Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“You can just drop me off,” I mumbled as I heard the driver take his place behind the wheel.
“Why are you so exhausted? Have you not been sleeping?” Pierce asked gently.
I grunted and rolled in the opposite direction so I could rest my head on his shoulder. Every muscle tensed as I waited for him to push me away. His parents weren’t here, and his driver wouldn’t rat Pierce out. There was no reason for Pierce to let me stay close.
But he didn’t push me away. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and gathered me closer. “Grunting isn’t an answer, Simon. What’s going on?”
“Tired. I’ve been busy. And it’s…exhausting sometimes…playing. I…” My voice drifted off, not knowing how to put what I was thinking and feeling into words. Sometimes I poured so much into my playing that when I was done, it felt like there was nothing of myself left. I became a hollowed-out shell that needed time to be refilled. My soul had escaped with the notes and flown away, leaving behind a thin, fragile vessel that was one stiff breeze away from shattering.
But how was I supposed to explain that to him? I’d been lucky enough to encounter a couple of other artists in my life who understood it because they felt it as well, but to explain it to someone who didn’t perform or create was useless. The few times I’d attempted it, all I’d got in return were skeptical looks and placating nods. They thought I was faking it—another prima donna drama queen who had to have the spotlight constantly. I could put up with most of the world thinking that about me, but not Pierce. Never Pierce.
“Take us home, Edward,” Pierce ordered in a low, firm voice.
I wanted to argue, to say that I’d be fine alone in my own place, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Right now, I was cuddled against Pierce, feeling warm and safe. He wasn’t asking any more questions, and I didn’t have to say anything else. I didn’t even have to think. The world faded away, and I was lost in him for a while.
The drive seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, but I knew Pierce didn’t live downtown. Sadly, I wasn’t sure where he lived. I’d always assumed that it was somewhere near Declan and Sebastian, but I’d never seen his house.
When Edward parked the car in front of a large house with dark-red brick and a multi-gabled black roof, I forced the jagged pieces of my mind into some semblance of working order so I could climb out of the vehicle in a dignified manner. I didn’t bother to glance up at the structure, but followed Pierce up the short stairs and through the door, still clutching my violin to my chest.
“Would you like me to hold your violin while you remove your coat?” Pierce inquired, jolting me back to reality. I’d been staring at the gleaming parquet floor and the long, thick rug under my feet.
“Uh…no, that’s okay.” I shifted the case from one hand to the other as I slipped out of the coat. A woman in a neat black uniform appeared out of the ether to take my coat and Pierce’s.
“Sir, Mrs. Cantrip has prepared a light, cold meal for you. However, now that we have a guest, would you like me to order up some hot dishes for you both? I believe she has a lovely minestrone soup that she can heat.”
“Simon?”
I shook my head. Soup sounded heavenly, but it felt like it was more work than I could handle. It would require sitting properly and operating a spoon and napkins. All I wanted was to curl up in a ball.
“No, thank you. I just…let me close my eyes for a few minutes, and then I can get out of your hair.”
“You’re not leaving here tonight. You’re in no shape to be on your own.”
“And I don’t need you taking care of me like I’m a fucking child!” I exploded. The words and broken emotions couldn’t be held in any longer. I’d never wanted Pierce to see me like this. He wasn’t supposed to see the imperfect me, the broken me. He couldn’t see the shattered, jagged edges that didn’t quite fit back together, but at least I could hide them in the daylight. This shit was supposed to be revealed only after he’d fallen in love with me. If he loved me, there was a chance he could love this ugly part too.
But now it was too late. I’d exploded like the petulant, troublesome child I really was, and there was no chance he could love the good, worthy parts of me, because he now knew this lurked underneath.
“I don’t think you’re a child. You look like someone who needs some help. And maybe I enjoy taking care of people.”