Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 117740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 589(@200wpm)___ 471(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
“Wanker,” I hissed, snatching my hand back. “Fine. But I’m only staying for half an hour.”
He stepped away, satisfied with my response, and gently closed the door. I clenched my jaw and turned the key, bringing the van to life.
What a prick.
What a bastard.
What an absolutely toe-curling, dominating, argumentative, bossy little twat he was.
What did it say about me that I liked it, huh?
Maybe he was right.
The chicken therapy really wasn’t working out for me. ‘Bock-bock-bock’ wasn’t exactly a tried-and-true coping method, after all.
I drove out of the village and towards the Hanbury Estate. When I got there, I took the turn for the hidden side entrance Oliver had shown me last time and followed the track down to the cottage. It was secluded and the perfect place for us to meet away from prying eyes.
It was like the one place we could just… be.
He pulled up behind me and got out of his car, quickly unlocking the front door with the key from under the flowerpot. I stayed in the van, pouting, and he came over and opened the door.
“Do I have to carry you in there?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve manhandled me like that,” I grumbled. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
“You never want to talk to me, yet you do. Won’t it be more comfortable to sulk inside, though?” His eyes twinkled as he pulled out my keys and grabbed my hand. He tugged me out of the van, and I let myself be taken from the vehicle and guided towards the cottage.
Once inside, he locked the door behind us and put the keys on a little side table. He pushed me through to the living room and plopped me down on the sofa before sitting next to me and making me look at him.
“Tell me what I did.” He cradled my chin in his hand. “Are you upset about Saturday?”
I said nothing.
“Was it what I said to you on the phone? If so, I’m sorry.” He brought his face closer to mine. “I was jealous, but that’s not your problem, that’s mine. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”
“I don’t care about that,” I muttered, letting the weight of my head rest in his hand. “I already told you that was hot.”
His lips twitched. “Then what is it? Did I forget to reply to you? Miss a call? Take too long to come and see you?”
Again, I said nothing.
What could I say? No matter how I worded it in my mind, it sounded petty and childish.
His jealousy was hot, but my jealousy was ridiculous.
That was girl math.
I didn’t make the rules.
“Ahh. Did you see pictures of the event on Saturday night?”
I dropped my gaze.
“Rose.” My name was but a murmur on his lips as he touched the tip of his nose to mine. “Are you jealous, princess?”
“Jealous? In your dreams,” I lied, even as my stomach twisted. “Why would I be jealous of your almost ex-fiancée hanging off your arm and hanging out with your mother?”
He laughed quietly, then cupped my face, laying his palms on my cheeks. He forced me to meet his eyes, and my gaze hardened as it skittered across his soft smile.
“Let it go,” he said softly. “Whatever it is you need to say to me, let it out, okay?”
I shoved his hands away from me and scooted back on the sofa, putting some distance between us. “You spent all that time on the phone to me telling me not to touch other men, not to laugh at them, not to smile at them, and what do I see the next day? You doing just that with other women! Hours later!”
The words spilled out of me. Every ounce of jealousy, every inch of frustration, every little drop of anger and sadness that was coiled inside of me bubbled up and tipped over, and I tore into him for his hypocrisy, for his gall, for his sheer audacity.
And he took it.
He sat there, silently, listening. He didn’t argue, he didn’t try to make me stop, he didn’t do anything. He simply listened, taking every emotional word I tossed his way.
And it made it harder.
Because I knew he cared.
He cared about how he’d made me feel.
That was the worst part. With every second of patience that he gave me, my words grew a little quieter, a little calmer, my anger a little weaker. Even though I was repeating myself over and over again, saying the same thing but in different ways, he never once told me to stop.
When I finally did, he merely looked at me with a small smile and said, “Feel better now?”
I couldn’t help but nod, because I did.
He opened his arms in a wordless question, and despite myself, I moved closer to him. I fell stiffly against his chest, and he wrapped those warm arms around me. He tucked my head under his chin, cradling the back of it with his large hand, and we sank back into the sofa cushions together.