Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I grin, so happy she’s here, so grateful for her. “Actually, there might be someone I have in mind for you.”
Her eyes twinkle, and her hand rushes up to cover her mouth. “You little devil. It’s the best man, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. He’s gorgeous, Sandy.”
She laughs happily. “Imagine if I moved here too. We’d be together again.”
And suddenly, the tears start pouring down my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, stepping closer, a frown on her face.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We’re having a baby,” I say, my voice breaking.
Tears prick her eyes too, as a smile of pure joy spreads across her face.
“Oh wow. How amazing,” she says, and rushes to me, her hands gentle on my stomach. She lowers her head and presses a soft kiss on my belly.
“Hi, I’m your Aunt Sandy,” she whispers.
I laugh, tears spilling, my heart so full it aches. She stands, taking my hand, her eyes bright again, and says, “Okay, I need to see the dress. How many for today?”
“Just one,” I say, leading her to the closet, its cedar scent wafting as I open the doors. “I’m keeping it simple for the rehearsal.”
She pouts, mock-disappointed, her hands on her hips. “Only one? Come on, Lauren.” I laugh, pulling out the lace dress, its silhouette elegant and understated.
“Don’t worry,” I say, holding it up. “I’ve got three planned for tomorrow.”
Her eyes light up at this. I point towards the walk-in closet and she dives into it with a squeal of delight, running her fingers over the dresses. Her joy is contagious, and it fills the room and my heart with warmth.
Hugh
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bAqz0AwLRjk
-endless love-
I wake up in the middle of the night to the manor’s heavy silence.
The moonlight filtering through the tall windows cast soft shadows across the room, and as is now my habit, my hand reaches out for Lauren. I expect to instantly feel her warmth, but instead the sheets are cool and empty. A flicker of concern tightens my chest. It’s the night before our wedding, and I know she must be nervous, so I slip out of bed and go in search of her.
The hardwood floor is cold against my bare feet as I move quietly. I check the bathroom first and after confirming that she isn’t there, I make my next best guess: the library, her sanctuary when sleep eludes her.
I head down the staircase. This time of the night is so immensely peaceful when the manor’s halls are hushed, the air carrying the faint scent of roses from the wedding preparations. I reach the library, making no sounds. Its double doors are ajar, and there she is, curled up in a leather armchair by the fireplace, reading.
The low lamp casts a soft light across her lace nightdress, its delicate straps slipping off her shoulders, the fabric clinging to her curves. Her blonde hair tumbles over one shoulder. I don’t call out to her. I just watch her. The most precious thing I have. It takes a little while, but when she notices me, her eyes light up with love and joy.
She starts to close the book, tucking it against her side, and I narrow my eyes, a playful suspicion stirring, because every time I catch her with a book, she hides it, like it’s a secret she’s guarding.
I cross the room, my steps slow, deliberate, the rug soft underfoot. She reaches out to hold me while I reach out to stroke her cheek, her skin warm, velvet under my fingers. “Are you nervous?” I ask, my voice low, teasing, though concern lingers. “Couldn’t sleep?”
She shakes her head, her smile widening. “ No, no, I’m not nervous. I’m too excited. I didn’t want to wake you by tossing and turning, so I came here to read.” Her eyes sparkle, and I feel the tension in my chest ease, replaced by a warmth, a pull to be closer.
I tug her gently to her feet, her nightdress swaying, and she stands in front of me. Her hand in mine, her touch electric. I sink into the chair, its leather creaking, and pull her onto my lap, her weight familiar and perfect, her thighs warm against mine.
“Are you going to show me what that book’s about?” I ask. “You always seem to be hiding your reading material.”
She blushes. I watch mesmerized as her cheeks go pink and her eyes dart away. It’s so endearing I can’t help but grin.
“Don’t judge me,” she says, her voice a whisper, half-pleading.
I tilt my head, my fingers brushing her hair back. “I won’t,” I say, teasing, “or maybe I will. Is it something kinky?”
She hesitates, then meets my gaze, her shyness melting into a playful defiance. Then she holds up the book, and I glance at the cover. A painting of a man in Victorian era attire, his coat flared, holding a woman in a flowing dress, her body arched as he leans to kiss her. Their pose is so damn dramatic that for a while, I’m almost not sure as to what I’m looking at. Eventually though, after reading the wild title, I completely understand.