Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
“You don’t want to use the corner fireplace in there?”
“That might be nice.” Charlie motions for me to lead the way, following me into the bedroom. He shows me a few more tricks on the pad. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. I should have made sure you knew how everything worked.” I shrug.
“It’s not a big deal.” Charlie glances past my shoulder, and I turn to follow his line of sight into the closet.
“All of your things are still in boxes.” A flash of disappointment crosses his face momentarily. He walks past me and inside. “I’ll help you unpack, and then we’ll watch a movie.”
“Okay,” I find myself agreeing, the rest of the year no longer looking drab, not with Charlie around.
Chapter Fourteen
WICK
Belle has moved all but one box of her belongings into her bedroom already. I heft the last one into my arms and hear a few things clink together. Belle comes over and peaks inside. Her arm brushes against mine, and that small contact fires me up. I curl my fingers into the cardboard, glad for the cover so I can hide my obvious physical reaction to her. She kissed my hand. I kissed her hand. She’s married—but to me, so that’s not really cheating. I think. Or maybe it is. Does she think I’m a cheat, trying to take my boss’s wife to bed?
Why is she so alluring? Like a siren in the sea. Why couldn’t I have passed by her that day without noticing her? Why did I have to be caught in her web? Why did I do such a stupid thing as propose a blind, fake marriage instead of, I don’t know, courting her instead?
Now that I’m here, I’m going to have to make her fall in love with me. When she’s well and truly caught, then I’ll tell her the truth, and it won’t matter if Charlie and Wick are the same person. In fact, she’ll probably be thrilled.
“This one has things I’ve made, so I’ll put them in the bedroom. They really don’t belong out here.” She tries to tug the box from my arms.
I give her an incredulous look before nodding my head down the hall. “Lead the way.” My tone’s as even as I can make it as I’m trying not to show how excited I am to be inside her personal space.
It’s a large room with a large four-poster bed, big enough for my frame. I wrench my eyes away before I start conjuring up images that will make both of us uncomfortable, although for different reasons. A small round table tucked into a corner with windows on either side looks like a cozy place for breakfast. Under my feet, the dark green carpet feels plush and soft, which means you could kneel on the floor and not have bruised knees.
I place the box on the floor and stoop down to rip it open, desperately needing a distraction.
“Where’d you get this?” I hold up a piece of driftwood, polished and mounted on a round disc.
“I made it at a craft store that I worked at. It’s a jewelry stand.” She taps the end of one of the branches with her finger. “I added a few of these arms to the trunk. Funny thing is I don’t have a lot of jewelry, but I’ve always liked the piece, so I kept it.”
I open my mouth, but she cuts me off. “And don’t say that Mr. Wickham will buy me jewelry. I already feel indebted to him, and getting gold and stuff would add to that feeling.” She shudders like I poured something cold down the middle of her back.
I mentally cross off jewelry from my to-buy list.
“What about this?” It’s a bowl-shaped item made out of pottery and painted with birds at the bottom and leaves on the side. The sides are falling inward and are uneven. It wouldn’t be able to hold much more than a few grapes. “A nest?”
She snatches it out of my hand. “It was my first attempt at pottery. I made the walls too thin and uneven, and when they fired it, the sides collapsed.” She sets it on a long dresser that is pushed up against one wall.
She tells me the story behind each of her crafts. The framed cross-stitch with the phrase “Hold On Let Me Overthink This” in blue surrounded by white, blue, and yellow flowers on the border goes on the dresser next to the failed bowl. A puzzle box of Van Gogh’s Starry Night gets placed on the small table. “You’ll need a bigger space than that for the puzzle,” I remark.
“Probably, but the light here is nice in the morning.”
“You put this together yourself?”
“No, but I will. I’ve a lot of time to do things this year.” The corners of her lips tilt up slightly. I stare at her lips a little too long because the smile fades in front of my eyes, and she turns away, pulling out a half-finished knitted scarf and a quilted bag she said she sewed at a workshop. Those go in the closet.