Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 64176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
“Ready,” I say.
He’s wearing a suit and has his hands in his pockets. I can see the five o’clock shadow along his jaw and wonder where he’s been all day. What he’s been doing while I’ve been cooped up in here.
“Change into an evening dress,” he says.
“What?”
“I want you in an evening dress. You have several to choose from.”
“Are we going somewhere?”
He smiles, then walks past me to the door.
“Wait!”
He turns back to me.
“Just give me a minute. I didn’t know.”
He nods, and I slip past him into the closet. Making sure he can’t see me from where he is, I pull the dress I’m wearing over my head and drop it on the floor. I pick the first dress I see hanging and slip it on. It’s a deep mauve sheath and a perfect fit, like everything else.
Reaching back, I zip it halfway up as I slip my feet into a pair of black patent-leather pumps. I’m hopping on one foot when Damian comes up behind me. He catches my elbow to steady me.
I would turn, but he stops me with his hands on the bare skin of my back.
He holds me like that for a moment. Big, warm hands on me, like he’s touching me for the first time. Like he’s curious.
I’m about to protest, but he zips the dress, then turns me to face him.
“Better,” he says, looking me over. “The color is good on you.”
Was that a compliment? I’m tempted to tell him this isn’t a date, but I don’t want to risk dinner. “It’s cold,” I say, slipping out of his grasp.
“You’ll warm up. Let’s go.”
Back in the bedroom, he opens the door and gestures for me to step out into the hallway.
You’d think I’d been imprisoned for weeks. Months maybe.
I take a tentative step out. The corridor is dimly lit and narrow, making me think of servants’ quarters or a servants’ staircase of the past. After I take a few steps, I wait for him, unsure what to do, where to go.
He closes the door and signals for me to continue. The corridor winds around several turns. I’m not sure I’ll find my way back to my room.
It’s not my room.
We take one short staircase that leads to another maze of halls and closed doors before reaching one that opens to a bigger part of the house. I think I’m right. I think my room must have been a servant’s room in the past because here, the ceilings are higher and the space wider and a little warmer.
Another long corridor disappears into shadows to my right and ahead of me is a grand staircase of wide, beautiful stone with an intricate iron railing that narrows in the middle then widens again at the bottom. A fire is lit in the large fireplace downstairs, and I see the double front doors. They’re huge.
I glance back to Damian.
“Downstairs.”
I head to the stairs, placing my hand on the cool iron railing as I descend the sixteen steps. I count as I go. The clicking of my heels echoes, and the only other sound as I near the ground floor is that of wood crackling in the fireplace.
I wonder if he and I are the only two here when I see a girl in uniform walk quickly past us. She doesn’t meet my eyes. I’m not even sure she meets Damian’s, but she nods in an almost curtsey at him. I glance at him, and if he noticed, I don’t know. His expression is impassive.
“This way,” he says, gesturing toward what looks like the living room.
He’s close, but he’s taking care not to touch me. I wonder if what happened yesterday after my forced shower was as weird for him as it was for me. I get the feeling he didn’t intend to do what he did or say what he said.
I smell food then and all other thoughts vanish. My mouth waters at the scent of some sort of meat and spices, something warm and hearty.
Damian passes me when we get into the living room. Another fire burns in a fireplace almost as big as the one in the foyer. It’s almost like a huge church with its stone walls, vaulted ceilings, and huge stained-glass windows.
“Would you like a drink before dinner?” he asks, pouring himself a whiskey from behind a bar.
“This isn’t a date,” I tell him before I can stop myself.
“A drink might make you better company.”
“If you don’t like my company, then let me leave.”
“If you’d like to be fed, then watch your mouth.”
I bite back my response because yes, I’d like to be fed.
He sips his drink and studies me as I take in the room. See the toys lined up along a wall near a basket that’s overflowing with them.
“Who lives here?” I ask him.