Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
If only she knew. Warmer, my sweet little wife. You’re getting so much warmer.
She pauses, and I can only imagine what’s going on in her head. She seems to have a very vivid imagination. Then again, she’s just been through a rather hellish experience compounded by a fake marriage agreement and a bait-and-switch. The stuff of romances and fairy tales that I don’t believe in. The stuff of nonsense. The same kind of nonsense that got into my grandma’s head and brought us to this fine mess we’ve found ourselves in right now.
“This house isn’t a fortress. It’s just an old house at the edge of the city. An old, huge, and rather rambling house that I liked, so I bought it.”
She pauses, and I can see the wheels turning. “Are you agoraphobic?”
“What’s that?”
“In this case, it essentially means you’d rather not leave the house,” Hans fills in for me.
“No. No, I can leave here just fine. I’m not afraid of that.”
Her delicate little nose—heaven help me, I’ve never found a nose to be cute before, but hers definitely is—wrinkles. “Then what?”
I get off the edge of the bed and walk around to the foot since she can see me clearly there without turning her head. I think it’s better if she looks at me straight on for this. Might as well have it all out in the open. Maybe if I give her this, she’ll trust me and stay put for the next six months and make my life that much easier.
A bit of a headache now will save me endless migraines later. Very worth it, in my books. I wasn’t kidding when I accused my brother of marrying me off to a spitfire. I was proud of Everleigh when she tried to stomp on my brother’s foot twice and elbow him, also twice, to get away from him. Anyone who has had to spend a few minutes in Bradford’s presence would understand the sentiment. The Lion. What a fucking joke that is. He’s more like the annoying kitten looking for scraps and a bowl of milk to mooch off of. Not that I have anything against kittens. I like cats. I’m just not overly fond of my brother. It’s even more irksome that I need him.
“Hans?”
He gives me a once over, and I know it is his way of expressing extreme doubt without moving his facial muscles or speaking. I return the look, and he gets out of the chair and walks over. Then, he stands in front of me, blocking Everleigh’s view as he slips the black suit jacket from my shoulders and then unbuttons my shirt for me. He takes the jacket with him while I peel the shirt away myself because fuck it if I’m going to treat Hans like my personal valet. He helps me with what I can’t do so people don’t know I can’t do it.
“Gah!” Everleigh gasps and wrenches her arms against the bonds as I slip my shirt off. I remove my right arm first because I can tug with my left, and then the rest comes easy. With a breath, I let the shirt fall to the floor. Unlike my brother, I don’t care whether my clothes are or aren’t tailored. I have Hans buy something if I need it. It’s easy to locate suits, shoes, and whatever else I might want. I suppose he buys the best, but that’s because he has good taste and an unlimited budget to do it with. “Why are you undressing?” Everleigh shrieks. “Oh my god, you’re undressing! Help!” she screams. “Someone help me!”
“Stop!” I hold my left index finger to my lips. “Stop and open your eyes and look. I’m trying to show you something. Establish a baseline of trust. You won’t believe me otherwise.”
She freezes, and her eyes flutter open. When she sees me, she makes a second gasp, a shocked inhale, and then a noise of regret in her throat.
“Yeah, it’s ugly. I know.” I let her see my arm. Something that I’ve let very few people know about.
“W—what happened?” Wide eyes, parted lips, and shock. But not disgust. Everleigh is no stranger to the hard parts of life, it would seem, given her desperation to enter into a marriage of convenience. She’s well acquainted with pain and sacrifice, especially if what Bradford said is true.
I grasp the footboard at the end of the poster bed. They’re rather handy when tying someone up, though when I bought the house, it was fully furnished, mostly with old, heavy, and antique things. I didn’t care one way or the other. Now, I’m rather thankful that someone either just liked beds like this or had a bit of a kink going on.
“Car accident. Eight years ago now. I have limited range of motion in my arm, but that comes and goes.” It doesn’t hurt so much now until I have my physical therapy sessions, which I still do once a week in hopes that this shit will improve. But it never does. “The car rolled. It flipped and rolled and rolled and rolled. I was the passenger, not the driver.” The scarring continues down the right side of my torso for a ways, but then it ends there. My shoulder and arm are definitely the worst of it. “Sixteen surgeries. My family only knows about the first few. I told them I was fine after.” Hans, however, knows the whole truth. My doctors and physical therapists know the truth, too, but that’s basically it. And here it comes. The real reason I’ve had to strip down and humiliate and expose myself. “I’m a recluse because I can’t stand getting into cars. When I need to go somewhere, I have a helicopter that takes me to my private jet or a smaller plane or whatever I choose, and I go from there. Never anywhere that I can’t walk to.”