Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Good old Dad.
14
Victor
With my eyes closed and still half-dreaming, I roll over in bed. My palm searches for Luxury’s form as my soul recalls the possible dangers of merely touching her.
Just a single touch. I’ll not hold her unless she agrees.
A moment later, my body pumps with adrenaline, and I’m on my feet.
“Lux!” I growl, glancing around the quiet room. Dressed in jeans, I charge onto the fire escape and glance down. Mist floats along the street, but I don’t glimpse my lady among the joggers and foot travelers below.
She didn’t leave.
She couldn’t.
She . . . wouldn’t.
I hustle back into our bedroom, reminiscing on how my Luxury promised never to leave. But that was before Saudi Arabia.
I search each room on the third level.
“Little One? Luxxie? Lux!” I call her name, opening and shutting doors. Blast Burt for assuming we required such space. I work my way down to the first floor, heartbeat slaughtering my ears with each step I take.
Did she leave?
Yes, you fucking wanka. Clearly, she left.
I start toward the stairs again for a shirt and my handgun when the front door opens. I charge over, hand slamming into the pudgy stranger.
“Who the fuck are you, mate?” I growl.
“Victor, unhand him,” Burt orders as another bloke wheels him into the foyer. “Mr. Snicket is the owner of this home and has agreed to extend our stay. So as not to bother you upon my arrival, the driver—”
“The driver?”
“Your driver from last night.” With a slightly narrowed gaze, Burt scrutinizes me. “You did have a driver from the hangar. Did you not? Oh, did you have one of those ghastly Ub-be-ers.”
The old me would rag on Burt the Butler for how he’s botched the term “Uber.” But I pull at a tuft of hair and gripe, “Luxury’s gone. Perhaps she took this driver with her?”
Burt briefly speaks with Mr. Snicket, who cautiously glances at me, then bids us farewell. Once he’s left, Burt addresses my question about the driver. “I would assume so. The bloke saved his contact information in both mobiles that were left.” Burt laughs softly. “The driver was so thorough that he took a photo of his procurements and texted them.”
Confused, I ask, “What phones?”
“Perhaps, you should return to bed. I’ll fetch—no, you,” he turns to the tosser who brought him into the house, “fetch the doctor.”
I see. My butler has literally acquired his own butler. While the new butler jumps to action, I growl, “What phones, Burt?”
With the snap of his finger, Burt gestures to another servant to wheel him around. “Victor, you require rest. As I’ve said, I had orders for the driver to leave two iPhones. Ah, I didn’t mention the kitchen. The driver took a snapshot of the phones he purchased. He’d placed them in the kitchen. My apologies for my bluntness as of recent. I do believe it’s the medication.”
“Ahhh, the medication,” I mutter. I stalk past him and into the room that I’ve already checked, although I was searching for a petite woman whose cinnamon freckles still captivate me like no other. Now, I find one phone on a marble slab counter.
I ask, “You equipped trackers?”
“Don’t sound like such a secret agent, Victor. I had him program ‘Find My Phone’ for both.”
“You are thorough, Burt.” I start to tussle my butler’s hair. Why? He’s in a seated position, and the top of his head is just right there. He smacks my hand away. I pause for a second. This entire display was from the old Victor.
If I can get him back, surely Luxury . . . could one day remember her own reflection the way she once knew it.
Since the iPhones are new, there aren’t any passcodes, so I presume Luxury made use of hers. I click on the app, and my heart drops while I await the other phone’s location. The asset is found a second later.
“Where is she, Victor?”
“Here.” I lick my lips. “Was she outside when you arrived with all your servants?”
“Obviously not.”
The help assists him, following me back toward the home's front door. “Who’s looking into the night of my lady’s disappearance . . .”
I cannot hear Burt’s response because I set eyes on Luxury. She’s sliding out of the backseat of the vehicle we arrived in late last night. One hand pushes into her unruly hair, and the other clutches a ghastly pair of nightclothes I’ve seen before. Luxury wore those yellow-polka dotted pajamas the night she discovered my true identity.
“I had to go home to get them.” She gestures to them, not quite meeting my eye.
“This is home. Unless you’d prefer another home. Wherever I am—”
She groans. “I’m home. I know.”
Well, shite. That never sounded more like a lie than it does slipping past her lips.
Weariness is evident behind my gaze. Although I ultimately succumbed to a couple of winks—and didn’t hear Luxury leave our bed—I’m bloody knackered. While my world’s upended, I’m still a man averse to the word no. I tell myself not to ask, but in the end, it’s impossible not to. I plead, “May I hug you, Luxury?”