Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 168587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 843(@200wpm)___ 674(@250wpm)___ 562(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 168587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 843(@200wpm)___ 674(@250wpm)___ 562(@300wpm)
“What?” I ask wide-eyed. “What-what is in all of these boxes?” How did my mother get this stuff here? I left the dress in the honeymoon suite.
“Items from your wedding, ma’am.”
“Items from my wedding?” I repeat, whispering to myself. I rip open a box that sits on top of a table and look inside to find black tapered candles. They’re from the Lords’ table at the altar. There has to be more than twenty inside. There’s a smaller box and it has my heels from that day.
I open another box, and my chest tightens when I see it’s nothing but pictures. They’re of my sister and me; they were in my room back at our parents’ house. “Does Tyson know this stuff is here?” I ask numbly. Looking over, I see the bag that Tyson had me leave behind in the hotel room.
“Yes, ma’am.” He nods. “He arranged it.”
Why is all this here? What am I supposed to do with it and why did Tyson not tell me? “I don’t understand why he’d do this,” I say softly.
“If I may …” William clears his throat, and I look at him, trying to ignore the way my heart races from all my stuff in this room. “Mr. Crawford isn’t a bad man. He’s just the type who does whatever needs to be done,” he says simply as if I’m supposed to know what that means.
He looks at me expectantly, and I lick my lips, remembering my manners. “Thank you.” The way he frowns tells me he’s not buying my gratitude.
“Of course.” He nods and walks over to the door, holding it open for me. “This way.”
I follow him down a long hallway and take a right toward a set of black double doors. He pushes them open. “Your master suite, Mrs. Crawford.”
I step inside to see the large room. A black four-post Alaskan king-size bed sets up against a dark gray wall with black silk sheets and duvet. White and red decorative pillows have been fluffed and strategically placed. It’s obvious more than just William takes care of this place. No man cares that much about their bed, especially one that doesn’t live here. A white leather couch sits at the foot of the bed with a blanket draped across the armrest.
“I’ll leave you to it, Mrs. Crawford. Our guests should be arriving soon,” he reminds me, closing the bedroom door behind him.
I enter the bathroom to see all of my products that Tyson had delivered to the apartment at Blackout are also here. From my shampoo to my soap. From my razor to my favorite lotion. I hate that it makes me smile.
Getting undressed, I enter the shower, starting to get ready and trying not to think about the spare bedroom that has all of my stuff in it.
“Mrs. Crawford?” a woman says.
“Yes?” I exit the bathroom to find three women standing in the master suite. One looks to be fifty, dressed in an all-white suit with fire-engine red heels on. The other two look to be her daughters around my age. They all three smile at me. They’re whispering and giggling to one another. “Please call me Lake.”
“Ladies.” The older woman says tightly when she sees me. The two others straighten and clear their throats.
“Lake.” She gives me a soft nod. “Mr. Crawford wanted us to show you some dresses.” The older woman smiles at me brightly. “We’ve brought quite a selection for you. Is it okay to set them up in here? Or would you like them somewhere else?”
“Here is fine,” I answer nervously.
“We’ll have everything brought in and set up for you,” she says, and they all three turn to leave the bedroom.
“I can’t believe we’re in Tyson’s house.” One of the girls squeals.
“Right?” the other agrees. “God, she’s so pretty. They make a perfect couple.” Their whispering voices trail off as they walk down the hallway, and I stand nibbling on my lip, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing.
They return with garment bags hanging on racks that are on wheels. More than I can count. And they wheel in trunks that are full of heels when they open them.
“May I ask you a personal question?” the young brunette asks me.
The other’s eyes dart around the room, making sure their mother isn’t close enough to hear it.
“Sure.”
“Can I see your ring?” She looks down at my hand.
I lift my left hand, and she gently holds it, looking at the ring. I’ve never really paid much attention to it other than that one time while in the bathtub on our wedding day. It’s been an annoyance, a reminder of my life sentence.
“It’s gorgeous,” the girl says in awe, staring at it.
“It is.” I agree. Even I can’t deny that.
“I heard he flew to Paris and had it specially made just for you,” she continues, her eyes coming up to meet mine.