Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Noah is the only person at the table who’s excited. I won’t call the satisfied feeling in my gut excitement, at least not in Noah’s innocent way. My sentiment is more of a dark anticipation.
Whereas Noah babbles non-stop, Tatiana and Jasper are quiet. Noah and I keep the conversation going. Tatiana only answers the questions Noah asks her with that forced smile I want to kiss off her perfect face. I want to sink my teeth into her bottom lip until she gives me an honest sound or a truthful look, anything but that fake tranquility she wears like battle armor.
Ulysses and Kent kept an eye on Jasper and Noah while I was absent, but they don’t join us for dinner because the occasion is too personal. They’re hanging out in the back when the chef takes his leave after tidying the kitchen. I tell them to get some shut eye and instruct Jasper to pick any of the guest rooms and make herself at home. Penelope prepared a room for Noah next to the master suite.
Tatiana puts him to bed after helping him with his bath and to brush his teeth. He lies in the big bed with his arms on top of the covers and his dinosaur tucked in next to him, looking impossibly small and half asleep already. He’s been through a lot of changes and excitement in one day.
When I kiss him goodnight, he wraps those sturdy little arms around my neck and mutters in a sleepy voice, “Goodnight, Daddy.”
Daddy.
That little word sinks deep into my chest, burrowing in my flesh and making a permanent place for itself there.
Tatiana’s hand stills for a fraction of a second on the cover she pulls up to his chin, but she doesn’t comment or look at me.
She leaves the lamp on and the door open a crack.
In the hallway, she takes off her shoes and carries them in her hand. “Which room is mine?”
I indicate the one next-door.
She walks inside, hobbling a little, and stops just over the threshold. “It smells like you.”
I chuckle. “That happens when you live somewhere.”
She drops the shoes on the floor and spins around. “This is your room.”
“Our room.”
Crossing her arms, she smiles that false smile again. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to share a room before the wedding?”
“We’re already sharing a room. It would be hypocritical to pretend we’re not sleeping together.” I close the door and go over before going down on my haunches in front of her and carefully wrapping my fingers around her ankle. “Let me see that.”
She tries to pull away but can’t do so without losing her balance. “It’s nothing.”
Her little toe sports a huge blister. The skin on the sides of her bridge and the back of her heel is red and broken.
I turn her narrow foot this way and that as I inspect the damage. “Do you call this nothing? I’m surprised you could walk at all.”
“It’s the new shoes.” She makes an irritated sound. “They’ll do that until I’ve walked them in.”
I lower her foot gently and straighten. “You should’ve told me.”
Her laugh is wry. “What would you have done? Carry me?”
“Yes.”
She opens her mouth, but whatever objection she was going to utter turns into a squeal as I sweep her into my arms.
She pushes on my shoulders. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you,” I say, making my way to the bathroom.
“I can take care of myself.”
I deposit her carefully onto the bench next to the vanity. “I know, but it won’t hurt you to let someone else take care of you for once.”
Even though the taking care I’m referring to isn’t the aftercare she’s denying herself so hard, she still lifts her chin and fights back with defiance. “Careful, Dante. You don’t want to give me the impression that you care.”
“I do.” I open the faucet in the tub and let the water run warm. “You just don’t want to hear it.”
She scoffs. “If you cared, you wouldn’t have done what you did five years ago or today.”
I roll back my sleeves. “That’s precisely why I did what I did in both instances.”
After testing the temperature of the water, I plug the tub. Then I go through the cupboard until I find what I’m looking for.
She purses her lips, watching me fill the tub to a quarter before adding a mild disinfectant.
When I go back for her, she says, “You can forget it if you think I’ll take a bath with you in the room.”
“It’s for your feet.”
At that, she relents, seeming embarrassed at her wrong assumption.
I carry her to the bath and lower her onto the edge with her feet dangling over the side, testing her balance before I let her go.
She winces as her feet hit the water, but she doesn’t complain. My girl has always been strong.