Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
I just want to go home already.
“Rose, you know where everything is,” Mrs. Conti says, nodding for me to move along. She doesn’t want her husband to see me. Or that’s what I’m getting from this.
I don’t want him to see me either. I respect him. I don’t want him to see me as a woman. Not again.
“I want to go home,” I tell Pax when we move along, ready to hit the bar. Maria isn’t here, she must be with her grandparents.
“Stop whining,” he whispers, kissing my temple. “We’ll be eating soon.”
I rush into the next room, wondering if it’s possible to avoid Mr. C for the rest of the night. I wish I put a change of clothes in the trunk of Pax’s car.
I down a glass of gin, hoping that it calms my nerves and order another. Pax mingles and talks, introducing me to everyone as his girlfriend and of course it’s sweet but it’s also quite possessive in the way he tells people.
A buffet of food is open, and waiters stand to serve the more difficult choices as people help themselves.
I skip the food, have another drink and leave Pax to talk with three men from other branches of Mr. C’s company.
I’m accosted twice by men I don’t know, and the women are so nice, but I just don’t want to be here. I’m about to have a panic attack. I’m not coping.
I turn in the center, forgetting my bearings for a moment and all the faces blur into laughing, morphed and warped masks.
I duck out of the room, somebody calls my name, but I keep going, desperate to just be out of here.
I race up the wide, curving staircase and down the long hall. Straight for Maria’s room.
It’s the only room I know really.
I push open the door and slam it shut behind me, kicking off my heels and grabbing my hair.
I can’t cope. I’m not coping.
I grab her huge stuffed teddy that’s half the size of me and sit cross-legged by her bed, holding it tightly in my arms. I wish I had a room like this growing up. I wish I had my own room at all.
It’s neat, tidy, every toy has its place, her bed is huge with a translucent white canopy and twinkling lights dangling from it.
I squeeze the bear but it’s not the same as my stress ball. I wish I’d put it in my bag.
The door clicks open.
“Occupied,” I call out, keeping my cheek pressed to the top of the bear.
Whoever it is steps into the room and doesn’t stop until they’re crouched in front of me.
They take my hands and pull them free of the bear, then remove the bear and pull me until I’m looking up at them.
I look into his kind, concerned gray eyes and stand as he pulls me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to ditch your party.”
“Shhh,” he replies, keeping a hold of my hand and leading me to the door.
“Please don’t make me go back,” I beg, digging my heels in and gripping his wrist.
“I’m not.” He leads me out of his daughter’s room, looking right and left before pulling me out with him and further down the hall to the master bedroom.
So this is where he and Mrs. Conti sleep? It’s exactly how I imagined it. Modern, shiny, polished, expensive. Way too big. So much space. The bed looks plush though and well made.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he leads me to his closet and opens the door. I wait for him as he steps inside and crouches low to pick up a large, shiny blue box.
He puts it on the bed and takes off the lid, then removes tissue-like paper and tosses it to the side. This entire process neither of us say a word.
Then he lifts something out. Something designer, but definitely different and unique. It’s a deep purple pantsuit that will absolutely bury me in every way I want it to. It’s gorgeous. I love it.
“Merry Christmas,” he says, and it finally clicks that this is for me. He got me something I’d like and now he’s giving it to me so I can wear it. Because he doesn’t care what I wear to a stupid party.
I don’t say anything, I just move, wrapping my arms around his neck and squeezing so tight I’m not sure he can breathe. I want him to know how grateful I am and how much this means to me. He returns the embrace, dropping the suit on the bed. His hand goes to the base of my spine whereas the other goes to the back of my neck, holding me tightly against him.
He’s married, I remind myself as I try not to react to the feel of his solid body against my own. It’s impossible. I feel connected to him right now on a level deeper than anything I’ve ever felt with anybody in my entire life.