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)
“Why are you back so early?” I ask moodily.
Her smile is bright and radiant and frankly too much for me to handle right now. I watch warily as she glides in and settles into the leather chair across my desk. Her posture is regal, and her eyes carry an expression of invincibility.
“I heard murmurings of a fire and a girl.”
I sigh and catch her eyes sweep to the empty tumbler of scotch on my table.
“So the girl has turned out to be more trouble than her grandmother?” She sounds amused, which irritates me further.
“There’s been no trouble,” I counter. “The cottage burnt down. No fault of ours, and it’s bloody annoying because they still can’t find the reason why.”
Her eyebrows arch. “And the girl?”
“Gone,” I reply sourly. “Her home has burned down so she had to find somewhere else to stay.”
My mother's eyes are filled with mischief and laughter. “But I was under the impression she stayed here during the renovation works to her cottage.”
My mother’s good humor irks me. I don't want her to play the matchmaker. She thinks Lauren is like the daughters of her friends, society girls. I wish she would take her interfering ways and be gone. I want the solitude to nurse my wounds, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes hold mine relentlessly.
“What are you going to do about it?” she asks.
My voice rises, raw with pain. “Why should I do something about it? I don’t care. She’s living with a friend in the village. She accused me of burning her house down. Can you believe that? What does she think I am?”
Her eyes widen dramatically, but I still get the impression she finds the sorry situation funny. I lose the ability to remain silent.
“The nerve of her. I risked my life to save her. I ran into that fire for her and that ungrateful little—” I stop, my throat tight. Admitting it out loud has made the betrayal cut deeper.
My mother’s face softens, and a small smile curves her lips. “You really like her, don’t you?” Her voice is gentle, knowing, and I freeze, my breath catching because it’s more than that, so much more, and I can’t hide it, not from her.
“Like her? I hate her guts,” I mutter, but the lie hurts so much that I have to say the truth, at least once.
“I’m in love with her,” I admit, the words spilling out in a tortured whisper. I lean back, my hands gripping the chair’s arms, the admission stripping me bare. “Can you believe it? The cottage was in flames, and I didn’t think twice. I ran in, risked everything to save her. I’d never do that for anyone other than my own flesh and blood. Yet she thinks I burned the house down for her stupid piece of land? What the hell does she think I need land for?”
Her smile widens, and her eyes are bright with something like pride. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d feel this way about a woman.”
I shake my head, my anger flaring again, because it’s not a gift, not when it’s this painful. “Well, it’ll never happen again,” I snap, my voice bitter. “Look at the mess I’m in, because I went and chose a stubborn, obtuse, delusional minx.”
“But isn’t it a bit too late to make that declaration. You’ve already fallen for her,” she says in a totally reasonable voice.
I don’t respond, because it’s true. I look away, my gaze on the view outside the window, the estate’s hills blurring. “I’d really like to be alone now.”
My mother stands, her coat rustling, and comes over to me, her perfumed hand cupping the side of my face. Her touch is cool.
“Try to see things from her point of view, darling. You're wealthy. You can have anything you want, and people like us, we don't really know how to accept no, do we? So of course, she'd suspect you. And she doesn’t really know you. I would have thought it more than normal for her to have doubts,” she says, her voice soft but firm.
“She probably feels the same way you do, but she hasn’t had time to know you, to trust what you’re capable of. Don’t stay angry with her—prove to her you’re not responsible. And do everything you can to help her get back on her feet. She’s been very brave, and she deserves a helping hand after such a turn of bad luck.”
I start to protest, but she raises her hand and continues.
“This is what love is—you can be furious with the person you love, but you do everything in your power to help them when they fall. That’s how you show who you are, how you make your bond stronger. Don’t give up on her, darling. These feelings you have, they’re rare. You’ve never felt this before, so you know how precious that is. Fight for it.”