Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
I have no intention of leaving without the grumpy mountain man. He is my groom, and the sooner he accepts the fact, the faster we can be wed. But it’s late, and I’m tired. I’ll argue with the cranky giant tomorrow. “Very well. You may show me to my quarters.”
4
RAFE
“You didn’t have to make her sleep on the lumpy couch, asshole.” I stare up at the exposed wood beams. I built this place after traveling around the country. The cabin is supposed to be my oasis, but it’s hard to be peaceful when I can feel her presence. I can sense her shifting on the couch and hear each soft sigh as she attempts to get comfortable.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter as I reach for my phone. I know damn well she’s not a princess even if she does happen to bear a striking resemblance to the woman from Velkan, which still doesn’t sound like a real country to me.
Roman answers on the first ring. “You remember my scammer?”
He grunts, and I realize that it’s past midnight. I should apologize, but I need this resolved. I need to know she’s a liar so I can stop thinking about her pert breasts heaving beneath my t-shirt, about how seeing her in my clothes made me want to pound on my chest like some caveman. “She’s here.”
“Fuck.” Roman finally sounds awake. “Do you have a gun with you?”
“She’s not a threat,” I scoff. Unless he counts her as a threat to my sanity because I nearly lost my mind when I saw those perfect, creamy thighs peeking out from under my t-shirt. Never wanted to drop to my knees. Never wanted to spread a woman and discover all of her secret places. She’s fucking with my brain, that’s why I have to get Roman to remind me she’s a liar.
With a deep breath, I quickly recap the situation. He’ll know how to track down information. He spent years in prison before building a reputable construction business which means he has an endless list of contacts on both sides of the law.
“And you don’t remember anything before age five?” Roman repeats, clinging to that detail for some reason.
I push back the image of a woman with dark hair, one who spoke kindly to me and read bedtime stories. She’s not real. I have to remind myself of that. She’s a figment of my imagination, a memory a little boy manufactured to make himself feel safe while growing up in the system.
My voice wavers, “Nothing relevant.”
“Anything you can tell me might be helpful in getting the answers faster.”
The orange glow that haunts my dreams flashes in my mind, but I push against it too. That’s a nightmare. I must have seen something scary on TV when I was young. “Find what you can.”
No one else has ever been able to answer questions about my past. When I was young, the center holding my records was damaged in a tornado, and most of the records were lost. Back then, everything was still on paper, so no digital copies exist of who I am.
“This could open up some things that you don’t want to know,” Roman warns like I haven’t already considered that possibility a dozen times before. But it’s time to face this and figure out who I am.
He sighs, and I hear the soft shuffle of feet against carpet. He must be away on a job, staying overnight at a hotel. He does that sometimes. “What does she want from you?”
“She wants to marry me.” The thought is laughable. I’ve never had a family. I bounced around the system for years without finding a permanent home. I figure that was a good thing. I learned early on in life that people leave me behind.
He smothers a snort. “She pretty?”
An irrational surge of anger floods my veins. “What the fuck does it matter to you?”
He barks out a laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes. Listen, she figured out you have some zeroes in the bank and wants a piece of the action. That’s all this is.”
When I aged out of the system, all I had was the t-shirt on my back and a few scant toiletries tucked away in a garbage bag. I spent time on the streets until I bought a winning lottery ticket. I claimed the jackpot anonymously and spent the next few years traveling the country in an RV with all the amenities.
Somehow though, my identity must have been compromised. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I grip the phone tighter, hating the thought. “Check into her.”
“I’ll turn over every rock,” he promises before we disconnect the call.
After that, I try to settle back into my bed and sleep. But instead, I spend the night restless, wondering about the curvy woman on my couch. She can’t really be a princess because I’m no prince.