Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I have to admit. She looks fucking stunning. And yet, there is not a single trace of pretension, fake posing, or posturing. She’s just Pippa, comfortable in her own skin, all energy and light. And she has that very slight bounce of excitement in her step that makes my pulse tick up without warning. Whatever today brings, I feel like it’s going to be good.
“Rhett!” She waves and calls when she spots me. Her smile is wide, a little mischievous. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Pippa,” I greet, pushing myself off the wall. “You’re punctual. I like that.”
She shrugs adorably. “I think I’m more Occasional Chaos than Strict Punctuality. In future, you should add an extra 15 minutes to whatever time we decide on meeting.”
I nod solemnly. “Got it.”
She clasps her hands and looks up at me. “Well then, should we hug?”
I open my arms, and she quickly presses herself against me. It was meant to feel friendly, but it sets a subtle tension in the air. She’s warm against my chest, and smells faintly of perfume, soft with floral notes. My chest tightens ever so slightly, and the urge to crush her mouth with mine is overwhelming, but I remind myself that she’ll have to be won over. I’ll have to show her that her Mr. Dependability isn’t worth her time or effort.
“Let’s go,” she says, pulling away.
The gaunt façade of the London Dungeons looms ahead. It holds one thousand years of the city’s gruesome history. The entrance is decked out with gothic arches and flickering torches, a perfect tease for the dark, macabre entertainment inside. She nudges me forward, her eyes sparkling.
“This is going to be terrible,” she says, laughing softly. “It’s immersive so I’m going to scream at everything, but it’s ok, because so are you.”
“I don’t think I’ll scream, but if you do, I will be right here.” I gesture vaguely at my chest and grin appealingly. “You know, to save you.”
Her eyes flick up at me, just for a moment, and her lips twitch. “You sure you can handle that responsibility?”
“Do you doubt it?”
She turns toward the entrance and gestures dramatically at the façade. “Well, in that case, lead the way, Sir Rhettimus.”
I smile inwardly at her new name for me: Sir Rhettimus, keeper of the scared, graceful lady. Not a bad title, though if she knew my real intentions…
We go to the ticket booth, and Pippa insists on paying for the tickets. I try to tell her it isn’t necessary, but she gives me a look that says argue at your peril. I give in gracefully, making a mental note to make sure to beat her to every other booth for the rest of the day.
As we step inside the actual dungeons, the air changes. It’s cooler, kind of damp, and it smells faintly of wood, dust, and something I can only describe as theatrically medieval. A guide in full garb - a brown leather coat, a wide-brimmed hat, the works – appears seemingly out of nowhere and ushers us forward with a dark grin.
“Welcome to the London Dungeon,” he intones. “Here, you will face the darkest, most horrifying moments of the city’s history. Only the brave will survive.”
Pippa shivers dramatically. “Oh no,” she says, her voice mock panicked. “That’s me screwed. I’m not brave.”
I glance at her, taking in the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers grip the handbag that is slung over her right shoulder. There is a genuine human reaction here. She is putting on a brave face when she’s actually afraid of accidentally making a fool of herself again. My chest warms at the subtle vulnerability.
“I’m right here,” I whisper softly, just for her. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.”
She throws me a sidelong glance, amusement flashing in her eyes. “Except for your corny lines, I suppose.”
She digs me with her elbow and I dig her back, and then our small group follows the guide. The first room is a reconstruction of a medieval torture chamber. Chains hang from the walls, skeletons positioned as though in mid scream, flickering candlelight casting shadows that creep and twist. The guide steps forward with a candle, narrating the macabre history of public executions, grisly punishments, and the notorious Jack the Ripper.
Pippa leans slightly into me, her shoulder brushing mine. “Why do they make this stuff so realistic?” she whispers.
I have to suppress a laugh. Realistic? It is all so over the top, it’s hilarious.
A mechanical skeleton suddenly swings out from a corner with the sound of rattling chains and she screams sharply and stumbles backward. I catch her quite naturally, my arms going around her. For a heartbeat, she’s pressed into me, her back against my chest, and her marvelous hair brushing my arm. My pulse starts to hammer in my ears. The world seems to narrow down until it’s just Pippa’s body against mine.