Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
He walks into the corridor, holding a single rose in his hand. His eyes burn with intensity, focused entirely on me, it’s difficult to imagine them being gray and cold.
My instinct is to downplay this, to say something cynical. But I can’t fight the feeling that bubbles up inside me… Is this what other women experience while I’ve been on the sidelines? Not all of it, not the violence, the fear, the danger. But this feeling, bubbling up within me, that I deserve better than a TV dinner and an exhaustion that never leaves me.
He walks forward slowly, and gently slots the rose into my hair. He kisses me with a tenderness I never would’ve guessed he was capable of. But when I grab onto his arms, he groans and pushes me against the wall.
I want to be swept away with him, but I put my hand on his chest. My body threatens to rebel when I push him away, my hand curling around air. He steps back, a wry smirk on his lips.
“Thanks for that,” he says. “I was getting carried away there…”
“I could tell,” I say, smiling.
“I’ve got news about Daniel.” He takes my hand, and I don’t fight it. A piece of me knows I should, but I bury it deep. I’m thinking about this date and nothing else.
“What?” I ask, heart pounding.
“My associates tell me he wasn’t involved in this life. He was in a lot of debt from multiple attempts at going to college. The most likely scenario is he was desperate and hired because he was expendable. Once he had his hands on the phone, one of Vale’s men ran him off the road. But there must’ve been a complication before the phone could be collected. Maybe a witness.”
I shake my head. “That poor young man. I don’t know him, but I know he deserved better than that.”
He leans down and kisses me on the cheek. “You’ve got a kind soul, Lia. I know he must make you think of Evan.”
“I’m touched you even remember his name.”
He looks at me sideways. “Of course I do.”
He leads me into the dining room, which is also covered in rose petals. Something delicious is cooking in the oven. I breathe it in.
“Lasagna?” I ask.
He smiles, nodding. “I asked my brother what regular people eat, and he said this was a safe bet.”
I gesture at my clothes. I’m wearing a hoodie and scrubs. I’m still sweaty from the hospital. “I should change,” I say.
“If you want, you can,” he replies. “But you don’t need to. You’re more beautiful in sweats than most women are in gowns.”
“Now you’re definitely love bombing me.”
He chuckles. “I think you need to have a heart for that.”
“Ha, ha,” I mutter, shooting a mock glare at him. “We both know you have a heart.”
“Now, I do.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, Mr. Love Bomb.”
“I looked that up online earlier,” he says, pulling my chair out for me. “Apparently, it’s when assholes trick women into falling for them by showering them with fake affection. The thing is, Lia, I can’t fake this. I’d need more practice.”
He walks over to the oven, grabbing some gloves and bending down to take out the lasagna. I watch him, a big smile on my face. It’s so nice to be taken care of for once. He turns, sees me smiling, and winks like he’s just read my mind.
“I’m only kidding,” I say.
“I’m glad you think of things like that,” he replies. “It’s clever, and it’s better than the alternative. Walking through life defenseless.”
“That smells delicious,” I say.
“Nikolai is rarely wrong about food. If he didn’t work out so much, he’d be screwed.”
“Are you close with him?” I ask.
He pauses, leaning against the counter, thinking. “Yes, as close as men like us can be.”
“Were you close growing up?”
He considers again. “I was somewhat of a father figure to him. Our own father had his… issues. Drink, mostly. The belt if he got bored.”
I gasp. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to shock or elicit sympathy. I’m just used to talking to people who already know about it. It was years ago now. Thirsty? We’ve got champagne or OJ or soda.”
“Soda’s fine with me. I have to work tomorrow. But don’t let me stop you.”
He frowns, crossing to the fridge.
“You’re going to get mad I’m not drinking?”
That’s a major red flag.
“No,” he says, sounding confused. “Just—you work so much. I’m worried about you.”
That touches me deeply. “I have to,” I say.
“Because of your mother?”
I nod. “I wouldn’t change anything though,” I add quickly. “She was there for me. Now, I’m going to be there for her.”
“When was she there for you?” he asks.
“When I was a kid.”
He frowns again. “Liora, that’s the job of a parent.”
“Can we please not talk about this?”