Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Suddenly all I wanted to do was flee this place—get the hell out of here as fast as possible. This was not what I’d signed up for. It wasn’t that I’d expected a red carpet, but this felt like the rug had been pulled from under me.
Why did you ask me to come here?
Moving away from the window, I tried to forget what I’d just seen, instead forcing myself to take a much-needed hot shower in the adjacent bathroom before dinner.
After I emerged, I dressed in comfy clothes: leggings and a Rhode Island-themed T-shirt that said Feed Me Hot Wieners and Tell Me I’m Pretty. I might’ve dressed nicer if I’d felt it would be appreciated, but screw it. If I had to endure his attitude, I at least wanted to be comfortable.
It was a few minutes before six, and I didn’t want to keep the sweet, old lady and her stew waiting. So, I put one foot in front of the other and willed myself to go downstairs, even if I would have preferred to bury myself under the covers.
The wooden stairs creaked as I descended before making my way into the kitchen. My stomach dipped when I found him there, pouring an amber-colored liquid into a glass.
When he turned to me, he lifted the bottle. “Care for something to drink?”
I wondered if this was some sort of trick, like maybe he wanted to see if I drank a lot, so he could use it against me in his “assessment.” No way was I falling for that.
“I’m trying to limit alcohol right now.” I held my head up high. “I’ll just help myself to some water.”
“The glasses are in that cupboard, dear.” Lavinia pointed to a cabinet as she stood at the stove, stirring the stew. “And there’s a jug of filtered water on the table.”
“Thank you, Lavinia.”
“I don’t cook so much anymore, but this is a special occasion.” She smiled at me.
At least one person was attempting to make me feel welcome. “What do you normally eat, if you don’t cook?” I asked.
“Sigmund cooks when he’s here, or I make a large batch of something and freeze it. I also frequent the pub down the road more than I probably should.”
“Ah. You’ll have to take me there. I’d love to treat you to dinner before I leave to thank you for your hospitality.”
“That would be lovely.”
The three of us eventually sat down at the table, quietly eating the stew, the occasional clanking of our spoons the only sound.
“What is your surname, Abby?” Lavinia finally asked.
“Knickerbocker.”
Sig’s eyes shot up from his plate. “Knicker…like knickers?”
I knew knickers was the term Brits used for underpants. “Yes.” I gritted my teeth. “Spelled exactly that way, actually.”
He chuckled.
“You’ve been quiet this whole dinner, and that’s the first thing you think to say to me? Benedictus is a bit of an odd name, too, you know.” My blood boiled. “So is Sigmund, for that matter. You don’t look like a Sigmund Benedictus.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It was actually a compliment.”
Lavinia snorted.
Sig shot daggers at her. “What is it that you do, Abby?” he asked.
I sat straighter in my seat. “I graduated with a degree in English from the University of Rhode Island. At the moment, I’m between jobs, but I’m in the process of trying to reopen my mother’s store. After she passed away, I kept it afloat for a while, but the economy tanked, and we had to shut down.”
He swirled his drink around in his glass. “What type of store?”
“Rhode Island-themed trinkets and souvenirs.”
“That’s where that hideous T-shirt you’re wearing came from, I assume.”
I ignored his comment. “We live in a sea town and get an influx of people in the summer months. But even with that, we weren’t able to keep things running for too long after my mother died.”
His tone softened. “What happened to your mother?”
I swallowed. “She died of cancer three years ago.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
After a moment, he spoke again. “So, if you’re trying to reopen the shop, you need money. That’s why you’re interested in the surrogacy, I take it.”
I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be an insult. “Well, the money won’t hurt, but there are much easier ways to make quick money than to be pregnant for nine months.”
“So, you don’t want to be pregnant?” He drew in his brows. “Why offer?”
“I didn’t say that at all. My point is that no one would offer to do this just for the money. You have to want to help someone.”
“Why do you want to help Phil and Kate?” Sig leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. It seemed our casual dinner had transformed into a formal interrogation.
His sleeves were partially pushed up. My eyes fell to his wrist as I noticed three lines tattooed around it, one thicker than the other two. Did he have any other ink beneath that black turtleneck? I must have been crazy for wondering such a thing at a time like this.