Total pages in book: 221
Estimated words: 213317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1067(@200wpm)___ 853(@250wpm)___ 711(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 213317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1067(@200wpm)___ 853(@250wpm)___ 711(@300wpm)
I need to take some notes from Ant and start glugging the mineral water instead.
My thoughts lead to the question I ask him.
“How come you don’t drink alcohol? Is that a recent thing or have you never been into it?”
He shrugs. “Just not for me. I used to drink a bit when I was younger, just like everyone does, but nah. Not my thing.”
I giggle. “You’ve got an awful lot of champagne for someone who doesn’t like the stuff.”
He laughs back. “Champagne is always good for a celebration. If you wanted a few shots of vodka and some lime soda, you wouldn’t find my supplies nearly so accommodating.”
“Good job I like champagne then, isn’t it? I feel spoiled.”
“You’ll always be spoiled, princess.” He pauses. “On that note, you’d better get dressed and get your necklace on.”
He comes up with me and showers as I choose my clothes for the day. Fuck it. I go with my favourite PJs, scooping my hair up in a ponytail.
He looks so hot with a towel wrapped around his hips that I want to pull him back into bed, but there’s no way my pussy would be up to it. I’m so sore from last night that every step still feels like a waddle. He doesn’t push it as he slips into some boxers and joggers. Part of me wishes I’d have opted for something a bit more enticing to wear now – suddenly more concerned with him wanting my pussy than I am about how sore I am.
He gestures to the necklace box on the dresser. “Time to get your sparkles on.”
I’d forgotten just how stunning the pendant is. My breath hitches when I see it there against the velvet.
“Need a hand?” he asks, and takes it from me before I can answer, fastening it around my neck with a smile. “Fuck, it suits you, Cass.”
“Even in battered old PJs?” I say, making light of my clothes choice.
“Even better in battered old PJs. It only draws more attention to the shimmer.”
“I’ll remember that when we’re heading out somewhere flash for dinner, shall I?”
He smiles. “Wear battered old PJs all you like, but we’ll see if your family agree with your choice when we take them out for a meal at Bucklebury Hall next weekend.”
I spin to face him, shocked.
“You’re taking us out to Bucklebury Hall?!”
“Already booked. Table for seven. I thought your little nephew might like to join us.”
I can’t even remember the last time my family went out for a meal there. Probably Sarah’s twenty-first birthday. Bucklebury Hall is a place in the heart of the village, so grand that it’s mainly for tourists with plenty money to spend.
“They’re going to love you so much,” I tell him.
“I sure hope so, baby. Wouldn’t want them to think you’re in love with a loser.”
I laugh out loud at that.
“I don’t think anyone is ever going to think you’re a loser, Ant. You must have always been incredible, right from when you were tiny.”
He stiffens up at that comment, and the undertone in his expression is back. Pained. He tries to cover it up with a smile, but it’s too late. It’s there again. In reference to when he was younger.
“What?” I ask him. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” he laughs. “You’re right. Being a loser is the last thing I’d ever want to be. I wasn’t all that good a swimmer, though.”
I watch him when he crosses the room to put some socks on. He’s smiling but his shoulders are rigid, protecting himself from something.
“Time for a movie afternoon in your PJs,” he says, and he’s straight out of the bedroom door without a backwards glance.
I join him downstairs on the sofa and we flick through the movie options, trying to find one to start with. He makes small talk about the ones he’s seen already and I join in with him, but my mind is whirling. Not on last night, or how amazing it is that I have a diamond necklace around my neck. It’s all on him and whatever is happening under the surface. Whatever pain he has down deep.
Whatever it is, he’s a master at hiding it.
Ant knows pretty much everything there is to know about me after a few short weeks. He’s heard so many stories from my childhood, and so much about my family and my friends and my job. He knows what food I like, and my bad habits like eating too much chocolate before bedtime, and how I salute magpies every time we pass one in the car.
I still know nothing about him, not really. The memories and experiences he shares are always recent. He talks plenty about his dirty fantasies but outside of that he mainly talks about the cars he enjoys, or fitness, or his work in Berlin. I know more about his team there than I do about his family and friends, or anyone he ever cared about growing up. I know more about his HIIT training routine than I do about his grandad, despite the fact his grandad is the reason he moved to Malvern in the first place.