Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Probably not, but I needed to at least try. “Why does Nestore keep him alive?”
Niccolo’s expression tightened. “I don’t know. He doesn’t share his innermost thoughts with me. Maybe he would with you, if you stopped breaking his heart.”
After my conversation with Niccolo, I moved up to the primary bedroom. I felt restless. This place kept my mind in an uproar. The shadows seemed to whisper the horrors from the past. Everything was dark. The windows never let enough light into the big rooms.
I changed into the new red dress. It had a plunging neckline and a high slit. I wanted to appear seductive and bold, not like the girl who couldn’t handle a pit fight and who didn’t know how to please a man. I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to prove myself. Nestore had forced me to marry him. He had searched for me for more than two years. He obviously wanted me, yet what I had seen today and the knowledge that he hadn’t waited for me made me nervous.
On my way to the dining room, I stopped in the library. It was the only room where I didn’t feel quite as haunted. I picked up a book about roses and garden design before I moved into the dining room. Maybe one day I could plant my own flower beds and create bouquets that would brighten these forlorn halls.
The moment I entered the room, a young maid, maybe my age, stepped in with a pleasant smile. “Do you want to take your dinner now?”
I shook my head. “No, I’ll wait for my husband.”
Uncertainty flashed across her face, and she parted her lips as if to argue, then snapped them shut. She nervously tucked a nonexistent strand behind her ear. Her hair was slicked back in a tight bun without a single loose hair.
“What is it? You can say what you want.”
She looked around nervously, almost as if she worried the walls would attack her. Considering the number of trophies on this wall, mostly animal bone this time, I couldn’t blame her.
“It’s just that the Master doesn’t usually eat.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “He must eat. He’s human.”
She let out a nervous giggle. “He usually eats dinner up in his room. We put it in front of his door and take away the empty dishes later.”
Almost as if he still were a prisoner. My belly clenched at the thought.
“Oh. But now I’m here, and I’m sure he wants to share dinner with me.”
She nodded jerkily. “Okay. I’ll let the kitchen know. When do you want to have dinner?”
I wasn’t sure when Nestore would be home. I didn’t have his number. I didn’t even have a cell phone. “As soon as he’s back.”
“Of course.” She smiled shakily. “Would you like something to drink?”
Why not. “Could you bring me a glass of the red wine my husband always drinks?”
“It’ll be with you shortly.” She backed away, then slid out of the room noiselessly.
I sucked in a deep breath. This entire place, even the staff, felt like it was straight out of a horror movie. I blew out the breath and squared my shoulders. I made a beeline for the two leather armchairs in front of the massive black marble fireplace and curled up in one, then opened the book.
The maid appeared beside me, making me jump.
“I’m sorry. The Master prefers us to move silently.”
“Well, I prefer not to be scared to death,” I said with a smile that softened my words.
She bobbed her head quickly, then put down the wineglass on the small marble coffee table between the armchairs.
“What’s your name?”
“Mindy,” she said, then rushed back out as if the prospect of small talk terrified her.
I took a deep sip of the wine, then relaxed against the soft leather. Age had softened the firm material. These two chairs, like the rest of the furniture, had already been in this place when my father and our family had moved in. Maybe they were from Nestore’s childhood, and that was the reason he couldn’t part with them. I opened the book and began reading the introduction, an overview of the history of rose cultivation.
The clock struck eight o’clock when a shadow moved past the open dining room door. I had left it open so I would see Nestore walking past.
After a moment, the shadow materialized before the door. Nestore stepped into the dim light of the dining room. I put down the book on the coffee table and rose to my feet.
He froze mid-step when he spotted me. His eyes scanned my dress, brows snatching together. The look on his face wasn’t one I had hoped for. It was hard to describe, on the verge of haunted. He shook his head as he stalked toward me.
“Don’t,” he rasped.
I frowned up at him in confusion. “Don’t what?”