Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
His eyes glue to mine.
"I… could have said something earlier—"
"But you wanted to keep me jealous?"
I nod.
He smiles, impressed. "You've always been shrewd."
I'm not sure I should be flattered by his compliment—he's calling me manipulative—but I am. "Thank you."
"So, I imagine I don't have to explain this to you. That we had to let Marcus pay for this trip. Buy our tickets, pick our hotel, arrange our plans."
I nod. I may not know the details, but I know rich men. It's always a power play.
"I wish it was easier. I wish we were in a private plane. I wish your father was well. I wish we were marrying because we're madly in love. I wish this wasn't complicated. But it is."
"I know." Do you think it's possible? That you could love me? That this could be simple? It's a silly question. But it keeps echoing in my head.
"I will need to show you off." Shep does nothing to mask the desire in his voice. "I'm sure it will feel objectifying at times. Men see a beautiful woman and they make assumptions. They expect things. I'll protect you as much as I can, but I can't stop what's in their heads." His voice shifts to something honest. Vulnerable even. "Sometimes I forget you're only here because I've paid you."
"That isn't exactly—"
"I know. But I also know how the world works." He shifts into his seat, his eyes on the seat in front of his. "You're a romantic at heart. You want to marry someone who will love you. You want to have kids your dad can hold. And you want to show them what it means to follow your dreams. But you're a smart woman. You understand the world doesn't always allow that."
Since when does everyone think I'm a romantic?
He looks to me. "I can't give you that. But I can be… softer. I can try."
"Thank you."
His fingers slide over his paper cup. It's a mindless gesture. Something he doesn't realize. "You need to promise me something."
I nod of course.
"You need to tell me you understand I'm not capable of loving you. It's got nothing to do with you, Jasmine. It's me. This curse I'm under…" He shakes his head. "I'll love your company. I'll love your wit, your beauty, your determination. I'll love the way you respond to my touch. But I'll never fall in love with you."
"Of course," I lie. "I understand completely."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Shepard
Time zones aren't on our side. We arrive a few hours after midnight.
Still, someone greets us at our apartment. They smile as if it's the middle of the afternoon and happily show us around.
It's nicer than what I expected from Jeff and Marcus. An apartment in an old building—Rome is all old, three or four-story buildings. One bedroom, a den, a small kitchen. The food and appliances we requested.
When Jasmine sees the electric kettle—the one her father covets—she nearly jumps into my arms.
I wait for the attendant to leave, then I make the mental image in my head a reality.
I lift her into my arms, carry her to the bed, push her skirt to her waist.
She writhes under me as I stroke her to orgasm. It's so fucking beautiful, watching pleasure fill her dark eyes. Watching her back arch, her toes curl, her lips part.
It's even better when she relaxes in the afterglow. She wraps her fingers around my wrist, sinks into the sheets, falls asleep.
I stay with her for a while. Watch her chest fall with her inhale. Help her out of her soft dress and her lacy bra.
Then I unpack, shower, join her in bed.
It feels too good, lying next to her. It fills some part of me that's empty.
I fall asleep at peace.
Then I wake up a few hours later, in the middle of a nightmare. All those sharp edges. All the reasons why this will never work.
It's nice believing I'm capable of loving her, but that's a fairy tale.
The truth is far too ugly.
After a quick breakfast, we walk to Jeff's chocolate factory. Though factory is the wrong word. It's more a processing center. A place to sell overpriced bars to tourists.
It's on the edge of the city's shopping area. Jasmine stays close on the long walk. She squeezes my hand as she takes in the sights.
Cobblestone streets, open plazas, four-story buildings with faded paint and wide balconies.
Ruins every few blocks.
Rows and rows of pastarias, cafés, gelato shops.
Novel things in old buildings. Ruins filled with tourist groups. A museum run by the Catholic church with a line that spans city blocks.
My job takes me to cities all over the world. As much as I hate to admit it to Ian, London is one of my favorites. The old and the new are balanced. The city has history but it still looks forward.
Rome is trapped in time. All memories. All yesterday. All relics of the past.