Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
He sighs again, a more exasperated exhalation. “I do want you to recover, Abigail. Is that so terrible?”
“Depending on your reasoning, yes. It can be.”
“My only desire is to see you healthy and whole. Your pain is unbearable to me.”
I eye him with suspicion. It almost sounds as though he truly cares.
But I can’t trust a word that leaves his sensual lips.
I am in pain, and I do want a bath. After the crash yesterday, I was too woozy take care of myself, and Dane was merciful enough not to bathe me.
“It’s been over twenty-four hours since you hit your head,” he says, the reasonable doctor. “I’ll need to monitor you closely for the next few days, but you’re well enough to see to your own essential needs. However.” That one word fills me with dread. “I don’t intend to leave you completely on your own. You’re still a fall risk.”
I eye him warily. “What are you planning to do to me?”
Something like pain tightens his features. Have I managed to wound him?
“I’m going to help you walk to the bathroom,” he explains, soft and placating. “Nothing more.”
I grit my teeth and accept his help getting to my feet. After a brief dizzy spell, I’m able to walk the few steps to the ensuite. He hovers at my side, allowing me a modicum of personal space while remaining close enough to catch me if I stumble.
It’s almost as though he’s keeping a respectful distance.
I don’t know how to process that, and my head hurts too much to puzzle it out.
When I enter the bathroom, he doesn’t leave, but he does turn his back.
“I’ll be right here if you need me.” He says it like a reassurance.
And maybe it is. I don’t want to be with him, but he’s not forcing himself on me. He’s remaining nearby in case I get dizzy again.
I can’t succumb to his tender care. It’s rooted in selfishness, not true concern for me. If he really cared, he would take me to a hospital. He would walk away and never show his face again.
But I know that won’t happen.
So, I strip and carefully step into the bathtub, which is already filled with warm water. Dane set it up for me.
He doesn’t care, I remind myself.
I can’t forget his true nature for one second.
Even when he retrieves the worn copy of Addie LaRue where it was waiting on the sink and begins to read to me.
It’s not my own copy—I’ve memorized every crack in the spine of my beloved book.
That means Dane’s the one who’s worn down the book in his hands. It was brand new when he brought it into the café, I’m sure of it. I clearly remember the perfect condition when I first saw it tucked in his hand.
How many times has he read it since then?
It’s another puzzle that I can’t bear to contemplate for long.
He’s not the only one who’s tired of arguing.
I relax into the warm water and allow my mind to drift as his voice fills the room in a cultured, soothing cadence.
15
ABIGAIL
The studio is the only place in the manor where Dane leaves me alone. Over the last three weeks, it’s become my personal haven.
Otherwise, he’s a constant presence—he cooks every meal for me, cleans up after us, and reads to me for hours. We’ve moved on from Addie LaRue to one of my favorite fantasy romance trilogies. He doesn’t seem to mind the romantic content, and the steamy scenes read aloud in his deep voice makes something flutter between my legs despite my best efforts.
He hasn’t tried to touch me more than absolutely necessary in that time, and he’s slept on the tiny chaise every night. He says he doesn’t want to disturb my sleep, but sometimes I wonder if he has other reasons for giving me space.
My plan from the very beginning was to make him understand that I will never love him again. Perhaps my escape attempt—and the desperate risk I took—has given him some perspective. It might actually be sinking in that I don’t feel anything for him but loathing and resentment.
I can see that it bothers him.
Good.
He deserves to feel disturbed for what he’s done to me.
I’m not delusional enough to think he experiences guilt, but he does seem uncomfortable and off-balance around me in a way I never would’ve expected.
I’ve spent long days in the studio working through my physical pain so that I can spend time at my easel.
Dr. Graham approves of my efforts to return to gentle daily activities as part of my recovery, even if he does appear genuinely bothered by my winces at sudden movements. A few times, he’s reached for me during particularly intense spikes of pain, but he always withdraws when I flinch.
Today, I’m putting the finishing touches on the painting I’ve struggled to express on my canvas. The agony of it was far deeper than the ache in my ribs when I lifted my arm or shifted my weight too quickly.