Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“You’re in a mood,” he says, wiping mustard from his mouth with his hand.
Nicole replies a second later with a link. It opens on a website of a birth preparation course that uses sophrology. The comments from couples who took the class are glowing. The waiting period to get onto the list is almost two years, but Nicole puts in a word for me.
One minute later, I’ve enrolled Anya from her second trimester.
Giorgio crumples the empty wrapper in a fist and launches it through the air, hitting me on the forehead. “What are you so fucking busy with?”
“Securing us a new bookkeeper.” I grin at Antonio, who goes pale. “Don’t worry. Your days aren’t numbered. We’re just going to relieve you of crunching numbers.”
Giorgio laughs.
Antonio’s lips twitch in a gesture that’s more nervous than amused.
A reply comes back from Luigi, telling me to set up the interviews. For the next hour, I make the necessary calls.
At five, I pick Anya up from work as promised. On our way home, the security detail at the house informs me that her personal belongings arrived.
“Not too tired?” I ask as I lead her into the house with a hand on the small of her back.
She shakes her head.
I take her bag and leave it on the entrance table. “What about the dizzy spells?”
“I had one this morning, but it’s not as bad as before.”
I usher her toward the stairs, removing my jacket in the walk. “If it happens again, I want you to call me.”
“Why? What difference will it make?”
“I’ll come over. We’ll go to Nicole for a checkup. She’s in agreement with the course of action the doctor who ran your tests took, but I’m not taking a risk of you fainting again.”
“You’re overreacting.” She adds with sarcasm, “You’re taking the value you place on your freedom to a different level.”
“You’ll call me, Anya. The matter is closed for discussion.”
She purses her lips.
In the dressing room, she goes to her side while I take a suit from the closet.
“I’ll shower in one of the guest bathrooms,” I say. “You can use the master bathroom.”
She doesn’t reply. She only follows my exit with her gaze.
When I return dressed and groomed twenty minutes later, she stands in front of the closet with an adorable frown on her forehead. Her hair is brushed out in glossy, tamed curls, and her make-up is done with a dusting of golden eyeshadow and glittery red lipstick, but she wears nothing but a towel around her body.
The picture is enticing enough to have my cock strain in my pants.
She flips through the dresses and removes a black number. Biting her lip, she holds it up in the air. It’s pretty, but it’s a cocktail dress. It’s not suited for the club. The women can be bitches, and if she goes wearing that, they’ll pull her apart.
“The green one,” I say.
She looks at me from over her shoulder, dragging her gaze over my fitted white shirt and the black waistcoat that matches my slacks. Her evaluation ends on my Italian shoes.
“Have you been to After Dark?” I ask.
She puts the black dress back and slips the green one from the hanger. “I haven’t been clubbing much.”
No, she was too busy working her ass off to take care of her mother when it was her mother’s duty to take care of her. I know what that’s like. In that regard, we’re the same. That’s where the similarity ends. She’s everything that’s innocent and pure, whereas I’m the personification of violence and sin.
“The clubs I’ve been to don’t serve champagne and caviar,” she says, turning the dress this way and that. “Beer in a plastic cup is more what I’m used to.”
“There’s no doubt After Dark is in a different league. The clientele is supercilious.”
“Yes.” She turns with the dress in her hands. “You need an invitation to get in. I read all about it.”
“Not all,” I warn. “Whatever happens tonight, don’t let them see what you think. Be careful not to show them anything, even if the conversation and their behavior shock you.”
“I’m not a prude.”
I smile. That’s debatable.
“And I’m not as easy as that to read,” she adds.
“You, my treasure, wear your heart on your sleeve.”
She lifts her chin. “I can hold my own.”
That is a fact. “The people you’ll meet tonight are like sharks. Just keep a poker face and follow my cue.” I add with caution, “Luigi and Giorgio will be there.”
She stiffens. “Do I have to go?”
“I wouldn’t make you sit through the ordeal if it weren’t necessary. It’s one of those events where we’re expected to bring our partners. It’ll look strange if I don’t take my girlfriend. People will think I don’t care about you. Not taking the woman I claimed as mine will be disrespectful toward you. The message it’ll send is that you’re nobody to me. That’s not—”