Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
“But how?” she says, her smile a prize I’ll never stop trying to win.
“Your determination to fulfill your mom’s final wishes. Your beauty. Your stubbornness to stand up to the property developer. To do the right thing instead of taking the easy path. You’re inspirational.”
Her smile widens. My cold armor cracks even more. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me for telling the truth.”
I should listen to the caution inside me. Take her someplace quiet where nobody will notice us. But she deserves better than that.
Instead, I take her to one of the most luxurious restaurants in the city. Echelon is a big ballroom, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, silverware glittering from the tables like somebody plucked the stars from the sky.
“Do we need to make a reservation?” Rose whispers, as I walk in with her on my arm.
I lead her to the head of the line. Ignore the glares from the society men and women. The politicians and the millionaires and the playboys.
“Mr Markov,” the host says. “A table for two?”
I nod. “Somewhere discreet.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Woah,” Rose mutters as the host leads us across the busy restaurant. “This is like being inside a snow globe.”
Another smile touches my lips as I pull out her seat. There’s so much I could show her, so much we could share together. Life seems instantly brighter when I view it through her eyes.
I order champagne. Rose laughs. “Seriously?”
“I want the best for you,” I tell her.
“I’ve already eaten dinner,” she murmurs.
“Then order something light—or order a second dinner.”
“A second dinner?”
I glide my hand under the table. Squeeze her leg. “You could never be too curvy for me, Rose. You make my mouth water more than any meal in this place. Don’t you dare doubt yourself.”
Her face lights up … lighting me up inside.
“Then I’ll have steak?” she murmurs, looking at the menu. “With a side of fries?”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll get the same.”
Once we’ve made our order and we’re sipping our champagne, I lean forward. The room shrinks to just her. The laughter and the music and the highfliers … they all disappear.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say.
Her cheeks flush. Eyes bright with champagne and excitement. “Where shall I start?”
“At the beginning.”
“You want my whole life story, huh?”
“I want everything from you.”
She can’t hide the desire shimmering across her expression. She tugs at the tablecloth like she’s sexually frustrated. My manhood aches. I focus on romance. Not lust.
A challenge?
Fuck yeah.
Even more difficult than walking out on her was.
But I do it. For her.
“I guess I’ve always been shy,” she says after a pause. “I always had my head in books.”
“What kinds of books?”
“It sounds weird—”
“You don’t need to do that,” I cut in.
“Do what?”
“Downplay yourself. Your past. Your … anything, Rose. I want all of you.”
She sits up straighter. “You’re right. I do tend to downplay stuff.”
“You don’t have to with me.”
She reaches across the table. Touches my hand. “I was obsessed with books about houses. Renovation specifically. Before Mom got ill, I was studying to be a property developer. Not like those asshats trying to take my house though. Not some big mega corporation sucking the soul from homes. I wanted to develop with care, with pride.”
Her passion blazes through with every word.
“You’ll do it,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “You sound so sure.”
“Your mom’s house is the start, Rose,” I tell her firmly. “One day, you’ll be a success. I promise you.”
I’m addicted to her smiles. She squeezes my hand. “Thank you.”
“So …”
“Oh, me still?” She laughs. “Well, I didn’t have many friends. Some, but not many. I spent a lot of time reading, like I said. Never had many boyfriends either. Then I went to college—Mom got sick—I came home and we lived with my uncle in the city so that he could take care of her when I was at work. But she wouldn’t sell the home. When she …”
She lets out a croak.
“It’s okay,” I say huskily. “I’m here.”
“You know, passed,” she presses on. “I moved back to the house and got to work. That’s when I discovered that a certain somebody had moved into Mr Nelson’s rundown house …”
She looks at me questioningly. I swallow hard.
Here I am saying she deserves everything. But I still haven’t given her the truth.
How can I without putting her in danger?
Hypocrite. She’s in danger just sitting here with you.
Our food arrives, both of us having medium-rare steak. The pause gives me a chance to try and organize my thoughts. To stop being so damn evasive.
I cut into my steak. Stare at the blood spreading across the plate and think about all the blood I’ve spilled.
“I want to tell you the truth,” I say. “But I’d rather focus on you.”
“You’ve got my whole life story,” she replies with a nervous laugh. “I’m really not that interesting.”