Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Whatever was happening between us would be exorcised with sex. All I could hope for was to survive the aftermath. After all I was a prisoner of my past––I couldn’t risk him finding out what had caused me to leave Albania––and he had the world at his feet. It was only a matter of time before he would tire of me. I would take the pleasure and nothing more. I accepted that and found solace in the fact that the rules of engagement were clear. I wasn’t a young girl that believed in fairytales. No prince was riding to my rescue. I had always rescued myself––and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Chapter Thirteen
“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t sleep well,” I mumbled. Charlotte kept studying me with a quizzical expression. I yawned for the ten thousandth time as we loaded the serving cart with drinks.
“Were you out at a rave all night?” The side of her rosebud mouth kicked up in a half-grin. I returned a blank stare, my mind not having caught up with the question yet. “Joking. Jesus, you are out of it today. We need to take these to the south lawn. They’re shooting this morning.”
“Shooting? Animals?” I asked, horrified.
“No, clay pigeons.”
“Thank God.”
We exited out onto the expansive blue slate patio that wrapped around the back of the manor. A carpet of green rolled out for acres, stretching all the way to the shores of Lake Geneva, the grass sheared with such precision it may have been cut with a pair of scissors. Vibrant beds of irises lined the path that led to an elegant navy and white striped tent erected a week prior.
The invigorating effect of the crisp, clean air woke me up––also, the fact that I couldn’t help being a little nervous. I wanted to see him. To see if the fragile alliance we had formed the night before remained, or if we were destined to continue this seemingly endless cycle of three steps forward, two steps back.
Charlotte and I wheeled the loaded cart down the slope to where a group of the guests had assembled. Mr. Bentifourt stood next to the bar with his knobby hands clasped behind him, overseeing the setting of the table for lunch. Nearby, a number of the groundskeepers worked with a metal contraption, loading terracotta disks inside of it while the other half worked with some spooky looking shotguns, inspecting each one closely before placing them side by side on a table.
Alcohol and guns. What a pleasant mix.
A group of the women stood under the tent hiding from the unusually strong morning sun while the men checked out the guns. A shrill of forced laughter drew my attention. Paisley stared into the face of a handsome but cold looking bank executive, laughing at whatever quip he had whispered in her ear. Marcus watched his wife with brooding interest. The vein in between his brows pulsed, and I realized that whatever Paisley had told Sebastian that night in the library––about Marcus not caring––was very much a lie.
Mr. Bentifourt spotted us as we approached and came to help steady the overloaded cart. After unloading everything, we immediately started serving cocktails. The three of us, working quickly, could barely keep up with the demand.
“Vera, if you don’t mind fetching more ice?”
“Certainly, sir.”
I cut across the blue slate patio, and entered through the French doors. A familiar raspy voice, talking quietly, caught my attention. Without conscious thought, I stepped behind the voluminous silk drapes, out of sight.
“My guests are waiting, Diana. What is it?” he snapped.
“I see the way you look at her––what do you think you’re doing?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“That girl with the big brown eyes. The one that looks at you like she just seen Jesus…the housekeeper. You can’t save them all, sugar. This one needs more than a wing mended, or a bone set.”
I felt my chest compress painfully. Me. She was talking about me. My pride roared in outrage. Look at him as if I had seen Jesus?! I needed to stop spying on him, hadn’t I learned that painful lesson yet. This was beyond humiliating. And what the hell did she mean by saving this one?!
“You, of all people…” he said in a sinister drawl, “giving me advice…I’m ‘bout to laugh my ass off. I’m the one that found you in the barn with that groom’s head between your thighs. What was he…fifteen? Maybe sixteen years old?” His voice was low, controlled, but the underlying rage was as conspicuous as an albino elephant.
“Oh, Scout, that was almost twenty years ago. When are you going to forgive me?”
“When you change,” he sneered. His angry footsteps faded away immediately afterwards. He was ruthless when angered. I could hear Diana Redman breathing harshly as she stepped through the French doors and exited. Peeking out from behind the heavy silk drapes, I made sure the coast was clear before I ran to the kitchen. By the time I reached the lawn party with the ice, Bentifourt was scowling in open displeasure.