Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
He giggles. “You’re making me nervous when you don’t say anything.”
“Oh.” I tear my gaze away from the new eye-level oven and double door fridge and freezer. “It’s beautiful. It’s just a bit overwhelming.”
He slams one palm over his heart and the other on the counter next to him, supporting his weight as if he’s about to faint. “Oh thank God. You have no idea how relieved I am. For a moment there, I thought you hated it.”
“You did a fantastic job, Mr. Pelletier.”
“Why, thank you.” He straightens and smiles with a tilted head. “I’m always at your service. But please, call me Fabien.” He makes a face. “Mr. Pelletier is so…” He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling as he seemingly searches for the right word. Finally, he settles on, “Brusque,” with a wiggle of his shoulders.
His dramatic airs make me smile. He twirls around the room, closing the cupboards as he goes. With his tall legs and elegant movements, he gives the impression that he’s waltzing instead of walking.
He grabs the champagne and loosens the cork. “It deserves a celebration, don’t you think?” Pouring two glasses, he continues, “Mr. Russo said no alcohol because…” he lowers his voice and continues with exaggerated shock, “…you’re trying for a baby, but I thought what the hell. A housewarming isn’t a housewarming without a glass of champagne.”
The mention of the baby makes me tense.
He carries the glasses to me and pushes one in my hand. “I say you deserve it.” He winks. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” After clinking his glass against mine, he tips it back and takes a generous sip. “Congratulations, Mrs. Russo. Here’s to your new home. May you always toast with French champagne.” He smacks his lips. “God, this stuff is good.”
I can’t help but laugh. I already like him.
“Hmm.” He holds up a finger. “Before I forget…” He takes a business card from his pocket and hands it to me. “Here’s my number. Call me if anything needs changing or replacement or if you think about something you’d like to add.” He leans closer and says from the corner of his mouth, “Such as a new wardrobe. I took the liberty of going through yours, and shame on you, girl. Whatever are you going to wear?”
“My clothes haven’t arrived from South Africa yet but thank you. I’ll keep your kind offer in mind.”
He points a finger at me. “You do that.” He downs what’s left in his glass and puts the flute on the counter. “Especially if you need something formal for a gala dinner or a ball. Believe me, darling, the women who move in these high-class circles can be bitches. They’re going to pull apart what you wear right down to the brand of your…” he twirls a finger in the direction of my lower body, “…string.”
I grin. “I’ll remember that.”
“Well, then.” He rubs his hands. “I better get going if I want to get back to Bastia before dark.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Noooo. Dear God. I’m from Paris.” He pronounces it as Pa–ree. “I’m sleeping over in Bastia tonight before catching a flight home.”
Starved for company, I say on impulse, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
His smile is sweet. “That’s kind of you, but I have a date.” He wags his eyebrows. “Definitely next time.” Finger-waving, he says, “Toodeloo. Be good. And enjoy.”
“Thanks, I will.”
“Bye, Heidi, darling,” he calls up the stairs as he makes his way to the door. “I’ll see myself out.”
Heidi comes down the stairs just as the door closes behind him. “Quite a character, that one. I have no idea where Mr. Russo found him. They have nothing in common.” She pauses. “Well, except for good taste.”
“This is a huge change.” I turn in a circle, taking everything in. “Why did Mr. Russo go to such expenses?”
“Why,” she exclaims, “because you’re his wife of course.”
I sigh inwardly, wishing I could change that fact. Change my circumstances. But one thing is for sure. I’d rather be on this isolated part of the island than locked in a room in my husband’s house.
“Here,” Heidi says, taking my hand and putting a bunch of keys on my palm. “These are for all the doors.”
I close my fingers around them. “Thank you.”
“I’ll check in as often as I can so that you don’t get too lonely.”
“Thank you, Heidi,” I say with a quiver in my voice, hugging her with the keys and the glass in my hands.
“Now, now.” She pats my back and pulls away. “Don’t get emotional. You’ll upset yourself, and that won’t do. I’m only a thirty-minute drive away.” She irons out her skirt with her palms. “I suppose I should let you settle in. I unpacked your bag. Everything is in the closet in the main bedroom. Do you need me for anything else?”