Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
I start peppering her with questions. Favorite song, favorite movie, favorite vacations. I ask her about high school, jobs she’s worked, her relationship with her father, everything I can think of, jamming years’ worth of dating into a few minutes. She gives up on asking anything in return, since I’m evasive and not really interested in talking about myself, and by the time I reach the entrance to the oasis, she seems much more relaxed, and she doesn’t notice when I pull the wrong way down a one-way street, nodding at a few guards as I roll toward my customary parking space outside of my house.
“This is the place?” she asks, squinting out the window. “Where are we, anyway?”
“This is my family’s block.” I get out of the truck and go around to help her down.
“Sorry, what do you mean, your family’s block?”
“We own all these houses.” I gesture around myself at the single-family units, each with their own small, perfectly manicured lot. The far side of the street is blocked off with fake road work, the pavement ripped up and taped off, making it such that the only way in here is down the other end, past a bunch of signs screaming Do Not Enter and One Way Street. There are lots of big shade trees casting shadows across the pristine sidewalks, and though she probably can’t see them right now, at least a dozen guards are patrolling the area and watching with sniper rifles on the rooftops.
“You have to be kidding me,” she mutters, staring around her. “You said you were rich, but this is insane.”
“This is the oasis,” I say, guiding her up to my porch. “It’s the only place my family feels safe. Right here, in the heart of Chicago, we have our own world. Only important members of our organization live here and on the neighboring blocks. When you’re in the oasis, you don’t have to worry about anything.”
I open the door and guide her into the entryway. While some of my siblings decided to update their homes and modernize them, I chose to keep mine as original as possible. The dark floors gleam with polish, and the original Victorian detailing makes it look like we fell into a time vortex. Light casts colors through stained glass on the floor, and Emily looks around her like she can barely believe it. Art covers the walls and the furniture is all designer and utterly tasteful. I put a lot of effort into my home, and I’m proud of it.
My sister’s voice calls from the kitchen. “Simon? Are you finally here? Late to your own damn wedding, I shouldn’t be surprised.” She comes around the corner and stops when she spots Emily.
The girls look at each other. I put a hand on the small of my future wife’s back, feeling strangely possessive. I go through the introductions and Elena sweeps over to kiss Emily’s cheek.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Emily says, looking uncomfortable again. I want the girl that briefly appeared in the truck, at ease and prepared to banter me back to hell, but I can tell she’s crawling back into her shell.
“Simon told me all about you,” Elena says, taking her arm. “I bet you’re pretty nervous right now, but don’t be. Things are going to be totally fine.” She guides Emily back toward the kitchen and I trail after the pair, aware that I’ve been usurped.
Father O’Shea’s sitting at the table in street clothes with steaming tea in his hands. We shake hands and do the introductions a second time, and the father gets right down to business. “First order of business is the prenuptial agreement,” he says, squinting at the papers. He’s an older man, in his mid-sixties, with thick black-rimmed glasses and bushy gray hair. “That’s this one right here, if you want to take a look at it.” He shows Emily some paperwork and she takes it with shaking hands.
I give Elena a discreet nod and she goes off to make Emily some tea. I walk my fiancée through the agreement, taking my time as I explain to her the clauses, but everything’s there per our arrangement. When she’s convinced that I didn’t slip some poison pill in one of the paragraphs, we sign at the bottom.
“Wonderful, very good. I’m so happy to see two young people such as yourselves—” Father O’Shea starts but trails off at the look on my wife’s face.
She seems like she’s about to bolt. Elena puts the tea in front of her, but she doesn’t touch it.
“Are you okay?” Elena asks, leaning down to put a hand on her arm. “Do you need a minute?”
“Yes,” Emily says, jumping out of her chair, nearly knocking it back. “I mean, sorry, I just have to—uh, where’s the bathroom?”
“Right over here.” Elena walks her back the way we came, leaving me alone with the father. He shifts in his chair, looking like he also wants to bolt.