Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
It’s called Evergreen Lane, and it doesn’t have a regular street sign like every other road in town. This one is oddly stylish, a brown plate with bright white lettering and an ornate frame around it.
I grimace as we pass it, my gaze flickering to the NO OUTLET sign attached to a stylish light post.
This has to be it.
“I didn’t even know this road was here,” I tell him.
“Most people don’t. My family owns all the property on it, so there’s no reason for anyone to be here unless they’re delivering something.”
Fucking patricians.
He knows how I feel, so I don’t bother voicing my disgust.
My gaze jumps to the immediate differences. At the mouth of the street on either side of the road are landscaped islands with stone pillars and wrought iron gates going right up to the edge of the road. The message is clear. Go away. You don’t belong here.
Message received.
I glance over at Tor. “You sure you don’t want to do Stepford night instead? If you turn around now, I’ll let you do anything you want to me tonight.”
He smirks, shaking his head at my bribes.
When we don’t heed the unspoken fuck off from the decorative gates, the street assumes we’re meant to be here, and the rest of it is lined with big beautiful trees and stylish light posts. The street curves, and the sidewalk is immaculately maintained even though I know this street must be as old as the town. Everything is well maintained.
Huge houses sit on large chunks of land, their perfect green lawns and gardens impeccably manicured despite the size. Several of them have massive ponds in the front yards. When we reach the end of the road, it’s circular. To the left, just before we enter the cul-de-sac, is a long winding driveway that disappears behind a thick row of trees. To the right is vacant land. And directly in front of us at the very end of the road is a sprawling estate set back on the seemingly endless property. Brick pillars and wrought iron surround the property, and a tall wrought-iron gate with a W on it sits at the front of the driveway.
I swallow, much more intimidated by this ungodly mansion than the lake house. No wonder Tor and his brother decided to live there.
This property is unbelievable, especially to be located in a little town like ours, but I can’t imagine living somewhere like this.
Tor stops the car at the entry gates to roll down his window and punch in a code. A moment later, the wrought-iron gates open, and I feel like I’m about to meet Bruce Wayne.
The driveway is long, as if to ward off anyone daring to enter, to give them a chance to turn back.
I would love to, but Tor pulls forward, turning the wheel and navigating around a fountain.
A fucking fountain.
He must feel me vibrating over here, because his mouth tugs up faintly and he asks, “What do you think?”
“I have nothing to say.”
His amusement deepens. “You always have something to say.”
“Not tonight. Tonight my mantra is, ‘If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.’”
“So I should expect to carry the conversation,” he says dryly.
I would offer a smile, but I’m too distracted by the blue Bentley sitting in the driveway. I haven’t truly met the man, but I’d bet money it belongs to Tor’s dad.
I draw in a deep breath, filling up with dread as Tor kills the engine.
I really, really don’t want to do this.
Tor knows that, so he places a hand on my thigh and gives it a supportive squeeze.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this. I must really like you,” I tell him.
He laughs a little as he opens the car door. “I hope so.”
My heart starts beating faster as I open my door. My heel hits the pavement, and I smooth down my dress. I’m already self-conscious, and I haven’t even seen anybody yet.
It’s a little bit like the New York feeling when I first stepped on the sidewalk and felt transported to a foreign new land, but this time, I’m trapped in a broken fairy tale, standing outside the lair of the evil villains with no choice but to go in and face them.
Tor takes my hand, and I hesitate for a second, but when he tugs gently, I follow him to the front door.
My stomach is already aching.
I’m hoping he’ll knock and wait for someone to answer to buy me a little more time, but of course he doesn’t. This is his family’s house. He grew up here. He opens the door and steps inside.
The tension in my shoulders pulls tighter. Forget his Stepford night shoulder rub; I’m going to need one.
The queasiness takes hold as soon as the door closes behind me. Everything about the journey to this point has felt like a warning that I’m not welcome here, an invitation to turn around and make a better choice, but this is the point of no return.