Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
His exaggerated wink makes me want to puke.
CHAPTER 10
TALIN
“Did we really have to be involved in all this?” Sam lugs a box from the trunk of my new Bronco. “Didn’t you hire people?”
“Yes, but this is the stuff I only trust to the important people in my life.” I give my brother a winning smile.
“So what the hell am I doing here?” he grumbles, following me to the door as Davit and Annie grab two more boxes.
I pause for a moment and look around the neighborhood. It’s a beautiful section of the city, not at all the kind of place I pictured for Brenden. He strikes me as a cheap studio hidden in the corner of a nondescript building on a quiet, beat-up block, the sort of place meant for disappearing.
Not a multi-million dollar townhouse.
The lockbox still has the keys and the door opens without fuss. I stride inside, looking around—
Only for it to be empty.
“It’s nice?” Davit asks, sounding earnest.
“It’s extremely nice,” Annie confirms. “Look at that molding. And the kitchen’s gorgeous!”
“It’s fucking empty.” Sam dumps his box on the floor of the entryway and peers up at the chandelier. “Though that looks like it’s worth something.”
I punch him in the arm. “Quit it. Why are you always like this?”
He rubs the spot I hit and seems sheepish. “It’s in my nature, that’s all. What did you all expect? Did you really think your thief husband would have this place fully furnished? There’s still a lockbox on the door. He clearly bought it for you. God, you’re such amateurs.” He stomps back outside to get more of my stuff.
But Sam’s right, as much as I hate to admit it. A part of me thought I was going to catch a glimpse into my husband’s mysterious psyche. A person’s home is a reflection of who they are, at least to some extent. Does he keep everything neat? Is he messy and disorganized? Food in the pantry, beer in the fridge? Go-bag by the door and guns beneath his pillow? A physical disappointment rolls through me as I tour the ground floor and find it utterly bare, not a stick of furniture, not an inch of personality.
“At least you get to make it your own, right?” Davit says hopefully. He putters around the kitchen, opening cabinets, knocking on the granite counter tops. “The place has good bones.”
“Beautiful bones,” Annie confirms. “No expense spared.” She takes my arm and steers me toward the stairs as Sam walks past with another box, grumbling to himself. “Imagine what you can do with this place.”
“I honestly didn’t know I was going to have to interior decorate.”
“Really? I mean, even if he did have some of his stinky stuff in here—“ She wrinkles her nose as if the thought of his moldering couches and beer-stained coffee tables insult her personally. “You’d likely toss it all and start over anyway.”
“I know, it’s just, I hoped I was going to learn something about him.” We stop in the master bedroom. The space is enormous, with a huge closet and a gorgeous en suite bath. The shower itself almost fixes my severe let-down.
“What’s there to learn?” Annie runs her fingers down the glass and sighs. “Look at this tile, my love. Who cares who you married when you have Bisazza mosaics in your floor?”
She’s got another good point there. “But what does he like? Does he want a big bed or a small one?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “You’re going to share a bed?”
“I don’t know! That’s my point!” I walk toward the front windows and peer out at a genuinely gorgeous view of the harbor. “Does he want curtains? Does he like sunlight in the morning? What about coffee?”
“Coffee? Sunlight? Tallie, you have wide-plank European oak flooring and actual hand-carved millwork.”
“What about the closet? How much space does he need?”
“Wolf appliances in the kitchen! And I’m pretty sure that soaking tub is carved from a single block of onyx. You’re going to feel like a princess in that thing.”
“What’s the point of a princess without a prince?”
Annie groans and throws up her hands. “You’re impossible. Honestly, I keep telling you, he doesn’t matter. He’s unimportant! This is your life now, my love, and you have to get used to it. And isn’t it much easier in a place with hospital-grade air filtration in the basement and heated floors throughout? You have to get over it. You just have to.”
There’s no use arguing with her, because she’s not totally wrong. That’s the worst part.
It is easier to accept my place in the world when that place is surrounded by luxuries most people never dream about.
When I was younger and coming up in the world, this is the sort of home I lusted after. I scrolled past images of places like this one on Instagram a dozen times a day and prayed that I’d marry a man in the life who could provide me with this heaven. Now I have it, and all I can think about is the man himself?