Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I take each step carefully.
When I reach the bottom of the servants’ stairs, I pause . . . and that’s when someone grabs me. A hand slips over my mouth. It’s strong and calloused. But it’s familiar. My back hits a solid chest, and I almost scream, but I don’t.
Because I know it’s him. Of course, it’s him.
A giddy, inappropriate giggle escapes against his palm.
He exhales softly against the shell of my ear, sending heat down my spine. “You weren’t supposed to enjoy that.”
I turn my head just enough to meet his shadowed gaze. “You’re not as scary as you think,” I whisper back, my lips brushing the edge of his palm.
“You’re not as careful as you should be.”
His hand leaves my mouth, only to catch my fingers instead. He holds me firmly and leads me up the narrow stairwell.
The air is dusty, and it’s hard to see, but regardless of that, I follow him.
We climb two stories, and duck through a freaking hatch I didn’t know existed.
Next thing I know, we’re outside.
He lets go of my hand. But only barely. His fingers linger like he’s reluctant to lose the connection.
“This is where the staff comes in the fall to clean leaves.” He rolls his sleeves higher. “There’s a locked door on the north side. No one uses it in the summer.”
I look at him, heart knocking on my ribs like it wants to escape. “How did you know I’d come?” I ask, letting the question tilt upward like a dare.
He shrugs, but there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes hold mine. “I didn’t,” he admits, his voice softly. “I just knew I’d wait.”
Heat blooms under my skin.
I sit first.
Probably should have brought a blanket, because the stone is super cold.
I don’t mention it though, don’t want to ruin the mood. Or seem high maintenance.
Lorenzo sits beside me.
The silence is different up here. Not heavy. Not sharp. Just . . . full.
“Tell me something true,” I breathe, drawing my knees up like him, resting my chin on them.
He exhales, slow and steady. “That’s a dangerous game.” He glances at me from beneath his lashes.
“Then play it,” I challenge, nudging his knee with mine.
He doesn’t look at me. Just at the stars, like they’re easier to confess to.
“It’s always just been my mom and me,” he starts, voice low, words dragging. “She never talked about my dad. Ever. Not even when I asked.”
I nod slowly, something softening in my chest. “That’s hard.” My fingers curling against the stone.
He shrugs, but it’s stiff. “It was normal to me. Until it wasn’t.”
“Why did you move here?” I ask, watching his throat work as he swallows.
He hesitates. It’s a long pause. Drawn out.
“We had to leave where we were,” he admits, rubbing his thumb across his knee. “I got in some trouble. Nothing huge, just . . . enough. Then one day, she packed everything in the car and said we were going east.”
“Just like that?” I whisper, leaning closer.
He nods once, jaw tightening. “Just like that. Like she was running. Or hiding. I didn’t ask too many questions. She looked scared, and I don’t like seeing her scared.”
I look at him now. Really look.
Something is beneath the anger. Beneath the sharp edges and the sarcasm.
There’s history. And hurt. But most importantly…loyalty.
“She’s your mom. You love her,” I breathe, the truth shaping itself without my permission.
He nods. “She’s all I had. All I have.”
“You’re lucky,” I whisper, blinking hard. “To have someone like that. Someone who sees you. Fights for you.”
He looks over then. But I don’t meet his gaze. It’s too much. Too raw.
I stare at the sky because it’s easier than saying the rest out loud.
“I’m not a daughter to them,” I say, voice cracking. “Not really. I’m a possession. Something to show off, polish, and control. A bargaining chip for legacy. A name in a marriage contract.”
My throat tightens, and I swear a tear threatens to fall. I try to bite it back, but one escapes anyway. It slides down my cheek in perfect, humiliating silence.
He catches it with the tip of his finger.
“You’re not a possession to me,” he whispers, each word a vow. “You’re everything.”
A sound escapes me, half laugh, or maybe half scoff. I have no idea what I’m doing or thinking. It feels like everything is spinning, and I shake my head to right myself.
“You don’t even know me,” I whisper. “Not really.”
He leans in. “I don’t need to know you to know this.” His eyes locked on mine. “Anyone with eyes can see it. You’re kind. And sweet. And beautiful. And you look at me like I mean something.”
My voice breaks. “No one has ever looked at me like that, Lorenzo.”
His jaw flexes. It looks like he might break. “I do.”
“Why?”
“Because you do mean something.” His voice cracks, and then he kisses me.