Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
And the moment I remember that...
It just hurts.
So, so much.
All I wanted was to surprise him.
All I wanted was to please him.
But instead...instead this.
How in the world did my life end up like this?
I only realize how hard I'm crying when he lowers me to my feet, and I can't...I can't even make myself care when I realize he's taken me to another suite.
I’ve never been alone in a room with any other man except for Sandy.
My husband.
And I’ve always thought that was true for Sandy, too, until...
Fingers cup my chin, and I find myself once again looking into a pair of blue eyes that seem oddly gentle...and fierce at the same time.
"He's not worth your tears, Nicole."
"I k-know." I try to smile. But fail. I try to stop crying, but I fail on that, too. "I w-wish I could stop—"
"I can help with that, too."
He can?
"Do you want me to help you to stop crying?"
I don't even have to think about this. I just want to stop hurting, and doesn't that happen once I stop crying? And so when I start to nod—
W-What in the world is he doing?
Why is his head starting to lower like...like he's going to kiss me?
Chapter Four
"THERE." HE PULLS BACK, and I can only blink because it's my first time to see the gleam of amusement in his eyes. "That stopped you from crying, didn't you?"
Is he saying...is he saying he just wanted me to think he's going to kiss me? As a tear-stopper technique?
I force myself to laugh, but stop when the sound comes out as pathetic and...well, let's just say it doesn't make me sound any less like the loser I'm starting to feel I am.
"What do you want to drink?"
I start to shake my head.
"I'll decide for you then," he says easily. "Sit down while I make you a drink."
I'm about to shake my head again when he adds softly, "It's not a request, Nicole."
That shouldn't have worked.
But it does.
And I somehow find myself sitting down dazedly on the couch of his suite, which I'm now starting to appreciate as I look around.
It's...big.
That's all I can think at first, and then my brain catches up to itself and tells me that big isn't the word, enormous is the word, the suite I paid for could fit inside this living room and have room left over for a second living room.
Black and white, too, in a way that makes me think of London because I've only ever seen rooms like this in the kind of British movies Sandy refused to watch with me.
And there's a—
Wait.
Is that a lap pool on the balcony?
A lap pool. On a balcony. In a hotel.
And a grand piano in the corner that's making my fingers itch even though I haven't sat at one in I don't know how long.
And a staircase, of all things.
A hotel suite that has its own staircase. Who needs a staircase in a hotel? What's even up there? Another floor? A second living room? Why would anyone need a hotel suite this big when they're not even living here?
"Here you go."
I already know what he's brought me before I even turn to look at him.
Tea.
Mint tea, to be exact, with these tiny blue petals floating on the surface.
I lean closer because I want to make sure I'm seeing it right, and yup.
Blue petals.
Is this normal? Am I just not posh enough to know that it’s normal to have real flowers in tea these days? Am I supposed to drink around them? Or chew them? I just have so many questions while staring at those pretty tiny small blue petals, and...I’m thankful for that. Anything that gets my mind off...shapes? I’m thankful for it, and..oh.
I'm not quite sure what to do when my husband’s boss sits next to me on the couch instead of taking either armchair on the side. All this time I thought Londoners were big on personal space, but maybe they've changed?
"Take a sip, Nicole."
How bossy of him, I can’t help thinking even as I mumble my thanks and reach for one of the pretty porcelain cups. I’m just too tired to argue over anything right now, and honestly, it’s not like I’ve ever been the confrontational—oh!
The tea is surprisingly good.
Like, for real, it’s really, really good.
The heat, the scent, the minty, ice-like taste that soothes and refreshes. This is exactly what I didn't realize I needed, and it does have me wondering...
I steal a look at him over the rim of my cup—
Oops.
—only to find out that he's been watching me all this time, and my cheeks turn red at being caught like a peeping tom.
"I'm s-sorry—"
"You're starting to sound more British than I do," he murmurs, "with how often you apologize."
"I'm—" Wait. Am I about to say sorry again?
His eyes do more of that gleaming, and my cheeks turn redder.