Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
There’s a knock at my door.
“Go away.”
“Is this mood due to something I’ve done?” Nathan starts but I’m not in the mood to hear him.
I open the door, my eyes narrowed and hopefully shooting daggers, “Not everything is about you. Now leave me alone.” The door slams with a little more force than I intended.
I take my usual spot by the window, only leaving my room to have a quiet lunch and an even quieter dinner alone.
I wake up in the same mood and sleep in the same mood and again and again for the next few days. Fortunately everybody avoids me for these days. Nathan, when he leaves my new clothes outside of my bedroom, only knocks and walks away. I should thank him but I don’t know how.
The clothes are great, all of them warm and all of them fit my swollen belly to perfection. They cheer me up a fraction, I won’t deny.
I even have some new walking boots which I’m grateful for but I’m also curious as to how he knew I needed some. Maybe he’s been paying closer attention to me than I thought.
Sucking a long breath in, I shake my body loose and make my way downstairs.
Nathan is sat in his usual spot at the end of the table, a bowl of cereal in front of him and one where I sit. He looks up gives me a nod and turns back to his book. “I didn’t think you were coming down.”
“Me neither,” I sit and roll my spoon around the milk before taking a bite. “Where’s Jeanine?”
“No idea, she didn’t show up for work this morning,” he responds but he doesn’t seem to care.
“She’s probably sick.”
“Either that or she’s about to stage an intervention.”
“What?” I look up as he places his book down and his eyes come to mine.
“You need to see a therapist.”
My voice is shrill this time, “What?”
“We’re concerned for your mental health. You haven’t left your room in three days. Only to eat and use the facilities.”
“So?” I gawp at him, my earlier anger returning with force.
He leans back in his seat, “It’s not healthy.”
“You do it all of the time,” I snap and push away from the table. “I don’t want to hear this.”
“Go and get dressed, you’re coming into the city with me today,” he states and his tone tells me there’s no argument.
“I don’t want to.” But I argue anyway.
“Either go upstairs and make yourself presentable or I’ll drag you to the city looking the way you do now.”
“What’s wrong with how I look?” Arrogant arsehole!
“You look like you’ve just rolled out of bed.”
Well… I have. Who cares?
He gives me another pointed look, I groan with exasperation and leave the room muttering, “I’m going, I’m going.”
“Oh, and Gwen?”
“What?” I call from my place at the bottom of the stairs.
“You’re welcome.”
Damn it. The clothes.
I forgot to thank him. I rush back inside the dining room, his eyes go wide when he sees me charging at him.
Gripping his wrist in one hand and his shoulder in the other, I press my lips to his cheek, say, “Thanks,” and leave the room. Wanting to snigger at his shocked face but not having the energy to do it, I sit and wait for him to wash his cheek. After counting down from ten I spy him rush into the kitchen and scrub at his cheek with a clean cloth.
I definitely wish I could laugh, this would be hilarious. Okay, so I’m evil for playing with a man’s mental issues. Who cares?
“Why do we need to go to the city?” I ask as we pull out of the long driveway, shocked that he hasn’t chastised me for my earlier antics.
“I need to go into the office to deal with a few things, you can keep my father’s secretary company.”
“You’re dragging me out of the house just so your father’s secretary can babysit me? That seems a bit extreme, I haven’t been that bad.”
He doesn’t respond, this makes me huff.
“I really don’t fancy meeting your parents,” I admit after a few minutes of silence. “I mean… your mum blames me and your dad hung up on me.”
“What?” He seems to be astonished by my revelation. “When?”
“I called them, asking them for financial support from Caleb’s trust fund. They refused. Your mum specifically told me it was all my fault. She called me back just to tell me.”
“That…” his hands twist on the steering wheel. He does this a lot. “Don’t worry, my parents aren’t here this week. They’re abroad.”
“Abroad?” I squeak in horror. “How can they be on abroad?”
Nathan shrugs, “My parents aren’t good people, Gwen. I would never introduce them to you.”
Caleb said the same thing.
It takes forever to get to the city, almost two hours due to traffic being horrendous and the distance of which we live from it. When we make it to the office building where he works I’m relieved to see he has a designated parking space. The parking situation is worse than the traffic around here.