Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” I mutter, unsure of what to say.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem so distant,” she asks. “Should I call Mr. Van Buren?”
“No, please don’t,” I interject, immediately getting off the floor. “I’m fine.”
She frowns. “You … aren’t pregnant, right?”
“What?” My eyes widen. “No. God no. Of course not.”
“I wanted to make sure. I don’t want to put heavy dresses and tight corsets on you if there’s a tiny baby growing inside you.” She laughs it off again. “Not to mention, a pregnant girl needs to eat, and you look as thin as a twig.”
Gee, thanks for the compliment, I guess.
“I’m not pregnant, don’t worry,” I say, and I turn my head.
“Well, if you are, do let me know.” She places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m always here to help you out.”
This woman is actively helping Easton achieve his lifelong goal of tricking me into becoming his wife, and he’s succeeding too. I don’t understand why anyone helps him, why they even work for him. Who would do this to another human being?
I look her straight in the eyes, and say, “Can you help me then? I don’t want to marry Easton.”
She cocks her head, her smile disappearing as she cups my face, and says, “Oh, honey, you’ll be fine with him. I know you will.”
I grab her arms and hold them tight. “I’m being held against my will. Don’t you see?” I say in a moment of clarity. She’s my only connection to the real world right now. The last lifeline to grab and hold on to for dear life. “Please, you have to help me.”
She licks her lips and sighs. “Sweetie … ugh, I wish I could, but I can’t. Easton means the best even though he may seem like a giant asshole sometimes.”
“He took me as a replacement for a debt my father owed,” I reply, fighting the tears. “Please. Help me.”
She sucks on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, honey, but I can’t. I wanna help you. I really do.”
“Why can’t you? Tell me why,” I say, almost wanting to shake her. “You have a key, right? He lets you in and out of the house.”
“Yes, but I can’t use it to let you out,” she says, averting her eyes. “That would mean betraying him.”
My hands release her arms, my body instantly reverting to a defensive stance as I realize where this is going.
“I can’t … I’m sorry. I owe him too much,” she says.
Her words mean nothing to me. I should’ve known she admires him.
“So you won’t help me,” I murmur, backing away. Of course, she won’t. I should’ve known the minute she didn’t speak the language of the people here but regular English. He brought her here, probably all the way from America so she could work for him personally without having anything to fall back on.
There’s a soft smile on her face. “Oh, honey, please don’t say that,” she says. “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll help get you dressed for your big day.”
“That’s not—”
“I can get you whatever you need. Books, magazines, chocolates, tampons. Whatever you want. Just use the pager he’s given you,” she interrupts.
“Pager?” I frown.
“Yeah. You haven’t seen it?” She turns around and walks toward the boudoir, opening the drawer and pulling out an old pager. “Here. Just page me at 30151, and I’ll be right up!”
She stuffs the pager into my hand as if it’s some sort of gift. But all it is, is a representation of my captivity. A digital device that does nothing but receive and send messages to the few people he wants me to be able to contact. The only device I’ll probably ever get to see again that specifically makes it impossible to contact friends or family. Just as planned.
“Um … thanks,” I mutter. I don’t know what to say. She’s smiling at me in a way that elicits a response. As if I should be happy too.
I’m as far from happy as anyone could ever be, though I won’t show that to her. She’s his assistant, and someone who adores him. She’d never go against him, no matter how hard I’d try to convince her. I guess that’s the power of persuasion. His power, which he knows he holds over both of us. It was futile to even try to find help.
“Well, just walk in the dress and enjoy it a little. I’ll come back later to try on the others, okay? You’re free to pick a few you wanna try out too!” She winks and then leaves the room. I sink to the floor, drowning in my wedding gown as the tears of misery flow down my cheeks.
Easton
My tailor is taking my measurements right now, but I’m too antsy for him to finish. I wish I could snap my fingers and have my navy suit ready to go. But unfortunately, that’s not how the world works most of the time.