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)
Tears prick my eyes, but I smile. Because for the first time in years, maybe ever, I believe something might actually be mine.
18
Lorenzo
She’s still curled into my chest when a sound jerks us both upright.
What was that?
We both must have heard it, or she wouldn’t be up too, right?
Maybe a creak.
I lift my finger to my mouth to make sure she doesn’t make a sound, and then I listen.
A noise echoes through the silence. It sounds almost like a door hinge.
Someone is trying to open it without being heard.
My hand drops from my mouth and touches Victoria’s arm, my fingers curling instinctively around her skin.
Victoria tenses, her body going still against mine, as her breath catches.
One thing is for sure. We’re both wide awake now.
Another footstep.
Heavy. Deliberate.
“Shit,” I whisper, lips brushing her temple.
I move to a standing position as quietly as I can, and then I pull her up with me.
Together, we move fast, hiding behind a few crates.
The door opens wider.
This time a light spills in.
Shit.
We are so fucked if they come in.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close.
“Anyone in here?” a voice calls out. Male. Not Grant. Not staff either. Must be estate security? One of the night guards who patrols the grounds.
He lingers for beat, waiting. Then the door clicks shut.
Thank fuck.
We stay frozen for a full minute, just in case
Victoria lifts her face toward me, wide-eyed. “That was too close.”
I nod, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. “You okay?”
“I think I forgot how to breathe for like five minutes,” she whispers, brushing hair out of her face with trembling fingers.
“You didn’t even flinch.” I try to keep the moment light, my thumb brushing the back of her shoulder. “You’re practically a professional.”
She cracks a grin. It’s adorable.
“Please.” She flicks my knee with her finger. “I was three seconds from confessing everything and fainting dramatically just to buy us time.”
I laugh under my breath. God, I love her. I love the way she jokes only moments after almost being caught.
She sits, brushing dust off herself.
“I should go,” she says, voice soft but steady.
I hate it. Every second without her feels like someone thinning out the oxygen around me. But she’s right.
I help her up. Our fingers linger far too long in that charged space between holding and letting go.
“I’ll wait a few minutes before I head in,” I say, brushing my thumb across her knuckles.
She nods.
Then she steps forward and presses a kiss to my lips.
“Be careful,” she whispers.
“Always,” I respond, even though it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
She slips out into the night, and I wait until the faint sound of her steps disappears until I leave and head toward the back entrance of the staff wing.
Once inside, everything seems too quiet.
I walk fast, head down, body angled with purpose. If I can just get back to my room, clean up, change, pretend I’ve been in bed all night . . . maybe, just maybe . . .
“Lorenzo,” my mother says, her voice sharp as a knife. I should’ve known better.
I freeze.
She steps out from the shadows at the edge of the staff hallway, arms folded tightly across her chest. But she’s not alone. Standing next to her is Helen, the senior maid.
Great. Just perfect.
“Evening.” I stuff my hands in my pockets.
Helen crosses her arms tighter. “Why are you out so late?” she says, her voice high and disapproving.
I shrug, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “I was fixing a lock in the east wing. Took longer than expected.”
“Funny,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I could’ve sworn I saw you sneaking off through the garden with Miss Victoria.”
My heart slams against my ribs, but I don’t flinch. I don’t blink. I won’t give her the satisfaction.
“You’re mistaken,” I say, as casual as I can manage.
She lifts a brow so high it’s practically an accusation. “You calling me a liar?”
“I’m saying maybe you saw someone else,” I reply, forcing a lazy shrug. “Lots of guys on staff with dark hair.”
Helen turns to my mom. “You believe this?”
My mother presses her lips into a severe line. “I’ll speak to him.”
Helen huffs, loud and theatrical. “I have no interest in cleaning up after a scandal. If he ruins this for the rest of us—”
“He won’t,” my mom says, tone firm enough to end the conversation.
Helen gives me one last glare—the kind that says I have eyes everywhere—then turns and disappears down the hall, mumbling about kids and consequences.
The moment she’s gone, my mom rounds on me.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses, stepping so close I can see the fury flickering in her pupils.
I fold my arms. “Nothing she said is true.”
“Don’t insult me,” she grabs the bridge of her nose. “You think I can’t see it? The way you look at her? The way she looks at you?”