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)
On their end, they said they’re concerned things have gotten out of hand.
And they’re right. Things have seriously gotten out of hand.
In the end, though, they accepted my decision to see it through. They wanted me to know I had a choice. Always. And that they love me. Always. I also made sure they knew how much I loved them, too. More than anything. More than my own safety, kind of kidnapped, private jet ride, tied up to a bed, dinner with a broody super rich dude who happens to be insanely hot, muscly, and also my husband kind of anything.
And anyhow, how rich is Darius anyway, and the family as a whole, if he can just agree to shell out a million bucks without even batting an eye? Maybe he doesn’t bat his eyes. Maybe he’s secretly dying inside, but I don’t think so. He’s probably sleeping just fine right now. He probably hasn’t had a single second of regret over this. He’s likely not at all worried about his company now. I know the development corporation is one of the biggest in the States and a big player internationally, but seriously? I’m still in shock.
Then again, Darius would have paid me out of his personal funds, not from company money. I mean, he has a private jet. How could I have forgotten that detail?
I’m too hot. The sheets are like six million thread count, and the bed is all old, and the house is old times a hundred and extra creaky, and even though the security is probably insanely good, I don’t find it reassuring. Or, maybe I don’t find it reassuring that the security is so good because they’re here to keep bad guys out and keep me in, which makes me feel like a prisoner, even though I’m not.
Eventually, I toss the expensive blankets aside, slide out of the huge bed, and walk to the window. I had chosen a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms and a tank top. I was surprised to find normal-looking clothes in the dresser. Things I would have worn at home. No gold-plated crap or silky stuff that I had to put on.
I wrap my arms around myself and pull back the heavy red drape from the window. The thing weighs a ton and is probably made out of some fabric that came straight from a castle in the Middle Ages, preserved through extremely expensive means because when you have that much money, why not?
The moon is full, and the exterior yard, grounds, or whatever they’re called, is bathed in silver light so bright that it looks like it could be early morning or late evening out there. But it’s not. I know because I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, and it’s telling me it’s four in the morning.
I always sleep badly when there’s a full moon. I guess whatever it does to the world with all its magic works on me, too.
I’m not going to explore the grounds at this hour just to ease my insomnia because that would probably set off alarms and cause chaos, but I do remember Darius said there was a pool. I like swimming. If I can find it, a middle-of-the-night dip wouldn’t be such a bad thing. When I was looking for pajamas earlier, I found a drawer that contained a bunch of bathing suits—bikinis and one-piece suits. No thong-type bottoms, thank god. I guess Darius isn’t an asshole because I’m sure his brother would have included more than a few.
I flip Bradford the bird, aiming it at the moon like people aim lovelorn sighs, hoping their lover is out there doing the same thing at the same moment. I know Bradford isn’t flipping me off, though. He’s probably sleeping like a damn baby, too, because he also got what he wanted.
I walk over, switch on the lights, and pull open the dresser drawer that I know holds swimsuits. A one-piece with flowers and stripes and an open back should do nicely. It’s rather inventive and tasteful, and I’m annoyed that it’s something I’d pick out for myself.
I wrench off the wedding and engagement rings and set them on top of the dresser. I can’t bring myself to not-so-accidentally lose them at the bottom of the pool, even though that would be a real delight.
The one-piece suit happens to fit perfectly, and it doesn’t give me camel toe. I might be petite, and I know that’s usually a tall person problem, but believe me, it can still happen. After I’ve changed and inspected myself in the dresser’s mirror, I spend the next thirty minutes wandering through the house, trying to sniff out the scent of chlorine, which will usually lead a person straight to any pool.
I get on the right path by accident, pushing open a heavy wooden door, and this time, voila. Humid air hits me like a blast of dense heat. It smells salty, and I realize there aren’t any chemicals used here. This pool probably tastes like the ocean, not a cleaning cabinet. I feel like I’ve stepped into another land. There is greenery everywhere, and the walls have been painted with murals of trees, tropical vines, and fronds. There are actual fake palm trees in here, and even some real ones, too. So many other leafy plants and ferns take up the beds that it looks like a tropical oasis. Talk about setting up the atmosphere or the aura or whatever.