Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“You must be Amber. Vince told me all about you.”
“Yeah?” I asked, smiling a little, trying to ignore the way Ren loomed behind me. “I hope it’s all good things.”
And then I saw it, that look in her eye, the look I always saw when people knew about what happened to me: pity, pure and simple. She was thinking, oh, you poor girl, you poor, poor girl, and I hated that, hated it so much. I didn’t need her pity, didn’t need anyone’s pity, but I swallowed my impulse toward anger and kept myself under control.
“Very good things,” she said, draping an arm around me, turning me toward the house. “This must be your bodyguard.”
“Babysitter,” I corrected.
“Ren,” he said, his voice deep and silky smooth. I liked that voice, weirdly enough.
“Nice to meet you, Ren. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
“I’m not a Leone regular. I do my own thing.”
“Contractor then.” She arched an eyebrow. “Rough time to get involved with the family.”
He laughed. “What can I say, I like a challenge.”
I glared at him, and he grinned back. Mona steered me inside, and Ren followed, carrying our bags.
“You both have rooms upstairs,” Mona said. “It’s the three of us, plus the housekeeper, Janine. You’ll like her, she’s a real peach. Make yourself at home, and I really do mean that.”
The house was a clean, off-white Tudor from the outside, and the interior was warm and cozy, with wood floors, earth-tone walls, and a plethora of hanging oil paintings, potted plants, and small knick-knacks. It was obvious Mona spent a lot of time here, and went to great lengths to get everything set up.
She gave us the short tour: living room with a massive couch and a massive TV; gleaming modern kitchen she swore she barely used; indoor pool in the back she swore she used even less; library off to one side; then our rooms upstairs, each with its own bathroom.
Ren tossed my bag on the bed as I went to get comfortable. He lingered in my doorway before following Mona out.
“Listen, we should have a code.”
I leaned up against one of the posts of my massive four-poster bed. The room had a small sitting area, a large wardrobe, and two big, wide windows overlooking the roof of the pool and the back yard.
“Code for what?”
“In case you need help.”
“This isn’t a spy movie.”
He grunted. “Play along.”
“Caterpillar.” I crossed my arms. “Happy?”
“Happier. If you ever need me, yell that word, and I’ll come running.”
“You got it.”
He nodded, ignored my sarcasm, and left.
I sat on the end of the bed. It was the nicest room I’d ever been in. I felt broken, exhausted, and alone.
* * *
Mona came back, helped me unpack, spent ten minutes chatting about nothing in particular—then excused herself with an embarrassed smile.
“I hate to leave you already, but I’m working on a book, and I was sort of in the zone.”
“Oh, of course, go ahead.” I knew Vincent’s wife was a writer, but I thought she was a journalist. “Don’t let me get in the way.”
She nodded and headed to the door then stopped. “Oh, I have an idea. Any interest in the pool?”
“That’s okay, you don’t—”
She disappeared before I could stop her, then came back a minute later with a swimsuit. It was a simple navy one-piece and didn’t look flattering. She tossed it onto the bed. “That should fit you. Seriously, go for a swim. You’ll love it.”
I gave her a polite smile. “Sure, thanks.”
She nodded and left again without a word.
I finished unpacking quietly, thinking about that bodyguard in the room next door. I didn’t know what we needed a special code word for—as if Mona was going to try and murder me in my sleep or something. But I guessed he was taking this seriously, and I couldn’t be mad about that. Sometimes I wished my father’s bodyguards had taken their jobs more seriously back then, but I can’t change the past anymore.
When my clothes were put away, I sat on the bed, staring out the back window, and I picked up the swimsuit absently. “Ah, fuck it,” I said to myself, went into the bathroom, and put it on.
It fit surprisingly well. Feeling stupid but bored, I grabbed a towel from the closet, put on some shorts, and headed downstairs. I found the door to the pool and stepped into a humid, damp room, took my shorts off, and lowered myself into the pool.
I expected it to be cold, but instead it was almost as warm as a bathtub. I let out a sigh of pleasure as I floated on my back then began to swim laps. I used to swim all the time when I was younger. I joined the high school swim team and even competed in a few meets, but I was never any good. I quit after a while, mostly because it was more work than it was worth, but as I did an easy freestyle down and back, I remembered how much fun it had been to drift up and down the length, not trying to win anything, only trying to enjoy myself.