Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
She shakes her head, her dark brown ponytail swaying. “I cannot do that. Mr. Diavolo gave us instructions that we’re not to clean her room. I am sorry.”
Something in me snaps, and I grip the edge of the cart with two hands, ready to toss it over my shoulder.
“I don’t care what he told you. I’m telling you to go clean her room. Now go do it, or I’ll be sure to let my father know that you tried to steal something from our room and that I caught you red-handed doing it. I imagine the wrath of my father will rival that of Mr. Diavolo.”
The young woman’s cheeks become as red as a tomato, and her gaze turns submissive. “Of course, Mr. Rossi. I will be sure to clean her room for you.”
I nod and move out of her way, allowing her to pass by without incident. I can feel Ren staring a hole through me.
“What the hell are you looking at?”
“Just trying to figure out why having Aspen’s room cleaned means so much to you?”
I don’t have to dive into the deal that Aspen and I made with each other. That’s none of his business, so I do what I do best. I put up another wall.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I hate to say it, but you’re acting weird.”
I roll my eyes. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are, and I don’t like it.”
Ren and I have always been close, and while we still are, and I can trust him with anything, I don’t need to divulge all the things I do with other people, least of all, Aspen.
“Sorry, but you’re wrong, and I really don’t care what you like,” I say as we walk through the door and into the apartment. The smell of antiseptic hangs in the air. The living room is clean, and the kitchen counters are wiped down.
Ren changes the subject. “Want to have a couple of beers and maybe invite the guys over for a little bit?”
The idea of sitting through an entire evening with Matteo makes my blood boil. I don’t like the way he looks at Aspen—like she’s a piece of meat or that she belongs to him.
“Nah, I’ve got homework.”
Disappointment fills Ren’s features, making him appear more like my father than my best friend. “Whatever is in those books isn’t anything we haven’t learned. You said so yourself.” And I did, but that was before I realized Matteo was a douchebag. If he showed up here tonight, blood would be drawn, and it wouldn’t be mine.
“Yeah, well, I don’t care. I’m spending the rest of the afternoon in my room.”
Ren shakes his head and walks away, and I walk into my room and close the door behind me, clicking the lock into place. I feel a little bad about turning Ren down, but I’m not going to hang out with Matteo, no way in hell.
I flip open my laptop and log in, wanting to check my email and social media a bit. As soon as I open my account, I spot an email from Scarlet. My fingers linger on the keys as I stare at the screen, reading the message.
Hey! I got the official invitation to the founders’ ball. I’m so excited to see you! You better be ready for me to hug you. Mom and Dad are excited to see you too. Only a short while before we can visit. I miss you so much. Oh, and I can’t wait to meet your date.
My date? What the hell is she talking about? I can’t get my fingers to type out a response, so I stare at the screen in bemusement. Date? I don’t have a date.
Hell, I didn’t even want to go to the founders’ ball, but it doesn’t appear I have much of a choice, and it looks like my father is up to no good, as I am certain he is the one who hand-selected my date. The idea of seeing my father again makes me want to stab someone. I can only hope the night doesn’t end in bloodshed.
20
ASPEN
The days blend. Quinton never returns to medical to check on me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, I’m happy, but on the other, I’m confused. Why would he make the effort to bring me here and ensure I’m okay, only to never return to check on me later?
I don’t bother trying to make sense of it. What Quinton and I share behind closed doors doesn’t matter, and him bringing me here has nothing to do with him actually caring. It has everything to do with him ensuring his little toy doesn’t get broken to the point where she is no longer useful.
That’s what I feel like, too, a toy that’s been placed on the shelf and only pulled out when the occasion arises. Not that I want to be anything to him. I’d rather he ignore my existence altogether, but I would never get so lucky.