Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Is he reading from a script?
“Well, I'm back now.” Why do I sound so listless?
“Listen, I have an important dinner tomorrow night. Will you be able to pull yourself together appropriately? Will you attend, or do I need to tell people that you're unwell again?”
Unwell.
The word hangs there between us. Is that what he thought?
“I’ll be… fine.”
He didn't ask if I'm hurt. He didn't offer to come get me immediately. He's worried about how I look… for dinner.
“No, I'm fine. I just needed some time.”
I can hear him audibly sigh. “I don't understand what this tantrum was about, Bianca.”
Tantrum?
What the hell is he talking about?
The contrast between him and Ashland slaps me like a hand across my face.
Ashland: Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?
Marcus asks me if I can pull myself together.
Ashland knew how I took my coffee.
Marcus doesn't even know my middle name.
“I’ll be there soon. We have things to discuss.” Something about the way he says it makes my stomach tighten.
“Alright. I'll be here.”
“Good. Now sit tight and call your mother.”
He hangs up on that somber note.
He's just stressed, I tell myself. He doesn't know what happened. This must be my fault for worrying him. Because who just takes off and doesn't give any explanation about where they're going?
But it feels like the echo of the way I used to think, not what I actually believe now.
If I just explained—if I just told him…
No. What can I say? I was kidnapped by a man, but he actually takes care of me. He’s been very gentle and kind to me, and I hurt my ankle trying to get away.
Well, that's going to come out wrong.
I swallow hard and fidget with a little sugar packet on the table in front of me, flicking it with my finger.
A shadow looms nearby. I blink, and my head jerks up, but it's only the waitress back with a thick slice of apple tart on a plate.
“Here,” she says quietly. “This is on the house. I thought you'd like this.” Then she leaves.
This woman actually thinks I'm hurt. She thinks I'm nursing heartache. She doesn't know I'm free, that I escaped. She doesn't know that I…
I press my palms to my eyes.
Then why do I feel like I broke up with somebody?
Why do I feel like somebody broke up with me?
I stare at the tart. Golden crust, cinnamon-sugar glaze, the apples soft and glistening. It smells like comfort, like safety, like something Ashland would have made for me on a cold morning.
Marcus would make a comment, something about carbs, about my figure, about the wedding dress fitting properly. Something wrapped in concern that's really just… control.
That’s what it is, isn’t it? Control.
I grab the fork, and I take a bite.
It's fucking delicious.
I take another. And another. Each bite feels like rebellion, like reclaiming something. The sweetness dissolves on my tongue, and I close my eyes, savoring it.
When I open them, I catch the waitress watching me from behind the counter. She gives me the smallest nod, like she knows exactly what this moment means.
I finish every last bite.
As I push the plate away, a long, sleek black car pulls up out front.
Ashland hasn’t come.
He didn't come running after me.
He hasn't chased me.
But neither does… Marcus.
One of Marcus's men walks into the diner, staring around the place with disdain, his lips turned in a downward frown.
“Miss White,” he says, lifting two fingers and gesturing for me to come. “Mr. Crowning is waiting in the car. Let's go.”
He scowls at the empty dessert plate and the cold coffee. He reaches into his pocket and throws some bills on the table.
And all I can think of as I leave is…
What have I done?
When I get into the car, Marcus is on his phone. His jaw is tight, his lips set in a thin line.
I've been kidnapped. I was taken. I've been held hostage, and I escaped.
I fucking escaped.
And he doesn't even look at me.
Of course he doesn't know that, but…
“Have a seat,” he says, his eyes flicking up to mine for barely a second. “You alright?” As if he's throwing me a bone from his plate.
“Yeah. Yes, I guess?” I whisper, but it's more of a question than an answer.
He gives me a nod and returns to his phone.
As soon as the door shuts, he sets his phone down, and his eyes grow dark.
“Your mother mentioned that you were acting strangely before you left. We should discuss getting you some help.”
“I don't—I don't need help.” My voice is small. “And… seriously, nice to see you too?”
He presses his lips together. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he looks out the window.
“Well, I hope this episode is out of your system, then. I won't have my wife just disappearing on a whim.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I've had to make excuses for you. This is embarrassing.”