Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Were any of them the real Luc? Were all of them? How was I supposed to determine which were real and which were acts?
My gut told me the lonely boy was the real Luc, but how was I supposed to know for sure? How could I trust that my gut wasn’t lying to me because I missed his touch? Love had to be the enemy of logic.
This statue made me think of him, and I hated it for that.
It made me think of the way Luc held me the night before in front of the fire. It made me remember how it felt to be next to him, laughing and eating s’mores like a regular couple wanting to know more about each other. Wanting to know secret things, intimate things, things only the other knew.
I wanted the kind of intimacy those words promised me, the kind of intimacy given for its own sake, not to feign attachment with lies for power and money.
“Amelia.” He called my name, and I wasn’t even surprised he’d found me.
I thought I always knew it didn’t matter where I went, he would find me. “Amelia.”
He was dressed in his usual designer pants and black polo shirt, a style that made him appear both relaxed and somewhat sinister. My heart raced at just seeing him. I wanted to run into his arms and make him promise to never let me go.
I didn’t.
He ran toward me, and I considered fleeing, but it was no use.
I stood my ground.
I turned and looked up at the statue again, perched up high on a stucco wall, and I wondered if that was the key to this piece. It looked so close; it looked achievable until you neared it, and you realized the figures were perched so far above you. That relationship, that kind of security, would always be just beyond my reach.
“Amelia.” Luc finally reached me, panting. Upon closer inspection, he was a mess. His hair was disheveled, his clothing wrinkled, and small bags had formed under his eyes.
I didn’t say anything and waited for him to share whatever he had come here to say. Maybe if he said the right thing, looking at him wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe he would say the words that would make me realize he could be the man I wanted him to be.
“Amelia, come home.” He reached for my hand, and I took a step back.
That wasn’t it.
“Amelia, let’s go home. We will take the weekend to talk everything over and make a plan for the wedding. Just come home.”
“No. I can’t.”
“You can. Every night can be like last night. We can get married, and everything will settle down. Just come home with me.”
Everything else would settle. That was what he chose to say. Everything else would settle. What he meant was I would be trapped. The business deal would be done, and I would be trapped in a gilded cage for the rest of my life.
That wasn’t living. “Leave me alone.”
CHAPTER 33
LUC
“Don’t let her know you are there unless she tries to leave. I’m on my way,” I yelled into the phone before throwing it in the passenger seat.
The agent had found her and followed her to a sculpture park. I had broken every traffic law on the way there. It didn’t matter.
It took far too long to reach her.
The traffic was terrible.
It should have only taken me a little over an hour to get there, or maybe a little under an hour, since I was more than prepared to ignore the speed limit. Instead, it was two hours of pure panic trying to get to Amelia before she left and was gone forever. Somehow, I knew that if she was gone before I got to that park, that was it. This was going to be my last chance to convince her I was worth her time and attention.
Those two hours driving on I-95 gave me time to reflect, not only on every time I’d scared or intimidated her, but also on the filthy things I’d said to her.
Yes, at first I’d assumed she was more experienced than she was, but that didn’t matter. Whether I’d been the first man to touch her or not, I should have treated her with more respect.
Even if that could be excused, what the fuck was my excuse after I took her virginity the night of the opera? After that, I had known how innocent she was. Still, I’d pushed, and I’d punished her for her mother’s indiscretions and for my mistakes.
The filthy things I’d whispered in her ear, how I’d touched her, how I’d made her touch me.
My stomach tightened with shame.
I should have been gentle. I should have guided her, taught her the art of making love, or at least helped her discover what she liked.