Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
This was real.
Grave let me go. And I had Cauldron.
Seemed too good to be true.
I heard his footsteps down the hallway. I was on the couch reading a book, dreading the impending conversation. He might not say a single word, but his look would say it all. He rounded the corner, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and then gave me the exact look I’d been expecting.
I shut the book without saving my place.
We stared at each other, having an entire conversation in silence.
He strode closer to the couch then leered over me.
I could tell he was still pissed off. “You can’t exactly blame me.”
One eyebrow cocked. “You think I’d throw you out on the street without saying a word? Pretty fucking offensive.”
“I didn’t think you’d do that. It just seemed more plausible than moving me in with you.”
“I didn’t want to have a big conversation about it.”
“Well, looks like that happened anyway,” I snapped.
He took the seat beside me, still looking angry. He looked out the windows in front of us, one hand grabbing the opposite wrist. “You have a pretty low opinion of me.”
“Can you blame me?” I snapped again.
He turned to look at me, and now he was more than just angry. He was hurt. “I thought you forgave me.”
“I do—”
“Obviously not. You clearly don’t trust me.”
“I just… It was just confusing to come home to all my stuff gone.”
“And you thought I threw it all in the garbage?” he asked incredulously. “Just like that?”
“I don’t know, okay?” I said, frustrated. “I overreacted.”
“You didn’t overreact. You reacted wrong.”
I looked away. “Can we just forget about it?”
“There goes my romantic gesture…” He left the couch and walked away.
“It wasn’t a romantic gesture. You wanted to move me in here without saying a word about it, which means you don’t want to acknowledge it, which means it’s not something you really want.”
He stopped then slowly turned around to look at me. “You want me to try or not? Because this is me trying. It’s not conventional, it’s not traditional, it’s not fucking romantic. But it’s me. This is the best I can do, and if it’s not fucking good enough, then you should go find someone else.” With that, he stormed out of the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.
TWENTY-TWO
CAULDRON
It was a chilly night on the patio, but I sat out there anyway, the frigid air soothing on my endless heat. There was warmth packed in my chest, constant over the surface of my skin, bubbling inside my brain. Or maybe it was just rage with fumes. I poured more scotch into my glass then dropped the lid back onto the decanter.
Camille didn’t come after me.
Guess she was pissed off too.
A light flicked on in my bedroom, and my eyes immediately jumped up to look at it.
Her dark silhouette passed by the window and disappeared.
Looked like she was staying.
I didn’t even notice Hugo when he approached the table. “Is there anything else you need this evening, Mr. Beaufort?” It was late. I’d had dinner out here alone, and then the time passed until it was almost midnight.
“No. You can go to bed, Hugo.”
He continued to look at me.
I turned and met his stare head on.
“She doesn’t deserve you, sir.”
I held his look as I let those words sink in. “Well, I don’t deserve her either.”
He gave a slight bow then departed. The lights were left on so I could make my way upstairs when I was ready. But knowing him, he would wait until he heard me on the stairs before he turned everything off and closed up the house.
When I cut myself off from the scotch, I returned to the house and headed upstairs. Camille’s cold shoulder told me a lengthy conversation was imminent, with lots of shouting and profanity. She’d probably end up in her old bedroom by the end of it.
But when I walked in, I realized I couldn’t be more wrong.
She stood in front of the mirror in my closet in a black lingerie ensemble, checking her appearance like she wasn’t confident her shapely ass and perky tits could pull it off. She pushed her hair past her shoulder then put it back in front of her body, trying different combinations like it made any difference at all.
It was amusing, seeing a goddess question herself.
She hadn’t noticed me, her focus trained on herself rather than the man who emerged behind her. I pulled my shirt over my head, and when I looked at the mirror again, her eyes were on me, like a wild animal that had been caught with its guard down. She stopped playing with her hair. Her body stiffened, her spine straightened.
We shared a long stare connected by the mirror before she turned around. Now the look she gave me was confident, like she’d just punched the clock and was ready to get to work. When she sauntered toward me, her heels echoed against the hardwood, turning muffled once they hit the rug. When she came to me, her hands hit my chest, and she rose on her tiptoes to kiss me.