Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
My eyes lock on hers. “Who are you? Why would you have guards?”
She shakes her head. “Just the wife of a man who’s overprotective. The guards are here to make sure Roman and I don’t get kidnapped and held for ransom.”
Her honesty has my heartbeat slowing down a little. Shaking my head, I say, “I’m sorry. I can’t stay.”
This is all too familiar.
Pulling away from Rosalie, I run to where Vincent is playing with Jonas.
“Come, baby. We have to go.”
He gives me a stubborn look. “No, it’s not time yet.”
Taking his hand, I pull him to his feet. I have to drag my son, who’s kicking and screaming, away from the playground to the car.
My eyes keep darting around us, and every time I lock eyes with one of Rosalie’s guards, my fear intensifies.
I bundle Vincent into his car seat and quickly strap him in before I rush to climb behind the steering wheel. Panicking, I start the engine and floor the gas.
Only when we get home, and I lock the door behind us do I manage to catch my breath.
Vincent is crying next to me, and it feels like I’m about to have a breakdown.
Sinking to my knees, I wrap my arms around my son. “I’m sorry, baby. Mommy had a fright and just wanted to make sure we’re safe.”
“I…wanted to…play with Jonas,” he sobs as if his little heart is breaking.
I feel horrible for the way I reacted and comfort my boy until his sobs die down.
“Mommy will make it up to you, okay?” I say as I wipe the tears from his face. “We’ll go back tomorrow so you can play some more.”
Vincent nods, then he mumbles, “I want ice cream.”
Climbing to my feet, I lift Vincent to my hip and carry him to the kitchen. “How about Mommy makes popcorn, and we watch Ice Age?”
He nods. “And Ice cream.”
My child has an unhealthy addiction to ice cream and anything sweet, but right now, I couldn’t care. I’ll let him eat everything we have to make up for my crazy behavior.
The following day when we get to the playground, Jonas isn’t there.
“I don’t see him,” Vincent complains.
“Go play with the other children,” I encourage him. “Maybe you can make new friends.”
He lets out a sigh, and dragging his feet, he walks closer to the group of kids.
I find an open bench and keep my eyes on Vincent. After a while, I glance around the park, and when my gaze lands on Rosalie, my heart sinks to my feet.
Just my freaking luck.
When she nears me, I notice there are no guards in sight, and she doesn’t have her baby with her today. She gives me a friendly smile and sits down beside me.
“I told the guards to make themselves invisible.”
I can’t even manage a smile. My eyes remain locked on my son.
“From your reaction yesterday, I’m going to say I’m the last person you want to see.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from my son as I reply, “The guards triggered something for me. It’s not you.”
I think. I don’t know this woman at all.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she murmurs. “I was hoping we could be friends.”
Nope. Not happening.
I shake my head. “I don’t have time for friends. My son keeps me busy.”
“I understand,” she whispers. Getting up, she hesitates. “I’m sorry I scared you yesterday. I just wanted to get to know other mothers.”
Guilt pours into my heart, and tearing my eyes away from my son, I glance up at her. “It’s not you,” I try to explain. “I have social anxiety.”
That’s the understatement of the year, but it’s the only way I can explain why I am the way I am.
She sits down again and gives me a compassionate smile. “I struggle interacting with people as well. At least, I did. It was something I had to work on.”
Her confession has me relaxing a little.
“I’m sorry for my crazy behavior,” I say while glancing at Vincent again. He laughs, and the sound soothes my frazzled mind.
“No need to apologize,” Rosalie replies. “Do you mind if I just sit here for a while? We don’t have to talk.”
And now I feel like shit.
“Where’s your son?” I ask.
“With his father.” She chuckles, her gaze resting on Vincent, who’s making funny faces with a little girl. “Your son is adorable.”
“Thank you.”
“Roman took his first step last night.”
When my eyes dart to hers, I see the pride on her face.
A smile curves my lips. “That’s so awesome.”
“I shrieked with happiness which made him drop to his butt,” she admits.
I let out a chuckle. “I was so excited Vincent started crying.”
There’s a weird pang in my chest because this is the first time I’m getting to tell someone about Vincent and what it’s like being a mom.
“Roman loves the book I got him.”