Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“In a luxury hotel?”
“You could’ve been anything,” he retorts tersely. “But you wouldn’t listen to your mother.”
Because my mother listens to you.
My throat is suddenly tight, a wash of acid aversion sluicing up from my stomach. Words burn and boil in my throat, ready to explode from my mouth, whether I want them to or not, when, under the table, Oliver settles his hand on my thigh.
“I think you’re missing the point, Todd. Eve doesn’t want to be anything but what she is—who she is. That in itself is beyond admirable, isn’t it?”
Todd opens his mouth, but gets no further than a complaining huff.
“Not everyone is driven by money, and so many of us wired that way do so by hustle, by insincerity and deceit. But the people who truly keep this world spinning are people like this amazing woman.” He turns to me, his beautiful eyes so fierce. “She nurtures, she heals, and on behalf of others, she kicks arse when it’s needed. I won’t sit quietly as you denigrate her choices. You should be honoring her for the woman she is, not griping about what she is not.”
My heart swells with an emotion I find hard to contain as the table falls deathly quiet. Then, in a show of manners particular to only him, Oliver calls the server’s attention as he asks, “More brandy, anyone?”
Chapter 38
OLIVER
I wake suddenly in the dark to the sound of my hammering heart. Disconcerted and not yet fully in the land of the living, I stretch my arm across the bed, reaching for my anchor. My Eve. My . . .
Something brushes my face. I’m certain it’s not Eve’s hair because it doesn’t remotely smell like flowers. “Jesus Christ, Bo! Get your arse out of my face.”
The dog’s head jerks up, his eyes shining in the darkness. He gives in to an unhurried, tremorous stretch before jumping up and shaking his head.
“Ergh!” Saliva hits my face. “Get the fuck down, dog!” He just stares at me. Swallowing my frustration, I modulate my tone to tactical negotiation levels. “Bo, get down off the bed. There’s a good dog.” I’m not sure that’s true. It’s more that he’s good at being a dog. But he makes a noise that I’m sure is triumph before he launches himself to the floor, his toenails tip-tapping all the way out of the room.
In the darkness, I strain to hear if Eve is near.
What a night. And what a pair of fuckwits Eve has for parents. From the moment they arrived, it was obvious their presence was to be a trial, not a comfort. Eve’s whole demeanor screamed anxious around them, and when she didn’t hold back, it was more like she couldn’t help herself.
I’d called down to the concierge to book the chef’s experience, thinking it would distract them and fill any taut conversational spaces. Only, the reservation had already been taken for that night, along with all the nights between now and the new year, I was pleased to hear.
Natalia at the concierge had explained that tonight’s booking had been made for an anniversary, that the party were staying the night in the hotel. So in a display of . . . well, I don’t quite know what the fuck that was, or what madness possessed me, I took the guests’ room number, knocked on their door, and introduced myself. Then I offered to exchange their chef’s experience for an all-inclusive week’s stay in our sister hotel. In Saint Kitts.
It had even been worth the trade for a while, until her arse of a stepfather began to tear her down. I couldn’t stop myself from getting involved.
“Oh, fuck it,” I mutter, flinging back the duvet. I’m going to find my girl.
EVIE
“Are you gonna take that shot?”
I look up, dragged back to the present and out of my messy head.
“I went to sleep with my eyes open,” I say, smiling across at Bob, the night porter.
“I thought you were studying which was the best shot.” He turns back to the beer tap he’s tinkering with. “I’d pot the red in the middle pocket, myself.”
“Thanks.” I pick up my glass, the whisky warming my throat and my chest. It’s an acquired taste, whisky. It’s also a taste I’m not sure I’ve yet acquired, but it’s better than the warm milk I’d convinced myself might help me sleep.
I’d tossed and turned after Oliver dropped off to sleep, but given there was no milk in the suite’s kitchen, I thought I might sneak into the hotel kitchen instead. At least until I found Bob in the hotel residents’ bar, complete with a pool table. Although, according to Bob, the hotel’s owner prefers billiards. I didn’t mention I could shake the owner awake to check.
I set my glass on a nearby table, having already been frowned at for putting it on the edge of the pool—billiards—table. It’s gone two in the morning, and I pick up my cue and the square of blue chalk as I distract myself from the thoughts I don’t want. I take aim, and the balls go thwack as they fly across the baize, the red ball tipping into the middle pocket.