Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
I didn’t have cameras installed in the bedrooms or the bathrooms. I regret that now because she’s entered and closed the doors so all I can do is stare at an empty hall. I open my emails and look for her name. Her folder is empty. That’s my life before I came across her Instagram, but I have a year to change all of that.
Annabelle:
I have been informed you have moved in. Please change the keycode for your safety. I have provided the instructions on how to do this attached to this email. I have also been informed you are choosing not to use the chef services. If this is because of cost, be assured that anything you spend during this year will be of no consequence. Additionally, please remember that you are to report to me on a daily basis per our agreement so that I am able to adequately maintain our charade of marriage.
Very truly yours,
Wick
Chapter Three
ANNABELLE
It shouldn’t be this hard to respond to an email, but it always is when it comes to Wick, my husband. I’m still getting used to referring to him as that and having a husband at all. The ring is heavy on my finger as I sit on my marital bed. This is not how I pictured marriage when I thought about it as a little girl, but I know better than to believe in fairy tales. It’s a waste of time. They don’t happen for people like me.
Thinking a change of scenery might help, I pack my laptop into my bag before grabbing my other belongings. My gaze lingers on the items I've moved from my old place to this one. They appear so out of place. I also don't want to unpack them. They don't fit. Hell, I don't fit. Before I do any of that, I need to get this email response done. I'm not sure I can get into trouble with my new husband, but I'm not going to push it.
I'm worried that he'll throw me out, leaving me with nowhere to go. My old roommates already found someone to take over my room. I should have kept it as a safety net and paid the rent. It wouldn't be the first time I was left out in the cold. I always figure it out one way or another.
This was supposed to be a saving grace, but now that I'm here, I'm not so sure that's the case. I change into a thicker sweater that will keep me warm. The coat I had been using was an extra one my roommate had, so I left it behind. I'll need to see about buying another one. I'm not sure there will be many thrift stores around here that I can pop into.
I double-check to make sure I have the strange key and my phone before stepping onto the elevator. There are two you can use. There's a private elevator in the back, but I believe it goes straight down to the parking garage. It might also serve as a service elevator, allowing staff to enter and exit discreetly.
When the elevator stops a few floors down and a beautiful woman and man step onto it, I regret not having taken that other one when the girl's eyes flick up and down me. Her nose gives a small scrunch. I know without a doubt that she’s judging me. She can tell I don’t belong here. I’m sure wondering what the hell I’m doing here taking up her space with my presence.
Both are dressed impeccably. The woman's long blond hair is styled with a jeweled clip in it, and her makeup is flawless. I fight the urge not to run my fingers through my hair. I hadn't bothered to give myself a glance over before I left.
When the man’s eyes do the same up-and-down motion, he gives a smirk. He too has his hair styled in waves; his fancy watch sparkles under the light. The two not only fit together and could do a photo shoot for a magazine, but they fit this building too. This is a mistake. I don't think I can be what Wick needs. It doesn't help when the woman opens her mouth to speak.
“There are service elevators. They are at the end of each floor.”
I knew she would automatically assume I was the help. It's typical. Even though she’s being rude, I can’t say that I blame her. If I don’t feel as though I fit, why would she?
“My apartment takes up the whole floor.” A confused expression takes over her face, testing her Botox.
“These are condos, and the penthouse would also have a service elevator, which you'd know if you actually lived there.”
My throat starts to tighten, but I manage to croak out a single-word response. “Okay.” Anytime there is tension or awkwardness, I tend to freeze. I hate it, but no matter how hard I try, it always wins out.