Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Still looking worried, he murmurs, “Just be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
The corner of my mouth lifts, and climbing to my feet, I say, “I’m going to head to bed. Have a good night, my friend.”
“You too.”
Knowing Pedro will turn off the lights, I walk toward the staircase and head up. My eyes touch on the trunk, and I almost pass it when I come to a sudden stop, and my head snaps to the side. There’s a sliver of cream fabric peeking out at the corner.
A frown forms on my forehead because the trunk is empty.
Did Astrid put something in it?
Taking hold of the lid, I lift it, and my heart squeezes painfully in my chest when I see Ciara curled up in a tiny ball.
I open the lid all the way before crouching down and whispering, “Why are you in the trunk, mi pequeño sol?”
She doesn’t answer me, but instead tightens her arms around her shins.
At the hospital, she spent a lot of time under the bed, but here she chooses the trunk.
I tilt my head, realizing it must make her feel safe.
“Get out so we can move the trunk to your bedroom.”
She hesitates but slowly pulls herself out, her face filled with caution as she watches me.
I grasp the handle on the side. “Grab the other side, Ciara.”
When she does as she’s told, we carry the trunk to her bedroom and set it down at the foot of her bed.
“Don’t get in yet,” I say before leaving the room to fetch a soft blanket from the linen closet.
Returning, I open the trunk and place the blanket at the bottom, then I gesture for Ciara to get in.
Her body’s wound tight as she climbs back inside. I move to her bed and pull the sheet off. Unfortunately, there isn’t space for a warm, thick blanket, but at least it’s not too cold tonight.
I fold the sheet until it’s the perfect size to fit over Ciara. I tuck the sides in around her before crouching next to the trunk.
“Leave the lid open. Okay?” She just stares at me, and it has me explaining, “I don’t want you to suffocate.”
I’m not going to shut an eye tonight.
Straightening up, I let out a sigh. Thinking for a moment, I walk to the bathroom and grab two towels. I head back to the trunk, and folding them, I drape them over the sides. When I lower the lid, it doesn’t shut all the way, leaving a half-inch gap open for fresh air to get in.
Much better.
Rubbing my palm over the wood, I say, “Sleep tight, mi pequeño sol.”
When I walk out of her bedroom, I only make it a few steps down the hallway before my feet refuse to move any further.
Fuck.
Just tonight.
Turning around, I head back, and after switching off the light, I grab a pillow and move it to the foot of the bed before lying down with my head right by the trunk. I rest my hand over my heart and slowly twirl the engagement ring around my finger as I stare up at the ceiling fan.
I hear Ciara shift in the trunk, and I worry she’s going to be fucking sore tomorrow from sleeping in that tight space.
Christ, I wish she’d start feeling safe with me.
Time creeps by, and after what feels like hours, I turn onto my stomach and prop my chin on my forearms, my eyes resting on the trunk.
The lid starts to lift, and I quickly turn my head to the side and close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I listen as Ciara moves, thinking she’s going to the bathroom, but I’m surprised as fuck when I feel her slowly getting onto the bed.
Minutes pass, and wanting to connect with her a little more, I whisper, “The trunk is very special to me. It’s all I have left of my family.”
I open my eyes and see that she’s lying as close to the side as she can without falling off, her hands tucked beneath her head. I sit up, and grabbing the other pillow, I place it down in front of her.
“Put it under your head.”
I wait for her to do as she’s told, then I carefully pull the covers over her.
I lie down on my back again and let out a slow breath as happiness and relief trickle into my chest.
“Santiago,” she whispers.
“Yes, mi sol.”
“What happened to your family?”
“They were massacred when I was fourteen. I survived because I hid in the trunk.”
She’s quiet for a while before saying, “I’m sorry.” Another few seconds pass, then she admits, “My dad was killed the day after Nolan took me.”
I turn my head toward her. “Did Nolan kill him?”
Her eyes meet mine in the dark. “No. Men attacked the house and…” she pauses, and I can feel how she tenses. “Other men killed him.”