Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Then his hand brushes mine, and there is a whisper of heat.
I don’t move.
“Do you ever stop thinking?” he asks, voice dropping to something that curls low in my stomach.
“No,” I whisper, my breath catching in my chest.
“Do you want to?” He steps just close enough that I feel his warmth.
I nod, but it comes off shaky.
I’m already undone.
He leans in.
Slow. Careful.
He’s giving me time to run.
I won’t.
I don’t.
Instead, I lean in too. Heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he hears it.
Our lips hover. Close enough that we are a single breath away . . .
“Victoria!”
My mother’s shrill voice slices through the night like a crack.
We stop, but we don’t jerk apart. Instead, we both move slowly, neither of us happy that we have to.
I want to cry out.
Curse the fates and my mother.
It physically hurts to create distance.
He steps back a single pace. I exhale; the moment now lost.
“Another time.” His eyes linger.
“Maybe,” I whisper, even though it’s a lie. We both know it. It’s not maybe at all.
It’s already happening . . .
The cage. The door.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid to fly.
10
Lorenzo
I’m not trying to listen. I’m just walking the back corridor with my head down and toolbox in hand, mentally cataloging every broken thing at this estate. The sink drips. The busted dumbwaiter (that I still don’t understand the point of). The east hallway that creaks like it needs an oil change.
I’m halfway through the study when I hear someone say the name Victoria. I don’t slow at first. But my body reacts before my brain can catch up.
Her father’s voice cuts through the crack in the door. He speaks in a low and controlled tone. In the way the rich speak, to make every sentence feel like it’s the law.
“You are not to associate with the help. Do you understand me?”
My feet stop. I don’t mean for them to. They just do.
Silence.
He’s talking to her.
To Victoria.
“He is beneath you, Victoria. This summer fantasy you’re entertaining is over. I won’t allow it to ruin everything we’ve built.”
My grip on the toolbox tightens. The metal digs into my palm.
Another beat. Then I faintly hear the sound of her voice.
“That’s not what this is.” Her words come out like a whisper, and it feels like something punches me in the ribs.
“Oh, please. Don’t be naive.” Her father’s tone shifts into that special brand of refined disgust only dynasties can perfect. “You think he wants your mind? He wants what every man wants. And once he gets it, you’ll be the one left embarrassed.”
My jaw locks so hard I think it might snap.
“You don’t know him,” she fires back, the sentence taut and trembling like a violin string pulled too tight.
“I don’t need to.” His voice drips with boredom. “I’ve seen boys like him my entire life. They want what they can’t have. They crawl their way into pretty girls’ lives with sad stories and bad intentions, hoping to rise one social rung at a time. They take and leave. But mark my words, Victoria, they always leave.”
I stop breathing.
“You’re being cruel,” she breathes.
“I’m being realistic. He’s not your equal, not in breeding, not in ambition, and certainly not in the future. He is nothing, Victoria. He comes from nothing. Look at his mother…She’s nothing too. And I will not have you lowering yourself for someone who isn’t worth the dirt on your shoes.”
Nothing. It echoes. Repeats. I can’t stop hearing it.
Silence hangs between them. Then, finally, her voice, barely a whisper. “You don’t get to decide who I care about.”
“I get to protect what’s mine.”
That’s it. That’s my breaking point.
I turn and walk the other way before I go in there and ruin something I can’t un-ruin.
The word follows me down the hall.
I avoid her that night. Don’t go to her. I can’t.
The next day, I’m still mentally cold.
I scrub the back patio until the sponge tears in half. I fix the wine cellar door and slam it just to hear it crack. My fists ache from gripping the screwdriver like a weapon instead of a tool.
I don’t talk to anyone. Not that anyone tries. Well, except Elise.
She watches me scrub the same countertop twice, eyebrows arching slowly in amusement. “What’s with you today?” She blows a bubble with her gum and pops it loudly.
“Nothing,” I clip out, wiping the counter harder.
“You look like you murdered someone in your head,” she teases, leaning her hip against the sink and studying me.
I don’t answer. Because answering means talking about it.
And I won’t do that. Especially not her.
Then she walks in.
Victoria.
She’s wearing something soft and white again. The dress floats around her thighs with each step she takes. It’s a temptation.
I love it and hate it in equal measure.
She stops walking and stands in the doorway of the kitchen. Waiting. Watching me like she’s trying to read my thoughts.