Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Suddenly, I become hyperaware that Max has arrived, my heart starts beating hard as I zero in on every sound that Max makes from the moment he steps through the front door. My heart stumbles, and a reckless spark ignites despite my efforts to stay calm.
I smooth my napkin in my lap, my fingers trembling slightly.
“Hey everyone,” Max calls, his voice low, warm, but edged with something I can’t place—exhaustion, maybe, or tension. He strides into the room, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, his tie loosened, revealing the strong column of his throat. His blue eyes sweep the table and land on me first, and they widen. The flicker of shock passing through them steals my breath. He freezes for a split second, his gaze devouring me—my hair, my dress, the way the fabric hugs my body. I feel it all like a physical touch, hot and greedy.
I flush from the tips of my hair to my toes.
Startled and confused, I tear my gaze away and stare at the delicate pattern on my plate. In my mind, his unconcealed astonished stare blazes, but thank God, Sara has not noticed. Her voice is bright as she rises to greet him.
“You’re just in time,” she says, rising. I hear her kissing his cheek. “Dinner’s ready, but you can have a drink first, if you’d like.”
I raise my eyes and see Max shake his head. “No, I’m fine. Let’s eat.” His expression has been schooled into something neutral, but his eyes flick towards me again.
As he takes his seat at the head of the table, I feel it—a pull, a current that hums between us, dangerous and forbidden.
“Hey, Daddy,” Jason says.
And he turns his attention to his son. I try to focus on Jason, his small face solemn as he talks to his father, but Max’s presence is a storm, filling the room, making my skin prickle with awareness.
Maria comes in and silently begins to serve the food, her movements quick and unobstructive. “Thank you,” I say quietly, as she places a plate of glistening black squid pasta in front of me. It steams gently under the chandelier’s soft light.
“Bon appétit, everyone,” Sara calls out cheerfully.
We all obediently echo her salutation, and the clink of silverware against china punctuates the quiet. Almost instantly, a stilted tension settles over us like a fog.
“Jason,” Sara rushes in, her voice slicing through the awkwardness before it can congeal further, “tell Daddy about your art project.” She smiles encouragingly at her son, her brown eyes warm, but Jason only shrugs, his gaze fixed on his plate, his fork still.
“It was okay,” he mumbles, barely audible.
I frown, my heart tugging at how remote he seems. He was so chatty yesterday, his voice full of enthusiasm as he asked about my dragon painting in the studio, his curiosity a spark that lit up the room. Now, he’s withdrawn, a shadow of that excited, curious boy, and it unsettles me. It’s a question I can’t answer yet. Is it Max? Or Sara? What is splitting his personality, making him so different from the boy I saw last night?
Sara laughs, undeterred, and turns to me, her smile warm and inviting. “What about you, Amelia? Were you able to get some painting done this afternoon? I hope I didn’t exhaust you too much from all the shopping we did.”
I force a smile. “I did get some work done, but it’s… uh… a bit slow going at the moment.” I glance at Jason, hoping to draw him out, but he doesn’t even look up, and I wonder if, after what happened last night, he thinks I told his mother he was a nuisance and I didn’t want him coming to my studio or bedroom.
Max clears his throat, his voice low, drawing my eyes to him despite myself. “It’s not going well?” he asks.
My eyes meet his, and his are penetrating and searching. Instantly, my pulse skips, a wild beat I can’t control. Not here, not with Sara’s cheerful voice filling the gaps.
He stares at me, his knife paused mid-air, and I shift in my seat, the black dress suddenly too tight. I can feel my body heating up under his scrutiny. I want to tell myself that look in his eyes is just concern, brotherly worry, but it’s not—it’s too intense, too alive.
“It is,” I reply cautiously. Next, he will be asking me why. “Just a bit slow. Change of environment. What about you? How is work going?”
“Same old, same old,” he replies, twirling tagliolini onto his fork.
“Amelia, tell him about our shopping trip,” Sara cuts in. “We found some gorgeous pieces—dresses, shoes, even some very sexy lingerie. Madam, here is going to turn some lucky guy’s head very soon.”
She winks at me, and I smile weakly, my cheeks burning as Max’s eyes flick to me again, darker now, a shadow passing through them that makes my stomach twist.