Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Today was no different. The whispers started the moment he walked in. Women straightened their posture, touched their hair, found excuses to drift closer. Men sized him up with a mix of wariness and envy. The elderly aunts from Bakersfield clutched their purses tighter, as if his wealth might be contagious. Or dangerous.
Let them wonder.
Let them stare.
His attention was elsewhere entirely.
Mira stood by the casket in a simple black dress that skimmed her knees, her dark hair pulled back from her face, a single strand of pearls at her throat that he didn’t recognize.
She looked lovely.
Fragile in a melancholic way, like a watercolor left out in the rain. The kind of beauty that made people want to protect her, shelter her, wrap her in cotton and keep her safe from the ugliness of the world.
It was also the kind that disturbed men like him.
“You don’t have to be here,” Mira mumbled when there was a temporary lull in the line.
“I know.”
The answer had her blinking, those dark eyes of hers widening slightly before another mourner stepped forward and she had to look away.
Zacharie remained by her side throughout the day.
He made sure she ate, even if it was only a few bites of the catered sandwich he placed in her hands. He made sure she took a brief rest in the family room when she started swaying on her feet, and he made sure to check her wound, despite her protests. He made sure stayed hydrated, pressing bottles of water into her grip at regular intervals and watching her throat move as she swallowed.
He had figured her for a crybaby. All that blushing and stammering and wearing her heart so openly on her sleeve. He had expected tears. Rivers of them.
But she hadn’t shed a single one.
Not when the minister spoke. Not when Trina’s coworkers shared tearful anecdotes about her infectious laugh. Not even when the boyfriend, the same one who had assaulted Mira and then lied about it, had the audacity to show up and deliver a eulogy so maudlin it made Zacharie’s teeth ache.
Mira had sat through all of it with dry eyes and a face pale as chalk.
Something was wrong.
Whenever a person acted out of character, it meant pressure was building somewhere. Cracks forming beneath the surface. And eventually, inevitably, something would have to give.
The funeral parlor closed its doors at promptly eight in the evening. The last of the mourners trickled out into the warm California night, their headlights cutting across the parking lot before disappearing down the palm-lined boulevard.
Zacharie settled the remaining fees at the front desk while broodingly questioning himself for still being here.
There was no need.
Trina had been the only major threat keeping Mira from resuming her old life. Now that the woman was gone, murdered by parties still unknown though Zacharie had his people working on it, Mira was completely safe.
Which meant he should see himself as completely freed.
Both of them were free from having anything to do with each other.
The thought should have brought relief.
Instead, it made him feel on edge, like his life was on the line even when there was no clear and present danger.
When he returned to the receiving hall, the room was completely empty, all the folding chairs put away, the catering tables cleared. Mira was still seated where he left her, hands folded in her lap, her gaze fixed on the closed casket that would be transported to the crematorium in the morning.
She glanced up at the sound of his footsteps, and something...disturbing twisted behind his ribs. He didn’t like how the fluorescent lights washed the color from her face, making her look even more fragile than before.
“We can go now,” he said.
“I still have to settle some things with—”
“It’s all taken care of.”
She blinked.
“The payment. The scheduling. You don’t have to worry about anything,” he stressed.
“I could’ve done it myself.”
“Then I’ll let you do it next time.”
Zacharie had meant it as reassurance. An awkward attempt at lightness, the kind of thing normal people said to each other in difficult moments. But something in her face crumpled, her lips pressing together, her chin trembling almost imperceptibly.
She looked like she was about to cry.
And his chest twisted more tightly at the sight of it.
“Mira—”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just please...go.”
She wanted him to go.
And he should go.
For both of their sakes.
But instead he found himself snapping at her.
“Stop hiding behind such childishness.”
She shook her head. “I’m not—”
“For days now,” Zacharie snarled, “I’ve clearly done something to upset you, but you insist on acting like a child by pretending—”
“You were the one who pretended first!”
Her voice cracked on the accusation, loud enough to echo off the empty walls.
“Pardon?” The word came out in French, sharp with disbelief.
Her gaze flew up to his, finally meeting his eyes, and the moment their gazes collided he realized it was a mistake to want this.