Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Should I take your silence as a no?” I ask, not understanding her reluctance. But it’s best one of us has a level head, because mine is about as uneven as you can fucking get.
“Ok, I’ll bite,” she finally says. Her words conjure up images of those pearly whites nipping at my flesh. In the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by death, she can still make my cock throb.
“Come on, follow me.” I lead her out of the cemetery to my Bugatti and open the passenger door for her.
She slides onto the soft leather seat. “Wow. I’ve never been in a car this expensive.”
She’s the first woman in this car, and fuck, she’s sexy with the seatbelt snuggled between her breasts.
“This car was made for you.” It’s like her very own accessory, accenting the sparkle in her eyes, and the lightness of her hair.
I stare at her toned legs a moment before I walk around the car and get into the driver’s side. Her fresh-out-of-the-shower scent invades my space and I pull away from the curb faster than I should to escape the images rolling through my mind of her soapy and wet.
I drive aimlessly for a few minutes before I pull into the park connected to the Saint Ignatius Loyola church.
“We can go for a walk and talk here,” I say, pulling into a spot in the lot.
It’s on the chilly side today, and I watch as Swan exits the car and pulls her cardigan tighter around her body.
“I have an extra jacket,” I tell her.
“I’m fine.”
I don’t believe her and snag the jacket from the backseat anyway.
“You didn’t let me open your door, but I can at least keep you from freezing.” I round the hood of the car and hold the jacket out so she can slip her arms inside.
“It’s really unnecessary.” I give it a little shake and she rolls her eyes, but a playful smile lifts her lips. “Such chivalry. Thank you.”
The sun dips below the horizon as we walk the cobblestone path that runs next to the church.
“So, are you going to tell me?” She peers up at me.
I take a deep breath. “When I was younger, my mother was obsessed with swans.” I hate memories of my mother. The pain of her death tarnishes them.
“That’s nice. My mother was obsessed with roosters.” She shudders. “There were cocks everywhere in the house. In the kitchen, the bathroom, even the living room. The worst was the giant one on the front porch.”
A laugh escapes my lips. It’s been so long since I laughed; it sounds foreign to my ears. After the last few somber months, it feels good to be in this momentary light-hearted bubble. “That’s what she said.”
Pink stains her cheeks as she giggles at my crude joke. The airy sound is a balm to the wounds festering in my soul. “You are the last person on Earth I’d expect to make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke.”
“Put that in your vault.” I tap her temple. “Because that’s a once in a lifetime happening.”
“So, why did your mom like swans so much?”
“She thought they were graceful and beautiful, but it was more than that.”
We take a seat on a wrought-iron bench facing the empty playground.
“What was it?” she asks.
The breeze moves the swings, transporting me to a different time. “There was once a swan maiden who could shapeshift between a swan and her human form. One day a man saw the woman and fell instantly in love.”
“Awe, I love this story.”
“Well, not so fast. The maiden used swan feathers to turn back into a swan and fly away.”
“Ah.”
“So, one day, he saw her bathing and stole the swan feathers so she couldn’t fly away. He made her his wife, and they lived together.”
Her green eyes glow with wonder. “Happily?”
“Legend has it that the maiden was sad. That the man never let her be her true self. The swan. He only wanted her human form, never giving her the swan feathers. Essentially, he kept her trapped.”
“What happened?”
Somehow, my hand lands on top of her thigh, and I stare at it, swallowing past the lump in my throat from the memories this story brings to the forefront of my mind. “One day, she found the hidden feathers and flew away.”
“How sad.”
“Is it? She was free.” My eyes scale the church, up the brick walls to the spires pointing at the heavens, thinking about my mother. How my father kept her trapped, and she never felt free until she took her own life.
“So, I guess it was a good thing she flew away. She wasn’t happy.”
I stare into her eyes. “My mother had blonde hair.”
“Ah. I remind you of your mother?”
I nod. “A little. I feel like you’re hiding your true self.”
She lets out a quick, high-pitched laugh. “Well, I’m not. This is me.”