Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
“I can think of one thing,” I whisper. “Being the one who gets to fall apart.”
“Good point.” I’m almost disappointed when he unties my ankles, even if it means being able to breathe more easily.
But he doesn’t untie my wrists. “What are you doing?” I ask as he walks away, headed for the bathroom.
“I’m going to clean you up,” he announces while the water runs in the sink. “Then I’m going to make sure you have some water and take a minute to rest.”
His eyes twinkle when he joins me again to wipe his cum from my skin. “What?” he mutters when he feels me staring at him. “Did you think that was it? That’s just round one, baby. You’d better settle in.”
His wide smile is knowing and full of promise. “It’s going to be a long night.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Quinton
“What do you think?” Aspen turns to me, wearing sunglasses that take up half her face. “Too much?”
“You aren’t taking this seriously,” I grumble, shaking my head at the glasses. “How am I supposed to spoil the hell out of you if you won’t take it seriously? You’re supposed to be picking out things you love or at least like a lot so I can buy them for you.”
“I don’t need a whole bunch of stuff. I told you that.”
“Then you’re going to end up with a whole bunch of shit you don’t even like because I’m spending a lot of money on you today. Might as well like what you end up with.”
“Fine,” she huffs while returning the glasses to the display. “Be careful what you wish for. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I think I know what I’m doing.” I steer her away from the display and over to the shelves holding the purses. She could use a new one, and I know enough about these things to know a Prada bag is usually a good bet. It takes a minute, but she finally starts warming up, trying to decide between two of them. When I suggest she get both, the look she gives me could freeze me on the spot. Obviously, I’ll come back and buy the one she returns to the shelf.
Once we finish at Prada, we continue to the Louis Vuitton store. “I would like to get something for Charlotte,” she suggests along the way. “A scarf, maybe. She wore a lot of them the last time we visited.”
“That’s a good idea. You should buy two, so you’ll match the next time we’re there.”
“You never miss a chance to spend money on me, do you?”
“Not if I can help it.” She can pretend all she wants, but she’s loving this almost as much as I am. Strolling the promenade with her scratches an itch I didn’t know I had. Just the two of us, even surrounded by so many strangers coming in and out of stores and restaurants. As far as I’m concerned, we might as well be the only two people in the world. And there’s something to be said for the degree of anonymity here. Being Xander Rossi’s son has its benefits, for sure, but I can appreciate not being recognized the way I usually am in our everyday life.
“You look happy.” I didn’t know she was watching me as we walked hand in hand. “And you slept a lot more last night than you usually do.”
“It must be this mountain air.”
“Maybe we should move here. It might be good for us.”
“Maybe.” I would agree to just about anything right now, so long as I could keep her smiling.
I make it a point in the Louis Vuitton store to point out a few things I like since I know she’s looking for gift ideas for me. For the most part, though, I have more fun pointing out things I think she’ll like. I don’t even mind carrying things for her as she browses even though one of the store clerks offers to do it for us.
She’s trying to decide between a pair of wallets when my attention wanders, and I look out the front window. It’s a cloudy day, late afternoon, and the white lights strung along the eaves of every chalet-style store are now glowing. It’s idyllic enough to make me consider turning this trip into an annual tradition.
It only takes one split second for my mood to flip. The joy and carefreeness lift from my chest and are replaced with the dreadful thought of seeing Aspen hurt. My unwavering need to protect my wife roars to new heights when I see the woman who broke her heart walk past the store.
I must grunt or make a similar sort of noise since Aspen turns to me. “What’s wrong? You’re bored out of your mind, aren’t you? I’ll wrap this up—”
“No, not at all.” I glance toward the window again, and the blond woman is now crossing the street. Son of a bitch. It looks just like her. “I just remembered something.”