Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“She knew my father had mistresses, and she stayed. She was fortunate enough never to be a pawn in someone’s cruel game. In the face of adversity, she’ll choose to ignore it. But not you.”
“Leaving a cheating husband isn’t brave.”
“If it’s not brave, then why do so few women do it?”
I stared at the table.
“I know you can do this.”
“What does it matter—”
“It matters because I don’t want you to live your life in fear, afraid to enjoy something that used to bring you joy. You give power to your enemies—power they don’t deserve.”
“Bastien, no offense, but you’ve never died.”
He stared at me for a long time, like the words dismantled his argument. “No. But you’re a hell of a lot braver than I am.”
Gerard brought dinner, drinks, and dessert, and Bastien got into the bathtub first. It was big enough to fit four adults comfortably, but Bastien was bigger than the average adult, so he took up two spots himself.
The bathtub wasn’t long and narrow, far rounder than a coffin, so at least they were aesthetically different. The pizza had been placed on a riser so it wouldn’t get wet from our movements, and there were several bottles of champagne for us to enjoy. A couple weeks ago, this would have been the most romantic night of my life, but now, it felt like a challenge, one that brought me a shit-ton of anxiety.
“Sweetheart, you got this.” He reached his hand over the edge of the tub so I could grab it and use it to step over the side and into the warm water. He wore his look of confidence, staring hard into my gaze with transparent calm.
I didn’t want someone else to dictate my life. Didn’t want a dead person to have such power over me. But it was hard to be brave. If it were easy, then everyone would be brave. I stared at the water then looked at his hand again, giving a quiet sigh before I grabbed his fingers.
The smile on his mouth and the pride in his eyes lit up the whole fucking sky. “Attagirl.”
One foot hit the water and then the next. I stood there with the water to my knees, the bubbles on the surface from the bath gel he’d added. The overhead lights had been dimmed, and I stood in a bathroom that was more expensive than an average apartment. It was nothing like a coffin in a muddy grave. The only commonality between them was the water that swirled around my feet.
After a beat, I lowered myself into the water across from him, letting the warmth submerge me to my shoulders. Nightmares still struck me, despite the weeks that had passed. Bastien didn’t know any of that because he was out working. But having the walls of his home surrounding and protecting me was enough to make me feel safe again.
He leaned against the edge of the other side of the tub, his arms stretched out along the sides, looking like someone who enjoyed a bath even though he never took one.
I sat there with my arms around my knees, looking at the bubbles that floated on the surface of the water. It took me a couple minutes to accept it, to rationalize the situation and convince myself I wasn’t in danger, that this moment was nothing like the other. My heart started to slow, and the smell of the pizza was suddenly noticeable.
He watched me the whole time but didn’t say a word, giving me time to adjust to the situation on my own. He picked up his champagne flute and took a drink before he grabbed the bottle and refilled it.
I looked at the pizza. “Smells good.”
The smirk on his face was so handsome. It’d melt my panties if I wore any. “There’s my girl.” He grabbed a piece off the platter then took an enormous bite, eating half of it in a single go.
I grabbed one for myself and took a bite, the cheese fresh like it was just grated, the sauce homemade like Gerard whipped it up on the stove before he’d poured it on the dough. It was covered in mozzarella and veggies—mushrooms, tomatoes, olives, and artichoke hearts. “Let’s hope Gerard doesn’t quit and open his own pizza place.”
He smirked. “I pay him too much to even think about it.”
“Does he live here?”
“Yep.”
“Does he get time off?”
“He does. He has an assistant cover for him, usually on the weekends because I’m out of the house.”
“That’s dedication.”
“It’s a dream job in the hospitality world. Makes two hundred thousand euros a year and has no rent or bills and eats for free.”
My jaw almost dropped. “That’s an insane amount of money.”
“I think he’s worth it.”
“How do you know he won’t just work for a couple years then quit when he can retire?”