Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
I look back out the window. "She just doesn't seem grown up to me."
I wish my heart would stop fluttering.
"I can see that." A low chuckle catches in his throat. "Bet you had your hands full with her after your mom and dad passed. I'm sorry for your loss. Truly."
He looks at his feet, those enormous hands rasping over the gray wool that binds his thighs, up and down, up and down. I'm mesmerized by the movement.
"I know it was years ago," he says, gaze lifting to mine. "But, God. You've been hurt so much. I’m so sorry."
His voice lands low in my belly. A flock of butterflies beats its wings against me from the inside, the same ones tiptoeing over the skin of my arms and neck.
Not like Victor, who could never quite meet my eyes when he spoke, like I wasn't worth the focus. Victor is Simon's son, and Simon was our conservator, the man who owned every breath the two of us took until two weeks ago. Victor was the one who was supposed to marry May.
They should be out of my life for good.
But Victor made bond last week, and the butterflies go cold and still, a drip of ice down my spine.
Power rolls off Allister like silent thunder, and it's hard to breathe, harder still to hide the steel cradling my legs.
The bouquet sits on the seat beside me, white roses and peonies bleeding pink and purple into the caramel leather.
I didn't walk up the aisle. Couldn't stand the clink, clink, clink of the braces announcing me with every step, so I sat at May's side and rose only for the vows. Swaying, gritting my teeth, praying nobody noticed how much it cost me. I wish I didn't always have to be considered. Worked around.
The accident crushed both my femurs into confetti and strung my shins with titanium.
But May glowed today. And Decker. Decker cried during their vows, which made me cry, because there is something about a hard man showing true emotion that gets me every single time.
The way Deck looks at her is the thing I want for myself someday. My parents had it. Their marriage was arranged. In our world, that's as common as dandelions in spring. And they fell in love anyway. I grew up watching it. I wanted it.
I still do. Even if the ache behind my ribs reminds me that being a wife, a mother, may be the one thing the accident took for good. I have my writing. My books. Blueberry Pop-Tarts.
Always blueberry Pop-Tarts.
That'll have to do for this life.
The limo takes a sharp right, and I throw my arm out to brace myself. Not like Wilson to drive like that. And suddenly the flowers can't mask Allister's scent, something earthy and warm and male. That, plus the proximity, plus the single glass of champagne that's hitting like six.
I've never reacted to a man like this. My whole life has been about protecting May, keeping us safe. But right now, every time I breathe or blink, all I see is him. And the way he looks at me hurts, because I already know I'll never have the love I dream about.
May is the captivating one, chirpy, dancing through her days. I'm broken and crooked. Serious. A little distrustful.
She used to swear I was the beautiful one, that I should be the one walking runways in Paris. Looking back, maybe there was a little truth in that. Before the accident.
Now, I can barely look in the mirror.
I clear my throat and look at his hands instead of his face. "You didn't need to come, you know. I can manage on my own." Each word lands snappier than I mean it to, and I'm instantly sorry.
Allister tips his head an inch. I see his reflection in the tinted glass. His lips tighten against a smile.
"I've seen how well you manage on your own." The words only carry warmth, no pity or condescension. "I just wanted to escort you home. Every lady should have an escort. It has nothing to do with what you can or can't do, Leah."
My name on his lips sends adrenaline tearing through me.
"Sorry." I try to meet his eyes, but it lasts only a couple of heartbeats before my gaze drops and lands squarely on his crotch. Fresh fire floods my cheeks, and I bite back a moan. "I'm not sure why I'm being so rude to you."
"It's okay, Leah."
We ride the last few miles in silence. I don't look at him. I don't have to, to know his eyes never leave me.
By the time we turn into the drive, I'm ready to crawl out of my own skin. I study the house like I've never seen it. Sleek lines, glass, dark manicured green. Nothing like the opulent mansion I lived in until two weeks ago.