Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“I think you know the difference between a spatula and a colander.”
He laughed lightly. “I do. My mother made sure of that. Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for this. After last night, I made a few changes for the better. You’ll meet the cooks soon.”
If his mom taught him his way around the kitchen, that implied they were close. And it sounded like there was more than one person that cooked his meals. I had heard a woman talking to someone a little bit ago.
Suddenly remembering he’d been wearing a ring, I scooped up some hashbrowns and subtly glanced at his hands. The band was gone. What did that mean? Was he a divorcee? Maybe a widow? I felt irrationally compelled to know. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like his relationship status changed the fact that he’d kidnapped me.
“Curious?”
“What?”
“You were looking for my ring.”
I blinked, caught off guard by how easily he’d just read me, and how casually he brought it up. I didn’t think I’d been that obvious.
“Are you married? Or divorced? Maybe…widowed?”
His brow rose the slightest bit. “From your perspective, I suppose I would be all three.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“I’m not single,” he replied calmly.
I didn’t know what to make of that. Had he removed the ring because I was here?
“Does your partner live with you?” I glanced around the room as if his admission would summon her.
“Would that bother you?”
“I knew you were married when I saw you in your suite. I wasn’t surprised then and I’m still not now. I just don’t understand why I’m here.”
“You say you weren’t surprised.” He sat back and regarded me with a look on his face I couldn’t decipher. “What kind of man do you think I am, Lolita?”
“I don’t think I should answer that.”
His lips quirked. “Well, now you have to.”
“I think…”
“Speak freely. I never want you to be anything but honest.”
Telling him exactly what I thought of him wasn’t wise, given my situation. Sticking with the basics was my safest option.
“I think you’re someone that’s used to getting what you want…and you either come from money or you do something that allows you to afford a certain lifestyle.”
“That’s a good observation,” he replied thoughtfully. “I do come from money. My family is a strong believer in generational wealth, but I also work my ass off to ensure you never have to worry about a price tag.”
“I don’t have to worry?” I placed a hand on my chest to reference myself.
“Never.”
His quick agreement and the finality with which he spoke that single word made me lose my train of thought.
“There is something you got wrong, however.”
“Which part?” I asked against my better judgment.
“I’m not used to getting what I want. I take what I want by whatever means necessary.”
“Is there a difference?”
“The first implies I occasionally don’t. The second guarantees I always do.”
Yet again, I found myself lacking a response. I looked from him to my plate, and then around the room. All of this was so surreal. Not only was Mr. Hawthorne one of the most attractive men I’d ever seen, if I hadn’t already known after seeing him in a suite that cost a pretty penny, his own admission confirmed he was wealthy.
And married. Or at least something like it, whatever that meant.
“Why am I here? Why did you take me?” I broke down and asked. I couldn’t think of a single reason he’d have to kidnap me. I had nothing of to offer value and was essentially a no one.
The realization made this all the more real and terrifying. Up until now, I had been doing a great job holding myself together. I was beginning to feel as if I were balancing on the edge of a dangerously steep ravine. One misstep would send me plummeting.
“Lolita.”
Why did he keep saying my name with such familiarity, as if it meant something to him? I trained my attention on my plate and forced myself to hold back the bitter, angry tears I could feel gathering in my eyes. The food I’d just eaten settled into my gut like a bag of stones.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice firm, yet oddly soft.
Begrudgingly, I turned my head and met his arresting stare.
“What did I tell you when you asked where you were?”
“You said I was home,” I replied quietly, only now remembering his parting words from the day before.
“Precisely. I haven’t kidnapped you, Lolita.” He reached out and took hold of my hand. “By my side is where you belong.”
There it was again. That undertone of finality. I felt like he was implying something I should’ve understood. I didn’t. If anything, I was growing more confused.
“How can I belong with you? I have no idea who you are. You don’t even—” I stopped and took a shuddering breath. “And your wife. Where does she fit into this dynamic?”