Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Why did you?”
“The café El was talking about is closed on Sunday. I thought I would have to get them flown in from Bordeaux.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Why would you go to the effort?”
“Because I can. Because I wanted to. Because you have a sweet tooth and because you sounded so interested when he was banging on about them.”
“I was just being polite,” I say with a laugh. “He brought me coffee!”
“Yeah, well so did I, so you’d better drink it,” he grumbles.
“It’s not a competition.” I reach for my mimosa. “And even if it was,” I say, putting it back down. “You’ve already won.”
“Yeah?”
“You won before he’d even set eyes on me. You won again when you ordered me lunch that day, and when you made sure I got home when my skirt split. I’m not interested in your brother, Whit. There is no competition.”
“It doesn’t hurt to hear it.”
“I’m glad you’re listening. Don’t make this a thing. You’re a good man, and you love your brother. Not to mention, you’re one hell of a screw.”
“Amelia!” He says my name with the cadence of a Southern aunt spotting someone wearing white after Labor Day.
“Those years of practice obviously paid off.” I allow my gaze to slide over him as though he were a sweet treat. He’s certainly delectable.
“All those years and I didn’t realize you were a little voyeur.”
I’m saved from answering as his phone buzzes in the kitchen.
“I should’ve turned it off,” he mutters, pushing back his chair. He pauses as he passes, curling his hands around my shoulders and tracing his lips around my ear. “Eat some sugar. Hydrate.”
“Why?” I call after he pulls away.
“You’ll need the energy.”
I try to contain my smile by nibbling at the tart. I don’t need to try for long because the citrusy flavors meld so well with that of the butter case, I take a proper bite. I really ought to try the canelés, given the trouble he went to get them, right?
“Dan, how are you, mate?”
That must be his brother, Dan, judging by the effusive happiness that seeps into his greeting. I take a mouthful of my cooling coffee, then pour a little more vivid orange pulp-rich juice into my champagne. It’s tart and sweet in an odd contrast to the dry champagne, plus the sugary cakes I need to stop gorging on.
“No, no worries at all,” Whit says into his phone. I can almost feel his eyes burning into the back of my head as I look out over the park. It looks like a nice day for a walk. The sky is so blue and the sun vivid, its warmth seeping through the glass.
It feels like a layer of sheer bliss.
“Yeah, of course I have time.” Whit falls quiet, presumably as Dan fills him in on his news. I guess Dan must be the adventurous type, given he’s trekking around Thailand. I’m not cut out for living out of a backpack, not that I could put my parents through it, either, I guess. Coming to London is one thing. Jungles and questionable medical facilities would push them right over the edge.
“Well, that’s great, Dan, but I don’t know what to tell you except go with your gut.”
My gut says stop feeding me cake, so I finish my coffee while trying not to listen to Whit’s conversation while he doles out cautious advice that sounds like it might be about his brother’s love life.
“Sorry about that.” He touches my shoulder as he passes.
“No problem. Everything okay?”
“Dan has met a girl.” His smile leaks through his explanation. “He wanted some advice, though why from me is anyone’s guess. He should’ve rung Heather. She’s the only one of us who has a successful relationship.”
“Are you looking for a relationship?” I ask, half hopeful, half horrified.
“Fuck, no.” He laughs unhappily. “I don’t have time. Besides, who’d want to take me on? I’d barely be around.”
“I’m sure lots of women would take that chance.”
“And then regret it,” he replies seriously. “VirTu takes up so much of my life and my headspace, I just don’t have it within me to commit to a relationship.”
“But you have sex.”
He doesn’t reply but for a secretive kind of smile.
“Is it more the case that you don’t want to take on anything else?” As the words leave my mouth, a sudden sense of foreboding washes over me.
“Yeah, I suppose. I have work and I have my family. Sex is more like working out, taking care of myself. It’s not an emotional drain.”
“Drain?”
“Commitment,” he amends. “A relationship is a commitment.”
“So who do you normally have sex with? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“Did I say I didn’t mind?”
“No, but you know you’re going to tell me anyway.” I cheekily slide a piece of pineapple into my mouth as a way to keep myself from talking. I want to crawl into this man’s brain and poke around. Learn all his deliciously dirty secrets and feast on them for a little while.