Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Simon goes quiet, sitting on the steps with his arms resting on his spread knees and his head hanging.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, sitting down next to him. I press a kiss to his shoulder then rest my head there.
He swallows thickly. “I am one of the most fortunate. But all of my aunt’s money cannot make up for the feeling . . . here.” Simon pats his chest over his heart. “Money does little to make up for abandonment issues.”
There are no words to describe how I feel. Now, more than ever, I understand Simon and the depth he has inside. The soul that rests in his chest. He’s so much more than just a pretty face.
And something tells me that I’ve been shown a secret only a handful of people know. Simon’s let me in closer than almost anyone, and while there’s pain in my heart for the tragic past he’s had . . . I also feel honored by his sharing it with me.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” I whisper. “For showing me your heart.”
We look over the grounds of the orphanage silently. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m imagining a toddler version of Simon running across the patchy grass. I’m not even sure how old he was when he was here—an infant, a toddler, a young boy—but in my mind, a sweet, innocent Simon runs toward the front of the property, looking for his mother. The mother who never came back.
After a bit, Simon hums, the tone of our conversation changing with the sound and the light in his eyes as he looks over at me. “There is still more I can show you, if you want.”
I don’t think. I leap, figuratively speaking. “I want to learn about Paris. I want to learn about you. I want to learn about everything.”
Simon takes my hand, pulling me to my feet. He presses a kiss to the top of my head as he wraps his arms around me. “Then let’s go.”
CHAPTER 16
SIMON
Night has fallen, Paris lighting up as she does while I drive with Autumn back through the city, heading to the northern districts of the city. Autumn’s been quiet, and I think she is still absorbing what she’s seen in me today.
To be honest, I need the quiet too because the revelations aren’t over, and I’m trembling inside at the amount of trust I’m placing in Autumn. Because while I don’t expect Autumn to believe me, I’ve never let anyone see all that Autumn’s getting to see.
I take her to my apartment, wanting more of her, of what this day’s meant to me.
She follows me upstairs easily, and when I open the door, she’s prepped for the incoming Xerxes attack, but he swirls around and through our feet, almost catlike, though he still barks unhappily, jealous over having to share me with Autumn again. To her credit, Autumn tries with my grumpy guy. She holds out her hand to let Xerxes sniff her, but instead he growls.
“Rotten mutt,” I tell him, knowing he is neither. “Let me put him away so we won’t be disturbed.”
Autumn laughs. “Is that a nice way of saying ‘so he doesn’t try to eat my face off’?”
“Perhaps,” I answer, picking up my cockblocking beast. I go down the hall, putting Xerxes to bed in the guest room. He has a fluffy bed on the floor but prefers the pillows on the bed, and I’ve never found a reason to stop him, so I tuck him in. “Be a good boy. Daddy likes her, and if you run her off, I’m going to be mad. It’ll be all dry dog food and no biscuits for you.”
He whines, but when I pause at the door, he flops his head down and closes his eyes. Smiling at his dramatics, I close the door quietly.
In the living room, Autumn looks comfortable on my couch, her shoes kicked off and her legs curled up. I like it. I like it a lot. Which is unusual. I don’t bring people, especially women, here. Here, I can let all the façades drop away and be myself, not a model, executive, or whatever rich boy stereotype people expect from me.
Keeping this space sacred is part of the reason Xerxes reacts so vehemently to a stranger coming in. But Autumn has been here twice now, and both times, it feels . . . right to me.
I grab two glasses of white wine from the kitchen as she watches with a soft smile. “It was good to see you like that. To learn about you,” she calls out.
Coming into the living room, I offer her one of the glasses and she takes a sip. “I’m glad you think so because I was afraid that I’d run you off. I’m more than a little dinged and damaged under the pretty exterior.”