Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
We can’t afford that.
“You’ve never met her,” I remind him. “I’ve known her for years. Give me a week, and she’ll be on our side, ready to do what has to be done. I’m sure of it.”
“A week,” he repeats, quirking a skeptical brow.
“Seven days. In the meantime, I’ll do the work I promised. Everything will be on track by this time next week.”
“You’d better hope it is.”
Dread skitters its way across my heart. “Or what?”
His knowing smile confirms what I already knew. “What do you think? I’ve always preferred to travel light, and your little girlfriend is weighing us down.”
He ends the call, leaving his thinly veiled threat hanging in the air. He has a thing for getting the last word.
There’s nothing for me to do but sit in silence, the room only lit by the glow from my screen. I have work to do and not the first idea of how to accomplish what I promised. Doubt threatens to plant its seed in my head, but I push it out of the way before it can do so. There’s no room for doubt now. I need to have faith in her, in the strength of the devotion she swears she has.
Scarlet. Please, don’t let me down.
19
SCARLET
As long as I can remember, I’ve hated waking up in a new place, at least for the first few days. There hasn’t been a sleepover or a family vacation when I haven’t woken up with my heart in my throat. The first week at MIT was a real treat. Not only was I in a new bedroom, but a whole other state.
Should it have mattered? Not necessarily. I guess in my subconscious, I knew how far I was from home and wasn’t a fan of the idea.
So it shouldn’t come as a surprise when my heart wedges itself in my throat the instant my eyes open, and I find myself in a bedroom I haven’t yet gotten used to. What surprises me is the way I remain frozen stiff, unable to breathe, even after my memory catches up to me.
I should be able to relax by now, right? I know where I am and who I’m with. So why is it taking so long before I can move and breathe and think normally?
Sometimes, I ask myself questions I already know the answer to.
I look to his side of the bed and find it empty. I run a hand over the pillow, and it’s cool to the touch, telling me he got up a while ago.
The sun has barely risen, filling the room with thin, gray morning light. He’s an early riser, I guess, even though we didn’t get to sleep until way after midnight, according to the alarm clock on the nightstand.
I don’t know if I’m glad or not that he isn’t with me, considering I don’t know what sort of mood he’ll be in. He was contrite last night, but that was then, in the immediate aftermath.
Now that I know how he reacts when asked questions he doesn’t want to answer, I’m less inclined to ask if he hurt himself while he was in hiding. If he’s been struggling, I doubt he would take it well—and it would probably come off as insulting no matter how I’d try to make it sound otherwise. Nobody wants to hear they’re acting like they have a head wound. Just the thought makes me cringe.
So does the discomfort from my chafed wrists when I pull the sleeves of my shirt over my hands to ward off the chill in here.
That settles it. No questions. If he wants to offer information, I’ll gladly accept it, but I’m not going to be the one to start the conversation.
I can’t believe I have to think this way about him. That I need to plan every move. I used to think strategically like this, but I was more interested back then in finding clever ways to seduce him, to get his attention, and make sure he couldn’t take his eyes off me.
What I wouldn’t give to go back to those days. Even the torment of wanting him and figuring he’d never look twice at me was better than rehearsing what I’ll say to keep him from freaking out.
How do I get us back to where we used to be?
“Good morning.”
Holy shit. I almost jump out of bed at the sudden greeting, even though he delivers it in a soft voice. He’s only wearing socks. There were no heavy footsteps to tip me off.
“Morning,” I pant, laughing shakily, a hand over my heart. “Damn. I need to get you a bell to hang around your neck. It gets so quiet around here.”
“It does, doesn’t it? And a sudden noise sounds so much louder.” He chuckles, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets while I sit up, shivering a little from the chill.