Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
The room with windows that looked out onto the rugged seascape. The room that always had fresh flowers sitting on various surfaces. Recipe books were lined up along the counters, the hammered white backsplash peeking out from behind them.
All of my appliances were sleek black, top of the line, worth obscene amounts of money. The kitchen of my dreams.
“I still have a key.” Nathan held up the silver object which glinted in the light.
I frowned as I hung my purse up on a hook beside the light switches.
A key. Yes, I’d given him a key. Not because I’d wanted to but because he’d pressured me to. Because he’d given me a key to his apartment, so why would I withhold one from him? Because we were meant to be spending the rest of our lives together.
It had filled me with a sour unease, giving him unregulated access to a home that was my sanctuary. Was mine alone. A home that I had worked for, that contained my blood, sweat and tears. The first safe home I’d had in my entire life.
“You need to give me that key back,” I said, settling myself on the other side of the island, desperate for distance between us.
I hadn’t seen Nathan since I broke off the engagement.
He looked good, I supposed.
His short blond hair was combed over to perfection, not a strand out of place. Tanned skin was smooth except for the slight wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. The cornflower blue eyes that were nowhere near as arresting as the translucent ones that had landed on me today.
That had branded me today, it seemed.
Nathan was still wearing his suit, blue tie loosened slightly. His jacket hung on the back of the stool, indicating he’d been here a while.
The whisky glass in front of him also hinted that.
“We need to sort things out,” he countered.
I closed my eyes for a second, trying to find the strength, the patience. This was not out of the blue. Nathan had been calling, texting, sending flowers and gifts trying to ‘win me back.’ Except you can’t win someone back who had decided they didn’t want to marry you.
You respected that decision. Maybe you hated or resented that person for the rest of your life. Maybe you spent thousands of dollars on therapy to repair the damage they did. Maybe you took a trip to Europe to rediscover yourself and fall in love with some Italian. You did not constantly call them, send them gifts, and act as if their decision was some small disagreement that could be rectified. Like their decisions meant nothing.
“There is nothing to sort out,” I told him, opening my eyes and rolling my shoulders back. “We broke up,” I said firmly, meeting his eyes.
He sighed, much like he always had when he’d found me slightly irritating, when me exerting my opinion on something was an inconvenience.
“No, we didn’t. We had a fight.”
I gaped at him. “Me calling off our wedding is not a fight.” My words came out through gritted teeth. “Me calling off our wedding was me making a decision about my life which was long overdue. I’m sorry I didn’t make it earlier, I truly am. But I don’t want to be with you.”
Nathan narrowed his eyes at me, looking irritated but not like he was getting the point. Nathan with his blue eyes, his expensive suit, his looks and family name was not entirely used to people saying he couldn’t have something.
Which was why he was here. Not because he really loved me or wanted to spend his life with me. Because I was suddenly more desirable to him now that I’d told him he couldn’t have me.
Men.
I sighed, turning to the cabinet behind me to retrieve a glass to fill with large amounts of wine.
“This is not acceptable, Nathan,” I said to the wine cabinet. “You can’t come into my home. You cannot keep calling me. I’ve made my decision. We both need to move on with our lives.”
I retrieved my glass, placing it on the counter. But before I could close the cabinet, hands settled on my upper arms, whirling me around.
My body let itself be whirled around because I was frozen in shock. I hadn’t heard Nathan round the island—on account of the Italian loafers he wore—and I certainly hadn’t been expecting him to grab me.
The grip itself was much too tight. Much tighter than I’d thought his soft, manicured hands were capable of. Something I’d lamented over when it came to our sex life but something that currently alarmed me, given the situation.
Given that we were alone in my home, my closest neighbor a seventy-year-old woman who was three miles away.
Nathan’s eyes were blazing with anger now. “I’m not moving on with my life,” he snapped. “I made a decision to make a life with you.” His grip on my arms tightened. To the point of pain.