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)
The SUV rolls up the drive. My mother is already on the steps, wrapped in an expensive-looking, useless coat. Her hair is pulled back too tightly, and she looks frail. My father stands behind her, hands clasped, jaw rigid.
Now, he’s trying to look like a man in control.
Spoiler alert, Dad: You’re not.
The car stops, and my door is opened. Cold air hits my lungs, but I welcome it anyway because it’s real. Like freedom, even if it’s short-lived.
My mother takes a step forward but doesn’t approach.
Gee, thanks, Mom. Missed you too. “Victoria.”
My father steps closer, gaze flicking past me, landing straight on Nico. His nostrils flare.
“Who is that?” my father bites out, voice low.
Nico remains two steps behind me, posture neutral, eyes scanning him before looking around the property. He doesn’t speak.
Smart man. I answer for him, keeping my tone light because that’s the only way this will work. My mother will be too dramatic if I tell her the truth. “Security.”
My father’s mouth tightens. “Security for what?”
I tilt my head, letting my smile sharpen. “For me.”
My mother gestures to the door. “Come inside, I’m cold.” Some things never change. She’s still the most selfish person I’ve ever met. “You look . . .” She narrows her eyes, trying to find the word she wants to use. It’s usually an insult, so I help her with it.
“Tired?” I walk past her toward the doors. “That’s just my face now. It’s a trend.”
She rolls her eyes. She’s never found me funny. I guess almost losing everything and selling your daughter to a mafia man didn’t help her get a sense of humor.
Fine by me. I have no intention of ending this line of jokes. She deserves to know I’m miserable. She did sell me like cattle, after all.
Once inside the house, we move into the front sitting room. Nico stays by the doorway.
My father notices immediately. “Does he have to stand there?” he snaps, gesturing toward Nico.
Nico’s eyes slide to my father, expression calm in a way that makes my spine prickle.
I beat him to it. “Yes.”
My mother flinches. “Victoria—”
I lift a hand, cutting her off without raising my voice. “Let’s not pretend we get to make rules today.”
Silence drops hard.
My father’s jaw clenches like he’s chewing glass, and my mother’s hands flutter at her chest.
Then she tries again, softer. “What brings you here today?”
I look at her. Really look. Her makeup is done, but her eyes are swollen. Her lips are pale beneath the lipstick, and her hands shake when she reaches for the tea service.
Guilt?
Or sadness.
Most likely neither. Never can tell with this woman, but what I can tell is she isn’t happy, and I’m certain it has nothing to do with me.
“Is that your way of asking if I’m okay?” I settle into a chair without taking my coat off.
My mother doesn’t speak, so I answer my own question anyway. “I’m alive.”
My father’s laugh is harsh and bitter. “Cute, Victoria.”
I angle my head toward him. “I do what I can.”
His face goes red. “Stop with the attitude, young lady.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Aw, do you not like me reminding you of what you did? Treating me like an asset?”
My father goes still.
Nico shifts slightly in the doorway, the tiniest adjustment.
My mother sets a teacup down, and the porcelain clinks at the movement. “I will not have this in my house,” she whispers, as if Nico can’t hear.
“Then where?” I shoot back, letting my voice sharpen. “How do you want it, Mom? You want me to smile and say thank you? You want me to pretend this is fine because the alternative is admitting what you did?”
Her eyes harden. “We didn’t have a choice.”
I laugh once, short and ugly. “Funny. That’s what everyone keeps saying, but you kind of did.”
My father’s hands curl into fists. “Enough. You wanted to visit, so we allowed it. If you don’t want to be here, why are you?”
“Good question, Dad.”
His mouth opens to say something, but before he can, the door to the adjoining study opens.
And in walks Grant Jameson.
Fabulous. Of course my dad and him were having a meeting the day Lorenzo lets me come for a visit. Just my luck.
This is exactly what I need to make this day worse.
I know I said I wanted to get away, but maybe this wasn’t a well-thought-out plan.
Always so damn perfect. Too bad what’s inside is rotten to the core.
Perfect suit. Perfect hair. Perfect smile built for cameras and boardrooms.
Barf.
His gaze lands on me and brightens too quickly. “Victoria,” he breathes, stepping forward.
My stomach drops, less from fear, and more from irritation so sharp it feels like nausea.
Like I said . . . barf.
Grant’s eyes sweep over me, down my body, then flick up to my face.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he adds, voice smooth, concerned in a very fake way. Someone get this guy an acting class because he needs it.