Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
And what girl doesn’t want to feel precious?
We ride for a while, the shops and gas stations on the side of the highway turn to oaks and pines and corn fields and I wonder where we're headed.
Wrath finally takes an exit toward Remington, an upscale suburb outside of Scottsdale. A few minutes later we pull into the Bellington Estates Assisted living and Memory Care facility, where he parks the bike and helps me off the back.
“This is a strange place for a wedding night.” I smile as he takes off the helmet he makes me wear, even though he doesn’t wear one himself. I’m going to work on that, because now that I’ve found him, I want as many years as I can with him.
“Yeah. Little role play. We're in the home together is one of my kinks.” He sniffs and smacks me on the rear before he grabs my hand and we start to walk toward the front entry.
There’s vines and stunning landscaping all around the building, which looks like a stone and stucco mansion. As we approach, there’s even a doorman who opens the glass door and nods at Wrath.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Phillips. Seems you’re having a special day.” He’s about two inches shorter than me, with a kind, round face and a midsection to match, dressed in burgundy blazer and black trousers, and a striped tie with a perfect triangle knot at his throat.
“Good to see you too, Mel. It is a special day.” Wrath squeezes my fingers as we walk inside.
My eyes take in the interior. A crystal chandelier hangs from a two story entry, which leads to what looks like an enormous living room with sofas in velvet and floral damask, while a gas fireplace made from the same stone and stucco as outside flickers against the far wall.
People are milling about, fresh flowers in a bouquet three feet tall sit on the top of a black grand piano, which is playing on its own as we approach an ornate carved wooden desk with a pleasant, well put together woman sitting behind it wearing the same burgundy blazer as the doorman, only hers is paired with a black skirt and a white silk blouse underneath.
“Good day Mr. Phillips.” She looks at me and smiles. “And, can I assume, this is the brand-new Mrs. Phillips?”
Wrath nods. “That’s the deal. Where is she?” He asks, and I’m still not sure what’s going on but my confusion is mixed with awe at the beauty and warmth of this place.
The woman at the desk taps on a keyboard, looking at a computer monitor, then back at Wrath. “She’s in the conservatory. Just finished her afternoon walk.”
“Thanks.” With that we are walking down a couple other hallways, passing a dining room that looks like it could be from any five star restaurant as staff nod and greet us, everyone smiling at me because I’m sure it’s not every day a biker in his leather and a bow tie and a woman in a white wedding dress are walking the halls here.
We come to a set of double metal doors with a keypad on the side, and Wrath punches in a number making the doors buzz and open.
On the other side, things look exactly the same at the rest of the building, but when the door clicks shut behind us, I’m putting together we are in a more secure part of the facility.
“What are we doing?” I lean in and whisper, but Wrath just keeps walking.
We move through another set of doors into a glass greenhouse sort of room that is filled with green plants and even a little pond with a trickling waterfall, and I hear birds chirping from above.
Another smiling woman approaches. “She’s right over there,” she says to Wrath, then gives me a smile and a quick hello as we head in the direction she pointed.
Sitting on a bench is a tiny woman, with perfectly styled white hair, looking like a miniature version of Helen Mirren, with immaculate make up and even low red pumps matched with white slacks and a red silk blouse.
Wrath pulls me forward until he sets his hand on the woman’s shoulder and waits for her to look up at him.
“Hello?” She looks pleasantly confused looking at us both.
“Hi. Do you know who I am?” Wrath asks, and she stares at him, pondering, and then shakes her head.
“No. But you look nice enough. Would you like to sit?” She pats the bench next to her.
“No, but my wife would.”
She smiles, looking at me. “Sit, my dear. You look so beautiful. I remember my wedding day. I got married in Savanna. On the water. My husband is away. He’s in the Navy, but he’ll be back soon. He writes to me every day.”