Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“What is she doing? Dying?” Pandora curled her pillow up to the sides of her head, pressing it against her ears to try to muffle the racket.
“She has, apparently, picked up opera.”
“Great.” Pandora huffed, giving up on the idea of sleeping in and placing her legs off the side of the bed. “The floorboards are vibrating. Has anyone checked the glass downstairs? I half expect it to all be shattered.”
She wasn’t typically so unkind.
But she was restless from fleeting sleep, thanks to her mind racing with thoughts of Victor. And the awkward silence between them after he’d saved her.
And, well, Bellatrix was probably her least favorite person. So waking up to her vibrato wobbling and warbling, pushing its way under the door, and through the walls and floors, was making her extra grumpy.
Pandora went through the motions of showering and putting herself together. She didn’t dress up. It hadn’t seemed to make a bit of difference anyway. So she put on her usual work uniform with a cardigan over it.
Then she reached for the stainless-steel tumbler she had hidden under her sink. She’d picked it up in the hopes that it would keep her blood fresh enough to last the night, since she didn’t dare risk keeping it in the fridge with Bellatrix snooping around.
The last thing she needed was some big confrontation with her mother about her stubborn refusal to drink human blood. Especially with family visiting. And when she was about to try to float a fake engagement right in front of their faces.
Best to just fly under the radar for the time being.
Pandora chugged her blood then brushed her teeth before making her way out of her room. Vlad perched on her shoulder, looking as pained by the singing as Pandora felt.
They were just about to round the corner to the stairs, when Dante came shuffling toward them. Like he was coming home. In the middle of the day. Again.
What was going on with him?
As if sensing her thoughts, Dante’s head jerked up.
The sleepless smudges under his eyes looked even more intense than they had the day before.
And when she’d been restless in her sleep earlier, she could have sworn she’d heard some strange banging and almost … gurgling sounds coming from his room.
But before she could open her mouth to ask him about it, he was wincing at a particularly egregious missed note, making his shoulders pull up by his ears.
“Who told her she could sing?” he asked.
Her indulgent parents, no doubt, Pandora thought.
“Is anyone else awake?” she asked.
“I’m sure they are,” Dante said. “Who could sleep through that?”
“But are they downstairs?”
“No. Why?”
“I’m heading out,” she told him.
“It’s early for work.”
“I have another date. Could you possibly tell Mum and Dad that, when you see them later? Maybe tell them how excited I looked.”
“Why don’t you look excited?” he asked.
“I am!”
“Come on, Pandy,” he said, shaking his head at her. “You look tired and tense.”
“I just didn’t sleep well. I’m actually super excited to go on a date with my future fiancé,” she said, lying. “I have to get going. I don’t want to be late. Is it raining?”
“It’s bucketing down.” He reached up to push his wet hair out of his face.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll take an umbrella. Maybe I’ll see you later.”
“Maybe,” he said, in a way that made her think he didn’t plan on it.
She was worried about him, but she didn’t have time to press him on it. She was on too much of a time crunch with her engagement and marriage.
So she made her way to the servants’ stairs, rushed down, and went out the back door to avoid her cousin who, thanks to not needing to breathe, seemed to have endless abilities to hold the wrong note.
When she arrived at Luna Bean, she found Victor waiting inside, sipping his usual coffee with one hand, but holding another drink in the other.
“Chamomile tea?” he asked, holding it out toward her.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, smiling at him.
He didn’t seem as distant as he’d been the night before. She decided not to overthink that and just be happy about it instead.
“So, where are we having our date?” she asked.
“One of my favorite places in the world,” he told her.
But he refused to explain further as the two of them walked under her umbrella toward the Tube.
Instead, he veered the conversation toward the more boring aspects of their contract. Exact dates, contingencies, et cetera.
“What about our living arrangements?” he asked.
“What about them?”
“Will we be living together?”
“Oh, right. Yes, of course,” she said, trying to tamp down the warm feelings she got at the idea of sharing a home with him. “After the wedding.”
“And what about the divorce?”
“What about the divorce?” she asked, ignoring the pang in her stomach at the idea.
“Would we both move out of the flat?”