Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
He didn’t complete the sentence.
Tate invited them in, relaying the last few hours’ events with Lina. They spoke about the arrangements ahead, and I was glad my husband was there, because I couldn’t produce one word.
Mum was wheeled out of the room looking like an old-school movie star. A grand finale worthy of the dazzling woman she was.
Tate made some calls but kept one eye on me.
The drive back home was a blur as I came to terms with my new reality.
I was alone, my entire family was gone, and the only person whose destiny was tied with mine was a coldhearted murderer.
Till death do us part.
Tate: Tell Tiernan I want to see him.
Tate: This weekend.
Achilles: Am I wearing a pencil skirt and please-fuck-me-daddy lipstick?
Tate: I hope not. You don’t have the ass to pull it off.
Achilles: Then stop treating me like I’m your fucking secretary.
Tate: This bullshit needs to stop.
Achilles: You just burned down his CLUB. It’s his move.
Tate: Gia’s mother passed away. She doesn’t need to worry about this shit. Set up a meeting.
Achilles: He’s not going to let you off the hook.
Tate: I’ll hand over the damn vessels and eat the loss.
Achilles: That was never gonna cut it.
Tate: Would 200M do?
Achilles: I’ll see what I can do.
When we got back home, Gia went straight to her old room and locked herself in the bathroom.
I paced back and forth, listening to the shower spray on the other side, punctuated by her sobs. I felt a lot of inconvenient feelings, and I wanted them all gone.
Annoyance. Dread. Exhaustion. Terror. Sadness. Goddamn sadness for someone I didn’t even know and who meant nothing to me.
“Gia,” I growled every half an hour through the door, just to confirm she was still alive. She’d hiccup by way of response, and I’d return to my pacing. This went on for three hours. It was late, and she hadn’t eaten all day.
I asked her through the door what she wanted to eat, but there was no answer. Deciding not to inconvenience her further with mundane questions, I DoorDashed from seventeen different restaurants to cover my bases. Would she be in the mood for a double cheeseburger or black truffle risotto? Fuck knew.
Eager to relieve my wife from administrative duties, I assigned Edith, my new secretary, to deal with the funeral preparations. It helped that Edith was entirely focused on doing her job and not on trying to get me to fuck her.
At around ten thirty, Gia finally left the bathroom. She wore an ivory satin robe; her eyes were swollen and glassy.
“I bought you food,” I clipped out, unable to soften my tone. It wasn’t anger. It was anxiety. A combination of not being able to tend to my daily rituals and the looming idea of losing her.
“I’m not hungry.” She sniffled. “Cheers, though. What did you order?”
“Everything.”
She elevated a doubtful brow. Clearly, she underestimated my level of unhinged.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like. So I ordered Italian, Greek, Thai, Chinese, Cuban, Mexican, Japanese, Vietnamese, McDonald’s, Indian, Peruvian, soul food, sushirito, salad, and a few more things I can’t recall.” I frowned. “Pretty sure we’re still waiting on the Tex-Mex, but the elevators are jammed because of all the delivery guys.”
She looked exhausted. I was losing her, and I had no way to pull her back to me. I was a fantastic fuck with a deep wallet, but I fucked this up so many times with her. Before we even got together.
She needed comfort and stability. Not a complete maniac who scribbled equations all over the walls and was subject to sudden bursts of violence.
I’d deteriorated in recent weeks.
“I really appreciate it, Tate. But I have no appetite.”
“Okay.” I ran my tongue over my upper teeth. Don’t fucking snap. This isn’t about you. It’s about her. “What do you want to do?”
Her usually hooded, feline eyes looked tiny after all the crying. “What is there to do?”
Think, asshole, think. What do couples do that doesn’t include sex? You watched enough TV in your lifetime. Surely, you can come up with something.
“Anything.” I snarled, but at least managed not to show my teeth this time. “Watch a movie. Play Monopoly. Chess. Cards. Take a walk.” Take a walk? What is she, a fucking Pomeranian? “I could take you to Paris. Maybe to London for a pint.” I could buy you the London Eye if it makes you happy. “Look, you can fucking shoot me for shits and giggles. My pain threshold is incredibly high. Just tell me what to do.”
My wife didn’t seem impressed with my suggestions. I wondered how long I’d be able to call her my wife before she’d turn into my ex-wife. Those, I had plenty of. Only they never truly felt like wives to me. Humans, I found, were a currency, like money.