Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Ashton stepped back, letting me go ahead of him, and he placed a hand at the small of my back.
A whole different kind of shiver went all the way down my spine this time, and I was cursing myself internally because hello. I did not need to keep finding this man attractive or letting his touches affect me in a certain way. But as his hand pressed a little more firmly down there, I couldn’t stop myself from envisioning if he kept moving south and how I might’ve liked that touch too.
The inside of Pedro’s was dark, lit with candles everywhere. I was hoping they were LED candles, but they looked like the real deal. I could hear other customers as we passed, but only by a very low murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware on plates. I never saw anyone, and then we were taken to a back area that almost magically opened up to a courtyard. There was a gazebo above, but higher than that, stars. Vines ran the length of the walls around us and intertwined the wooden posts overhead. A small fountain was set in one of the walls, the water running as we stepped out. The floor was made of rocks, looking like Europe with cobblestone.
A small table in the middle of the courtyard.
The table was already set with candles. A wine bottle at the ready. Bread. Oil for dipping.
My heart paused for a brief moment because I envisioned how this would feel on a date. Romantic. The girl would be like Cinderella. Ashton was acting like a prince, helping me sit in my seat first before he went to the other. Swoonworthy. The wine was poured. Water was being poured at the same time, and one of the waitstaff said something to Ashton.
But this wasn’t a date.
He nodded, his eyes never meeting mine until the second she left and closed the glass doors behind her. We were alone.
Those eyes flicked up and found me.
I was zapped in place. “What?”
“Pedro is a family friend. You will keep your reactions to me and what I’m about to tell you to yourself.”
He wasn’t asking. He was commanding. I flushed because damn. “I would’ve anyways. You didn’t need to reiterate that. It’s obvious that Pedro is like a celestial being on this plane. Can feel that the second you approach this restaurant.”
He frowned but didn’t comment on that.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Are they coming back for our order?”
He shook his head, leaning back in his seat and for the first time heaving a breath. “Pedro would never let that happen. He’s making a feast for us. If you lose your appetite during our talk, I can have it boxed and brought to your home for you.”
He was already planning for me to lose my appetite.
His eyes had started to lower, but they lifted back up. I was pinned in place again. “What do you know about your mother?”
I tensed but jerked up a stiff shoulder. That came from left field. “She was a drug addict all her life. Why?”
“What do you know about how she died?”
Now I was the one becoming like cement. “She died getting drugs. It was a drug deal gone bad. Tried to rip off the dealer. He killed her instead.”
He was studying me. I couldn’t shake how he seemed to be seeing inside of me.
“Were you aware our mothers were friends?” His voice was almost gravelly but unyielding.
“What?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Your mother. My mother. They were friends. Did you know that?”
I was going through my memories.
Laughing with my mom.
Hugging her.
She read to me, tucking me in at night, but then she was dead, and my dad filled in the blanks afterward.
She was a drug addict.
He told me that I couldn’t believe what I remembered.
My memories were wrong.
My mom was cold. Harsh. She just used me. My dad gave me the truth about her.
I turned eleven when my mom died. I lived with my dad for a few years after, but he kept telling me how she was and I . . . I stopped thinking about her. Then I went into foster care, and I stopped thinking about both of them.
Or I tried . . .
My mom, though.
I felt so small right now. “I didn’t know she was friends with your mom.”
“The morning she died, your father brought you to my grandfather’s house. Do you remember that day?”
I frowned, swallowing a lump. My throat was burning. My chest felt like it was going to implode on itself. “I remember that morning. I remember seeing you, but . . . it was that day? I don’t remember that part.”
His gaze was burrowing into me. I could feel it. “You were sitting on the bench in our hallway, the one that’s attached to the stairs. Your father walked into my grandfather’s library as I was leaving, and I saw you. You saw me.”