Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
The air smells like cherries and something else—something warm and inviting. I can’t stop taking deep breaths, savoring the scent for no reason other than that it feels so refreshing. It’s easy to forget that I’m right in the middle of busy New York. This place feels like an escape, a still sanctuary far removed from the city.
As I finally reach the bottom of the stairs, I notice a few maids in uniform cleaning places and items that are already clean. They smile at me politely and nod obsequiously, but don’t utter a word. Not even when I wish them a good morning.
Eventually, I arrive at the kitchen, and everything from the previous night flashes back to me. The wild moments, the slow ones, the ones so sweet I can almost still hear my moans and cries in my own ears.
I’m forced to pause as a particular memory of grinding against him, feeling every ridge of his rock-hard cock, comes rushing back. My entire core tightens. I try to catch my breath as Muriel walks in, carrying a covered dish that looks like a casserole. All I can do is stare at her, unable to meet her eyes, given the filthy images flooding my mind. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to face Ivan himself when he returns.
"Good morning, Miss Fitzpatrick," she greets with a warm smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“Good morning. Yes, thank you,” I reply awkwardly.
She nods. "Good. Where would you like to have breakfast? In the sunroom or in the formal dining room?"
“Uh… Sunroom sounds good.”
She nods again. “I thought you might. I didn’t know what you usually have, so I took the liberty of setting up the buffet table. If you‘d like to follow me…”
"Okay, thanks," I reply, giving her a wide smile. Breakfast is usually a couple of slices of buttered toast or cereal for me, but I follow her willingly as I am ravenous and also very curious as to what kind of food rich people eat.
I gasp as I take in the spread. It looks like one of those heaped tables you see on cruise liners. Every single thing looks delicious. As I walk along the long table, some items are familiar. Finger sandwiches and sliced meats, but others are more exotic. There are the pastries with fruit oozing out of them, itty bitty cupcakes, sausages, bacon, caviar, little eggs, a tureen of porridge, chocolate with churros, congee, a selection of dim sum, and at the end of the table a huge tray of fruit that look so perfect they could be straight out of one of the paintings I’ve just been admiring. My eyes are caught by a bunch of dark purple elongated fruit.
"Are those grapes?" I ask, pointing at them.
She nods. “Yes, they are organic moondrop grapes. Sometimes called witches’ fingers. They were flown in from Spain yesterday."
I instantly reach out to pluck one, hesitating briefly as I wonder if it’s rude, but she nods encouragingly.
"It’s okay. Please, feel free," she invites kindly.
She watches me as I bite into the fruit.
“Mmmm. Freaking good."
She smiles. “Help yourself to coffee, tea, or orange juice. If you want anything different please ring.”
“No, this is more than fine, Muriel.” Impulsively, I reach out and lightly touch her arm. "It all looks amazing—thank you so much."
There’s a glint of surprise in her eyes as she straightens her spine. Her voice is formal. “Well, then. I’ll leave you to enjoy your breakfast in peace."
“Thank you for everything,” I say again.
She nods and retreats quietly and I contemplate the array of options laid out before me. With no audience to witness my gluttony, I pick up a plate and begin piling on a little of everything. The fragrant smells coming from the plate make my mouth water and, even though there is no more space on my plate, I heap on top the heirloom tomatoes stuffed with truffle-infused cheese.
Relishing my solitude in the stunning high-ceilinged room I then sit and eat like a Queen. Once my plate is polished clean I lean back and find myself unable to tear my eyes away from a curved staircase. From where I am sitting, I can see lush plants, leafy palms that should be growing in a tropical environment. There must be a conservatory up there.
I take the stairs up and come to a space on the roof of the entire building: a room made entirely of glass. The floors are made of weathered yellow flagstones and there are charming rugs with intricate patterns on it. An antique chandelier hangs from the arched roof and there is a wrought iron table, a gorgeous curved cream sofa and chairs next to a pond, where red and yellow koi swim serenely. The air is filled with the sound of running water from a little stone fountain.