Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
My head swims as Mom leans forward, all her attention locked on me. We’ve been talking for around twenty minutes. She’s just been quizzing me about what books I like to read, what type of ballet I enjoy, if I have any friends (not really), or if I’ve ever had a boyfriend (never). She also doesn’t seem to mind I’m only nibbling my sandwich.
“It’s the best combination of beauty and technique,” I tell her. “To be beautiful, you have to be precise. You have to work hard. You can’t just be beautiful. I guess I liked that because, well, I don’t know.”
“You know you’re beautiful, don’t you, Anna?”
Mom touches my hand. A nasty part of me whispers that this is all a trick. Maybe she’s not even my mother, except she looks like me, and I feel it, too—a warmth buried deep inside.
“Not really,” I murmur after a pause.
“You are,” she says, squeezing my hand with so much support that my head is swimming. “Ballet, technique, that just makes you more beautiful.”
I swallow, my belly warbling. There’s no way I can eat any more of that sandwich, but Mom doesn’t seem like she’s going to force me. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“I mean it.”
“What about you?” I ask. “What do you enjoy doing?”
“Oh, let me think,” she laughs with an endearing, guilty smile. “I like shopping. That’s my true passion: shopping and handbags. See, Anna? You’re the talented one in the family. I’m just here to cheer you on.”
This almost makes me cry. I take a long sip of my water so she can’t see the effect she’s having on me. I want to leap onto her lap, throw my arms around her, hug her tightly, and tell her that her words mean everything to me. But I have to be careful because what if …
She’s about to say something else when the doorbell sounds again. It’s annoying because we were just getting into the flow of the conversation. Mom seems to sense how bothered I am. “Don’t worry,” she says with a wink. “We’ll get rid of all these nasty men soon.”
I laugh. It’s hard not to, despite everything. A kidnapping, confusing need, a burned-down lodge, and I’m laughing!
“Yes?” Mom calls.
“It’s me,” Aiden replies.
Mom looks at me. “Well, shall we let the big bad beastie in?”
“I guess we should,” I reply with another smile.
“Come in,” my mother calls over.
Aiden opens the door. I try not to let my mother see how badly I want to move my gaze over him, especially those enormous arms and his broad chest. I’d feel so safe if he held me, but there are too many reasons and obstacles against that. He walks over to the table.
“I’m meeting with your brothers tomorrow morning,” he tells me.
This should be good news, but what if they try to make me come home? Wait, isn’t that what I want?
“Okay,” I mutter.
“Do you want to be there?” he asks.
“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe. What are you meeting about?”
He tilts his head at me. “You, Ania. What else?”
“Oh.”
“I thought you wanted to go home.”
I stand up, walking through my open-plan prison and into the living room. “A lot has happened, okay? Am I just supposed to make decisions like that?” I snap my fingers.
“Give her some space,” Mom says quietly.
“You don’t have to decide right away.”
“Is there anything else?” I say with my back turned.
Aiden sighs heavily. I want to turn around and see the intense look on his face so badly, but I purposefully keep myself aimed away. “No, speak tomorrow.”
He leaves with heavy footsteps. I only let myself turn back when I hear the door close. I realize my mother is watching me closely.
“He’s not a bad person,” she says.
“He kidnapped me.”
“Hmm.”
That makes me smile more than it should. The hmm makes me think of Aiden. Even though he just left, I already miss him.
“Anyway,” Mom says, waving a hand, “he’s right. You don’t have to decide anything right now. Sit down, Anna. Let’s keep talking.”
I return to the table, drinking more of my mother’s attention and how she looks at me as though I’m the only person who matters. I never realized how badly I needed that.
CHAPTER 15
AIDEN
It’s a mistake to use a heavy bag just for punching. I also use it to harden my elbows, knees, and headbutts. Martial artists make mistakes in fights. They fight within their rulesets. I’ve drilled the best way to bite an attacker, the best way to blind him, and dirty, ugly tactics that save lives if I’m separated from my weapon.
After another savage round, I turn to find Dad looking at me with an approving smile.
“What news?” I growl.
“None,” he replies. “You’ve been in there for hours. It’s almost time for dinner.”
Sweat covers the floor. My head is swimming. I didn’t realize how hard I was working out until the interruption. It’s only now I feel my body aching, the pulsing of exertion.