Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Beth was staring down at the two beautiful sketches still sitting on her kitchen counter, her eyes and nose streaming as she tried to bring the tears under control.
She read the note again. Her eyes drawn the ubiquitous forever yours.
“Beth?”
She shook her head and refocused on the conversation.
“I’ll consider it, Cat.”
“Good girl. Now take a sedative and try to get some sleep, okay?”
“Okay,” she said obediently, and Cat rang off.
Beth absently set her phone aside and reached for the envelope with the roughly three dozen sketches Gideon had drawn of her over the last four months. She laid them out on the counter in chronological order. Easy to do since he had the habit of scrawling the date next to his signature in the bottom right corner of every sketch.
The villain series and the one raunchy nude had all been drawn on the same day. After he’d told her one of his big secrets and she’d pissed him off by asking about permits. The sketches were beautiful, but his anger was apparent in every one of them. Each Beth was a caricature, a beautiful seductress. However, the nude was much softer in tone. It still made her blush to look at it, but she could tell he’d been in a different mood when he’d drawn it—no longer as angry. The villain drawings had clearly helped him work through his annoyance with her.
After that, there were a few more voyeuristic sketches. Beth in her house, on her porch, at her car. Smiling at the Delfino boys.
There was a sketch of her asleep on what looked like Gideon’s chest. She peered closer and realized that this must have been on his couch after they’d had sex that day in his house. She looked so peaceful, with a sunbeam highlighting her face, mouth slightly open. It was lovingly sketched; Gideon had clearly committed every detail of that moment to memory.
Going over every aspect of each picture she finally understood that it was their story. Beth and Gideon’s Hate Story.
She shook her head in rejection of that thought.
No. It might have started out as a hate story but it had evolved into something so much more than that.
The last picture was one she had deliberately overlooked when she’d gone through the sketches before. She’d seen it, but had shoved it back into the envelope in outright rejection, her brain and heart skittering away from the emotions that it had stirred up. But now she forced herself to look at it again.
A good, long look.
The sketch of her in bed after their night in Franschhoek. She was on her stomach, hair in disarray, one arm tossed out in abandon, and the other curled beneath her cheek. Her back was naked, and a meager corner of the bedsheet covered the curve of her behind.
She looked content, exhausted, but even in her sleep there was a happy smile on her lips.
She flipped the sketch over and stared at the note.
Tears overflowed once again as she stared at her own addition to the note. What a foolish woman she was. Telling him “never” while drawing hearts at the same time. Her finger traced the heart-shaped loop before she read through his note again.
She thought maybe it was past time they had the talk he had promised her in this note.
Gideon was staring listlessly at his drawing pad, feeling fucking uninspired and in no mood to work. He and Calla had signed contracts for three more Quilla books, and one Greta spin-off. He’d also signed on as a permanent member on the senior art staff, to work on other—to be determined—projects with different authors. It should be an exciting time for him, the culmination of years of hard work, validation, and celebration all rolled into one.
Niall had sent him the ridiculously impractical congratulatory gift of a monogrammed, diamond encrusted water bottle because it’s important to stay hydrated when you’re on deadlines.
His father had sent him a tersely worded text message:
Kenny, a little more practical-minded when it came to her material wealth, had simply sent a magnum of ten-thousand-dollar champagne from her private collection, along with some flowers.
Nox—after closing the Damaso deal and breaking up with his fiancée—had taken a year off and had disappeared. Their father knew where he was, but refused to divulge that information to the rest of them, simply assuring them that Nox was okay, but that he was working through some things.
Gideon was still absolutely furious with his brother for what he had done, but he was judicious enough to acknowledge that most of the blame for what had happened between him and Beth lay with him.
He sighed despondently.
He should move. After everything that had gone down last night, it was clear that even if he didn’t leave the country he should really fucking get out of this cul-de-sac. There was no reason to stay. He could buy a house elsewhere, either with his advance, or his inheritance. It wasn’t healthy for him to stay here.