Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Except he did mention that he’s missing his keycard. He seemed pretty ashamed of that and had no clue where it ended up.
I’m guessing our thief lifted it at some point.
A more vindictive man might punish Giorgio for fucking up and losing his security card. But I’ve known him too long to hold it over his head. People make mistakes all the time, and it didn’t end up hurting us in the long run.
But who took it and why?
I trudge into my house at six in the morning. I smell coffee already brewing, which means Charlie’s awake. I pour myself a cup, drink it all down, pour myself another, and set a second pot to brew for her. Slowly, I make my way upstairs, aching all over, knees on fire and spine a wreck.
I don’t see her anywhere. Not in bed, not in the bathroom. I hear a hanger squeak in the closet, and I go over to the door, curious about what’s going on, only to find my wife rifling through my side.
She doesn’t know I’m watching. I can be quiet when I want to be, and right now, I’m too damn curious about what the hell she’s doing. Charlie shoves her hands in my suit pockets, sliding them aside, and ends up down on her hands and knees, looking through my shoes.
“You lose something in there?”
She yelps, tries to sit up, and bangs the back of her head on a shelf. Groaning, she sits back, rubbing her head.
I’m down at her side in a heartbeat. “Shit, you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She grins at me sheepishly. “Didn’t hear you come home.”
“Probably because you’re too busy searching my side of the closet.”
Her face turns red for a second. Something seems off about her reaction. It’s like she’s embarrassed that she got caught, but I don’t even know what she could be looking for in our own damn closet.
“I lost an earring,” she says finally.
“And you thought it ended up in my pockets?”
“Maybe? In the wash?”
“I get my suits dry cleaned.”
“Oh, right.” She keeps rubbing her head, and I wonder if she hit it too hard. I’m tempted to make her go to the hospital to get checked for a concussion, but that’s probably overkill. “I guess that’s why I didn’t find it.”
“Want me to keep an eye out?”
“Sure, that’d be great.”
I pause, waiting patiently. She keeps smiling awkwardly at me. Something about this situation feels extremely off. “Want to tell me what it looks like?” I ask finally.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” She clears her throat and pushes herself unsteadily to her feet. I stand and brace her shoulder, but she shrugs free. “It’s just a gold hoop.”
I frown slightly. “You’re rich. What do you care if you lose a gold hoop?”
“It’s my favorite.”
“Alright, I’ll look around for it.”
“Thank you.” She beams at me and hurries out of the closet.
What’s a girl worth more than a small country care about a simple gold hoop? Unless there’s some kind of sentimental attachment to it that she doesn’t want to talk about. I hesitate, looking around the closet for some clue to what she was really doing in here, before following her into the main room.
“I’m fighting tonight,” I tell her, deciding this is a good time to bring it up. “And I want you to come.”
She starts and cocks her head. Slowly, she sinks to the edge of the bed. “Why?” she asks.
“I like when you’re around.”
“No, I mean, the fight.”
“Been a stressful morning. I want to blow off steam.”
“Right. Okay.” She takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Anything I can do to change your mind?”
“Get rid of the rule.”
Her smile tightens. “No thanks.”
“Then I’m fighting. I want you there.”
“It’s not like I can actually do anything for you.”
“Call it moral support. You’re also handy with gauze and tape.”
“I’ve been told that before.” She shakes her head, looking down at the floor. “I really hate it, you know.”
“Maybe it’d help you get used to the idea if you show up and make yourself watch.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. I don’t rush her. Let the girl process, and maybe she’ll make the right choice on her own.
I get what she’s thinking. Watching a man try to beat me to death with his bare hands probably doesn’t feel good. I’m getting used to the idea that she actually cares whether I walk out of the warehouse with my skull intact.
“Fine, I’ll do it.”
“I appreciate that.”
“But only because you want me to.” Her smile broadens. “And you asked so nicely.”
“I’ll get on my knees, but you’re the one that’ll be saying please.”
“Oh, wow, great line.”
“Thanks, I practice it in the mirror.”
She laughs, leaning sideways. I love that sound. Her tongue presses against her teeth, and I could drag her mouth against mine viciously if only I weren’t bound by this frustrating rule.