Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
We arrived at the hotel and checked in at the front desk where we were escorted to the top floor where the presidential suite awaited. It was ten thousand square feet and much too big for two people, but I refused to accept anything less than the most expensive room in the hotel.
Muse looked around, her eyes scanning the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the full kitchen, and the enormous living room that could house a hundred people. She walked along the floor-to-ceiling windows and admired the view while my men carried all her luggage inside. They handled her dresses with care before placing them in the closet. They were staying in the room across from me, so my security detail could watch the front door and monitor anyone who tried to reach this floor.
Muse stood at the windows with her arms crossed over her chest. The light had disappeared over the horizon, and now the darkness was blanketing the city. Neon lights were brighter, and the street lamps down below were more visible.
I stood behind her and stared at her, watching her petite form contrast against the backdrop of the biggest city in the world. I knew Muse in a different context, so it was difficult for me to imagine her living here. She fit in so much better in Verona, working her hands in the stables and being close to the earth. She complemented the quiet beauty of the landscape, almost like she was born and raised there.
I came up behind her and placed my hands on her hips.
She’d obviously been so focused on the view that she didn’t hear my approach. She took in a deep breath, her waist tightening automatically.
My fingers stretched over her rib cage, feeling the muscles and tiny bones underneath. “Do you miss it?” The height of my head surpassed hers, so it was easy to look over at the city beyond. The glass was so clean that I could see her reflection, see the way her gaze shifted upward to look at me.
“I know this is going to sound strange but…not really.”
My fingers tightened a little farther in response, loving that answer a lot more than I anticipated.
“I was born and raised here, so it has a special place in my heart. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I like looking out the window in the morning and seeing the golden hillsides and the vineyards. I like smelling the dirt when I work in the stables. I like the wet heat that sticks to my skin and hearing the crickets and the birds. It’s so peaceful. It’s so quiet. Now, I’m surrounded by constant noise, by the pollution from all the taillights. The lights so bright. They never used to blind me, but now I can barely look at them. There’re so many people on the sidewalk, people intent on getting to the next place as quickly as possible. Speed is constant, and time never slows down. When I lived here, I was always on the go. If I wasn’t doing something, I felt lazy. But in Italy, the culture is so different. Taking the time to appreciate the sky and the smell of the grass is important.”
She described my world so perfectly, painting it into a lively picture I immediately recognized. She understood what I loved about it so much because she described it down to the very last detail. I’d seen a lot of beautiful places in my life, visited foreign countries with so much natural beauty it was difficult to process. But there was something about the Italian hillsides that brought me a sense of peace. “I know exactly what you mean.”
She slowly turned around and looked up into my face. “Well, it’s nine o’ clock, but I slept on the plane all day. Not really tired. What should we do?”
My hands glided under her forearms, feeling the soft skin I loved to touch. “What would you like to do?”
“I’m hungry,” she said. “Maybe we can order some dinner.”
“Would you like to go out?”
“It’s a Friday night. Everything will be booked.”
I couldn’t suppress the grin on my face. “Not for Conway Barsetti.”
I didn’t eat dinner this late, but for me, it was morning. We went to one of the nicest restaurants in Manhattan, and the second I met the host at the podium, he showed me to a table without even asking if I had a reservation.
Once again, Muse was impressed.
I liked impressing her. It gave me a sense of power I couldn’t get anywhere else. With a billion dollars to my name and a garage full of expensive cars, I had enough wealth to impress a foreign prince. But I never cared what anyone thought of me. My sense of self-worth had always been untouchable. But I enjoyed watching the way her eyes lit up whenever she got to experience a hint of luxury. She acted like the plane was one of the coolest experiences she’d ever had. And now she took in my presidential suite, still stunned that I could afford this without making the slightest dent in my bank account.