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)
“It doesn’t have to work. We lost a baby.” I glare at her. “You don’t think that I suffer from the same issues? I know this pain—”
“The fuck you do, Victor. You met your child. You held him, hugged him, loved him!” Her shoulders rise in anarchy. “I’m sure you had some amazing times with Jude, but you’ve never shared anything about your son with me. So how should I know?”
“This isn’t fair, Lux.” I pause a beat, realizing that statement aligns with her argument. This truly isn’t bloody working. “I lost two babies, Luxury. Not just one. You don’t get to see our child’s face. I don’t get to see his or her face. You don’t know what our baby’s first cry would sound like. I don’t either.”
Fresh grief washes over Luxury as she stutters, “I-I’m exhausted, Victor. My brain is a friggen war zone. Because I love you, and I hate you. Make this easy on the two of us. Go back to London.”
No. Not an option.
I run my hands over her biceps. “Alright, you’ve tired yourself out, Luxury. I’ll take you up to bed. Will resume this discussion tomorrow with the therapist. If that’s alright?” I stand slowly, holding out my hand. I owe this woman her happiness however and whenever she will consent to it.
I owe Luxury.
And if she needs me to leave.
I’ll damn well comply with her wishes.
17
Luxury
Victor’s leisurely reaction ratchets my wrath. Lava upsurges through my throat, constricting it to the point where I can’t breathe as he stands before me. He’s holding out a hand.
If I tell Vic that I don’t hate him at all, that I love him with all my heart, but I can’t move on until the sheikh pays . . . until Noor pays.
That’s a fucking death sentence.
His death sentence.
I’ll have condemned him to death.
I bite my lip as tears roll down my cheeks. You'd think I'd be all cried out by now. Without his assistance, I climb to my feet. “I . . . don’t . . . want to do this anymore.”
“Shall we employ another therapist?” A warm blue gaze invites me in.
“No.”
As my voice hardens, his continues to soothe. “Talk to me, Little One. Tell me anything.”
“Do not call me Little One. Ever.”
“All right, no more terms of endearment. See, I’m capable of compromise. Sit. Talk.” He gestures to the bench in a magical garden with its equally enchanted home. Birds chirp off in the distance. A few butterflies flit around like a Disney movie—pre-tragedy.
I stop myself from glancing around and delighting in God’s canvas. I grit, “I don’t need a therapist, Vic. So let me walk away because I’m warning you, I’m in a nasty mood. Allow me to spare you the drama.”
My frigid gaze scrutinizes a face chiseled in stone. No emotion. Oh, so he needs motivation. Shock value? I pull up my shirt and point to my flat abdomen. “If only your trainings were better, our child would be . . . would . . .” I gulp back the words, quickly shaking the thoughts from my head. “No, fuck that. You should’ve saved me sooner. But you failed. I failed! Neither of us was strong enough to save my baby.”
“Improvement,” he says slowly.
“Oh, so that’s what you’re going for? A chat?”
“Desperately, Luxury. I fucking desperately would love to chat with you.”
“Ahh.” I settle back on the bench and feign appreciation for the majestic sights around us before exclaiming, “Lucky you! You can continue to enjoy my mouth and our chats. I can only think about how Al Rafi had my mouth.”
Though I attempted to poke the bear, sincerity transforms Victor’s eyes into warm blue pools—as if he intends to listen without judgment.
“The sheikh almost had me the first night. He had a change of heart. Or the Lord heard my plea because you were with another woman.” I toss the words like acid.
I tell him everything.
Except for how Madeline was there that night.
How his friend orchestrated the plan to take me.
I clear my throat. “So, my time with the sheikh didn’t get a rise out of you, Vic?”
“It has,” he assures, blue eyes frozen over. “And I’ve offered a thousand bloody times to rectify this wrong.”
“You aren’t God. Grrr . . . You can’t bring my baby back. Vic, what’s even worse than what Al Rafi did . . .” Madeline. “Noor. He had me longer, but his daughter took the cake. Shit, I was only with her for a few hours, maybe. But Noor, that bitch was the devil. See, Al Rafi made me numb. I could hold it in. While his cock was in my mouth or I waited for him to return, I dreamed of you.” I sniffle back tears and touch my chest. “I held your memory in my heart. Until Noor. She took my child. See? You want to stick around with me so that we both learn to resent each other?”