for a castle. Before I could introduce myself as the housekeeper disappeared from sight, an older man with a full head of gray hair entered.
“The prodigal son returns,” the man, whom I assumed was Shawn’s father, said.
The air in the room suddenly got thick as everyone collectively held their breaths.
“I’m not here for you,” Shawn said. His frown was so deep it could have been permanently etched there.
The elder man let out a humorless laugh. “You have no respect. You show up after years without a word.”
“You know why,” Shawn said.
“Because I borrowed the money I earned.”
“You’d given the money to me. It was no longer your money. If you needed it, I would have gladly given it to you. But instead, you stole it.”
The older man's color took on a reddish hue. “It was my money,” he shouted.
The blonde jumped between Shawn and his father, who looked ready to smack his son. “Dad,” she said, clearing up my thoughts that she was Shawn’s twin he’d mentioned.
“No. He shows up, with his hair looking like that—” I glanced at his sister. She was a natural blonde, as her brows matched her hair unless she had an excellent stylist. Shawn’s hair was brown and likely not natural, given his father’s comments. “—and brings someone here without a word. You know your mother is in no condition to receive outside guests.”
I could totally respect that and wanted to flee. There were serious issues between father and son, and I felt like an interloper.
“She’s not a guest,” Shawn said. Though he hadn’t raised his voice, menace dripped in every word.
“Then who is she?” his father demanded.
My eyes bounced between the pair as they traded harsh words. “My fiancée.”
His father’s laser focus landed on me, and he looked as if at a loss for words. I certainly was, but he wasn’t. “Is she even—”