Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 160192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Her voice was bitter. Not that he blamed her. This situation was fucking nuts.
“I’m sorry you had a fuckwit of a father.”
“He owed your dad money.” She shrugged. “He’s dead now so it hardly matters. Why are you here? What do you want?”
She eyed him suspiciously and it clicked what she was worried about.
“Not that.”
Fuck. He thought he was hardened against this shit. He wasn’t a good man. He didn’t have the capacity to be a good person. But he was also trying not to be a psychopath like his father.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right, I guess.”
“I’m fine.” The words sounded automatic and she tugged at her sleeves.
Was she hurt? Was she covering up bruises?
“Does he hurt you?” Jared asked.
Fuck.
What was he doing?
Her face grew guarded. “I don’t know what you mean and I’d like you to leave.”
He held up his hands and moved slowly over to the bed, sitting. He thought that might make him seem less intimidating. But she still appeared freaked out.
Can you blame her?
“Your door wasn’t locked.”
He didn’t know why he said that but it bothered him. Anyone could get in here . . . anyone could hurt her.
And she looked like a stiff wind would knock her over.
“You expected it to be locked?” she asked. “Your father wouldn’t like that.”
No, that fucker wouldn’t.
“Do you want me to get a lock for it?” he asked as he tried to peer into the closet.
Had she been hiding in there to keep herself safe? There was no lock on the closet door either.
“A lock? That wouldn’t be permitted.”
“What about for the closet?” he asked.
She shot the closet door a concerned look, then glanced back at him warily.
“No. That wouldn’t be allowed either. It would likely just make him angry. Why do you care?”
He shrugged. How much could he say?
“I’m not a good person.”
She blinked. “Right. You’re a Bartolli. I didn’t expect any of you were.”
“My cousin is. Tabby, have you met her?”
“A few times,” she said guardedly.
“Only one in my family worth knowing,” he told her.
Was that a blanket on the closet floor?
“Are you sleeping in there?” He nodded at the closet.
She shrugged. “It’s the only way I can sleep. Is that a problem?”
The fact that she was sleeping on the floor in a closet instead of in the large bed in her room? Yeah, it kind of was.
She was prickly. Far more guarded and reserved than he’d expected.
And what were you expecting?
He was a fucking idiot.
It was obvious that she wouldn’t talk to him. She was holding back because she didn’t know him and couldn’t trust him.
Standing, he moved to the closet and gripped hold of the door when she tried to pull it out of his hold.
“What . . . what are you doing?” she demanded. “Get away from there.”
Jared stared down at the stuffed whale toy that was sitting by her blanket along with an old book that looked scuffed and marked.
It was all she had in here except from some clothes pushed down to the far end. They all looked skimpy and gaudy.
No doubt stuff his father had picked out for her.
Something struck him at the sight of that whale.
“I want you to leave. Now.”
Her words seemed brave and demanding. But they held a quivery note to them.
As though she was terrified that he wouldn’t listen.
Fuck. He was just making things worse.
“You like books?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you been into the library here at the house?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said with less heat in her voice. “But it doesn’t have much I like to read.”
Hmm. It looked like she was reading a romance book, so he guessed she was right.
Well, that was one thing he could change.
“Go back to bed,” he suddenly demanded. “You look like you need some sleep.”
She frowned at him. Yeah, he’d just insulted her, but it was the truth.
She didn’t look well.
He paused by the door and glanced back. “Do you want out?”
“What?” she whispered.
“Of here, from this marriage?” he asked.
She straightened her shoulders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have a roof over my head and food in my belly. I’m fine.”
Right.
So either she wasn’t being honest with him or he’d read her wrong.
And he never read people wrong.
Angie stared at the pile of books on her bedside table in shock. She walked forward slowly.
How had these gotten here?
Who had put them here?
It wouldn’t be Fergus. Her husband, and she used the term loosely, didn’t care what she did as long as she was here and “available” to him.
Angie pushed that thought and those memories to one side. She didn’t want to open up that can of worms. The only way she was managing to get through this fucked up life of hers was by compartmentalizing.
When Fergus was hurting her, she had to go into her head. To pretend that it wasn’t happening.