Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
"There is a bed."
"Don't be obtuse."
He pauses his knife. "You're my wife. We will share a bed." A small gasp leaves me. I have never shared a bed with anyone before. "We're adults, Truly. We can share a bed."
"That's not the point. I have never shared a bed with someone."
"Neither have I, but I'm not going to pounce on you. Do you think so little of me?"
I just stare at him. That sentence held a lot to it.
"I'd hope you haven't been sharing a bed with anyone. You are a married man." I can't keep the sarcasm out of my tone.
"I," he says, pronouncing the word hard and punctuated, "don't cheat, nor do I go back on my word."
"I don't cheat, but it wouldn't matter if I did. You don't treat me as a wife, so why would I act like one?"
He slams down the skillet he'd pulled out, making me slightly jump.
I'm not scared of Blake in the physical sense. I’m just shocked by these emotional responses by him. I have only ever seen him as polite, even his tone. Usually, you don't get any kind of reaction from him. But like I’ve said, that was the Blake I knew years ago. The man standing in front of me is a whole other person.
"We are married, and rest assured I'm going to treat you very much like my wife." Did I just set my own trap? Careful what you ask for.
"What does that mean?" I stand. I can't deny that a sliver of my anger with him dissipated when he said he never cheated on me. That he had been faithful all these years.
Does that really mean something, or could he not risk a scandal? Scandals often lead to a decline in stocks, and if the men around me care about anything, it is money and how the rest of the world perceives them. Maybe there was some sort of clause in this deal he made with my parents.
"It means you will have meals with me, accompany me to events, and share our bed each night." Okay, I can do that. It sounds simple enough, but I'm not so sure. In theory it is, but I will have to continuously remind myself that none of it is real. That it’s all a façade.
"I don't think that you would pounce on me," I tell him. If anything, I thought the opposite. God knows if he'd ever tried anything all these years, I would have melted for him. I'd often dreamed about our first kiss, even before I knew about our impending marriage.
“I’m making us stir-fry.” He goes back to chopping, and I merely stand there, not sure what I should do. “Would you like a drink?” Blake asks.
“Wine?” He nods, going over to a cabinet, he pulls out a bottle and grabs a couple of glasses. “I didn’t picture you having a home like this.” I make my way over to the kitchen island, where he set my glass.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe a penthouse condo.” He stares at me. “What?” Why is he looking at me like I’ve lost my mind?
“You’re afraid of heights. You think I’d force you to live in a tall building?” Now it’s my turn to stare at him.
"You remember that?"
"I remember everything." That is true. I’ve heard many times that Blake is gifted. That when he sets his mind on something, there is no stopping him.
Blake has always been kind to me. He might be cold, but I would get sparks of his warmness. It's part of why I fell for him. I convinced myself that only I got that. That he saw me differently than everyone else and felt comfortable enough to show me that part of him.
I pick up my glass and take a sip. It grows quiet again except for the sounds of him cooking. I don't know what to say or do, so I keep on drinking my wine and pour myself another one.
I take a seat at the kitchen island and watch him. “Can I help?” I ask.
“If I recall correctly, you’re a terrible cook.” Sometimes that good memory works in my favor, but in this instance not so much.
“Hey, that’s not my fault.” I didn’t get to use the kitchen much. My parents always had a chef, and at college I ate in the Student Hall.
“You don’t have to cook if you don’t want to.” He sets a plate down in front of me.
“I might as well learn.” What else am I going to do? I should keep trying to find a job. “Not much else for me to do.” Blake fills up my wine glass again.
“You’re not a prisoner. You are free to come and go as long as you use the driver.”
“Babysitter,” I correct.