Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
“You’re not superstitious. Being invited for a private audition is a big deal. We’re celebrating it whether you get the part or not. Remember what we used to say, that every achievement deserves to be celebrated, no matter the outcome in the end? I’m buying champagne and putting it on ice, and that’s that.”
She does her crazy dance, uttering another shriek. “I guess I should practice. Okay. Bye.” She rushes for the stairs. “Catch you later.”
“Let me know if you need an audience,” I call after her.
When Noah is installed in the playroom where he’s building a Lego plane, I decide to go on a tour of the house. I know the layout because I’ve been in all the rooms, but I haven’t really inspected them.
I leave the door of the playroom open so that I’ll hear Noah if he calls for me. Then I take my time wandering through the lounge and dining room and taking in the views.
Did Dante and I choose the house together? The contemporary architectural style is inarguably beautiful, but it doesn’t seem like something I would’ve chosen. It’s a stunning home. I’m not complaining. It just doesn’t feel like mine.
Walking around the rooms, I look for personal touches or photos, maybe something that will spark a memory, but there’s nothing that hints at our family history. The style is excessively minimalistic, which is definitely not me.
I go down the hallway and stop in front of Dante’s study. Just as I’m about to knock, the door opens in my face and Kent exits.
I reel, taking in the bloodied napkin he holds under his nose as well as the bruises on his jaw.
He gives me a stiff nod, not looking me in the eyes. “Mrs. Morici, I owe you an apology. I overstepped my boundaries by invading your privacy. It won’t happen again.”
Keeping his head down, he walks to the front door. Shock followed by unease spreads through me as I watch him leave. He made it obvious that he doesn’t like or respect me. He didn’t apologize because he wanted to but because Dante no doubt ordered him to. Yes, I didn’t appreciate his attitude, but that doesn’t mean I wanted Dante to beat him up about it.
I peer around the door frame. Dante sits behind his desk, staring at the screen of his laptop with a deep line running between his eyebrows. He too has a bruised jaw.
He looks up when I knock.
I motion at his face. “It looks as if the two of you got into a fight.”
His tone is hard. “He had to be put back into his place.”
Guilt assaults me. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
His nostrils flare. “You didn’t. He had no business standing so close or looking at you.”
“Did that justify a fist fight?”
He’s dead serious when he says, “He can be glad he didn’t lay a finger on you, or his body would’ve been carried out of here right now.”
The sinister promise makes me shiver. “You do realize you’re overreacting, right?”
The darkness I sometimes glimpse in his eyes makes those golden depths appear like a simmering inferno. “When it comes to you?” His reply is simultaneously soft and harsh. “Never. No one touches what’s mine.”
Dante has always been possessive. No matter what I say, he’s not going to change.
Deciding to let it go, I ask, “May I come in?”
“You don’t have to ask.” He closes his laptop. “I’m sorry that work got in the way. I was planning on spending time with you and Noah.”
I go inside. “Is there anything I can do?”
He leans back in his chair. “I should be asking you that question.”
I scoff. “I’m not fragile.” I walk around the room, trailing my finger over the back of the sofa before stopping in front of the built-in bookshelves. “I’ve just lost my memory.”
He doesn’t reply.
Tilting my head, I read the titles of the books. Dante has always been hungry for knowledge and curious about everything. The eclectic collection includes subjects ranging from business strategies to software coding. Yet there are none of the books I usually read, which is mostly fiction.
I turn around. “Can I see our wedding photos?”
For a second, he seems surprised, but he’s quick to wipe the look from his face. “Of course.”
He gets up and goes to the seating area. His manner is reserved when he takes an elegant white photo album from the coffee table and hands it to me.
I flip over the cover, and then it’s my turn to be surprised. I’m wearing a beautiful dress. Dante looks more handsome than ever in his dark suit. What catches me off guard is Noah who stands next to us dressed in a miniature version of Dante’s tux. Our son is the same age in the photo than he is now.
I search Dante’s eyes. “Our wedding happened recently.” Which explains the absence of a wife’s touch in Dante’s model home.