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)
I’ve almost dumped the entire bag of dirt into the pot when I realize I should’ve made myself a hole. I decide to use my hands. “If you were wondering, we’re planting the flower called Tan Hua, or Queen of the Night. Or perhaps know of it as Kadupul?”
Dirt embeds beneath my fingernails as Luxury says, “You forgot Dutchman’s Pipe Cactus. That’s another name for,” Luxury pauses to contemplatively bite her lip, “Epiphyllum oxypetalum.”
“Epiphany . . . lummm . . .” I become the zany bloke from an alternate universe where assassinations or murder are incomprehensible. Then because Luxury hasn’t responded in the slightest, I chuckle. “I cannot pronounce that.”
“Does royalty admit their . . .” As if realizing she’s engaging in a discussion without a 9mm pointed at her skull, Luxury pauses. Torture flashes over her face as her eyes bite shut.
I go straight to her on my bloody fucking knees. We’re at eye level as I kneel in front of her seat. My palms rub over her hips, and she pulls them away.
The gasping, sobbing mess of a woman exclaims, “We can’t be happy, Victor!”
“Fine! I will live in misery as long as I have you.”
I push her hair back. Clumps of dirt fall over Luxury’s shoulders as I endeavor to look her in the eye. “Just be. For as long as you need to, Lux. Just be.”
“Just be depressed and angry and . . . and . . .”
“Yes! If you need to cry or fight or bloody have nightmares, then so be it. If you let me hold you through your night terrors, I vow to hold you tighter than I ever have before.”
Each night since our return from hell, she’s cried. Awake or asleep, it doesn’t bloody matter. It seems eons ago, when our lives collided, that I was fascinated by Luxury’s tears. Or even when I watched her at the hotel our first night. But now, I would do anything to make them stop.
I go mad, ranting, “You’ve my word, Little One, I’ll not let you go. I’ll not slumber for the rest of my bloody life just to hold you while you’re asleep and ensure you’re safe.”
A callous edge bleeds into her lush tone. “I don’t want you to hold me. I’ve endured enough misery for a lifetime before you! Then I met you, and I was merely a pawn to hurt you. But I was the only one hurt.”
“All because of me. I bloody know, Lux. I’d become a pauper to take it all back—”
“It’s like I endured the weight of the world. And then you! And then you.” Her venom dies down to a croak. “After you, I became this sacrifice for the whole purpose of bringing you to heel for some bitch! If it had to happen, I would rather it have been some random fuck who picked me up off the street to terrorize me. I was tortured because of you, Vic.”
“Lux . . .” I’m at a loss for words as she utters the truth.
“And I wasn’t going to say these things, Vic. You-you can only bring about a fraction of redemption from what you’ve created by—” Her mouth snaps shut like some cunt pulled the plug on Regent Street in London during Christmastime. Where once there were festive lights, the whole place is submerged in darkness.
Bloody fuck me. Now, she won’t speak.
“Tell me, Luxury. You’re saying I can help in some way. I understand that I can’t fix shite. But if I can minimize your pain?” A few beats of arduous silence later, I add, “Should I send for the therapist? We can all chat together.”
“Screw therapy, Vic.”
“We need help, Little One.” I heave a sigh.
Narrowed brown eyes single me out. “I saw you on television, Victor, while I was in bed with the sheikh. You and . . . Madeline.”
In bed with the sheikh.
Though it takes everything out of me not to riot, I suggest, “I’ll kill Maddy? I’ll kill my mate by tomorrow eve.”
“No! Stop trying to be someone you’re not.” Luxury tries to rise, but I lean forward and wrap her in my arms. As I hold onto her for dear life, Luxury growls, “Go home, Vic.”
There’s no home for me to go to. I've shunned my dukedom. Surely, my grandmother has retracted my duchy and probably deliberates over a more worthy recipient. At this moment, I couldn’t care less. My only thought is to the obsession that stole Luxury’s heart away from my unworthy clutches.
“Your home is not my home. My home is not yours,” she pants. “I’m so, so sorry that I can’t look at you without reminiscing on what I lost. For these past few weeks, all I’ve done was try to imagine you as a separate entity from-from the baby that I no longer have. This isn’t working.”