Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Finn’s lips straighten into a ruler, and not in a sexy way like they did the other night. His eyes turn guarded. His nod is slow as he takes this in. “Okay.”
His tone is stripped of emotion. And I hate it. I just hate all this pretending. I hate all this sneaking around. I hate all this…role-play.
“Look,” I say, grabbing his shirt collar. “I fell for you too. Maybe that’s ridiculous and stupid. But I did. And we both know we can’t happen. We were never supposed to be more than a one-night thing, and we kept falling into each other. Tomorrow I go back to New York and you have your son. That’s your focus, and I need to think about work, and there’s my father and—”
His lips crash down on mine. Hard, bruising, passionate.
He pushes me against the wall and grabs my face in his hands like I belong to him. Like no one else can ever touch me. He kisses me possessively and madly.
But like he’s angry with me too.
When he breaks the kiss, he huffs, still mad. “You’re so fucking perfect for me it makes me crazy.”
What?
Perfect for him?
I swallow past my surprise. “What do you mean? Perfect for you?”
His touch is still rough. “I can talk to you. I can be myself with you. I can tell you things and know you’re not manipulating me. You’re open and honest and caring, and I can’t stand how much I want you. In every way,” he grits out, every word seeming to rip him apart. He shudders in a breath like he can barely control his emotions. “And the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt you.”
He loosens his hard grip on my face only so he can thread his fingers gently through my hair. “Know that, Jules. I want this. But know, too, I don’t want to be the one to hold you back. To hurt you. To ruin any…relationship.”
But my relationship with my father was ruined years ago. I don’t know if it can recover or if I’ll just keep pretending everything is fine with him. I don’t know how to move forward with Finn, either, or if I even can. Maybe I’m too broken. Or maybe Solange was right. She’s certainly right that Finn and I are in different places. I don’t know anything anymore.
The knot from earlier today has nothing on this new one rising up in my throat, like it’s going to strangle me with all these damn feelings. “Finn,” I say, choked up.
He strokes my hair. “Come on one last date with me. I told you I had a surprise for you. And it’s actually something that’s on your list.”
That perks me up. The intrigue is too hard to resist. “But we’ve done everything on it.”
“Yes and no. The first day you said you wanted a garden all to yourself. So I arranged one for tonight.” He pauses, steps back a few inches so he can watch my reaction, I suspect, as he says, “We can go to Monet’s Garden, and it’ll just be you and me.”
If I wasn’t already in love with him, I am now.
The town car he arranged whisks us to Giverny in just over an hour. We arrive as the sun coasts toward the horizon, pale pink and orange streaks painting the summer sky.
We go inside the big house with green doors, Finn handling the details with an older woman whose gray hair is cinched in a bun. She must be managing this icon of gardens, and Finn’s buyout for one night.
I’m still stunned that he’s made this private visit possible. Then, I’m awed to walk into the famous gardens at the height of their summer glory.
Emerald is everywhere, from the vast lawns to the trees canopying the grounds. Wildflowers pop up as we walk, rippling in the summer breeze in a riot of shimmery purples, ruby reds, and vibrant oranges. Lavender is everywhere.
With Finn’s hand wrapped around my waist, we wander along a tree-lined path with a wooden fence, then deeper into the gardens, the endless peonies and poppies saying goodbye to their blooming days, as roses shoulder their way up in bold pinks, whites, and reds.
Butterflies escort us, and bumblebees hum as they flit from flower to flower. It’s a dreamlike place, and tonight it belongs to us. The walled gardens and house make this moment feel even more intimate as we’re surrounded by sweet and delicate scents of flowers, and even the silence is soft and lush.
It feels like a sin to speak, but I do it anyway.
“My favorite things,” I say, gazing around at the flowers.
“I know.” He sounds pleased. He should be.
“I’ve never been someplace so serene,” I say in a hushed voice even though we’re the only ones here. But there’s a magic spell in this garden, and I don’t want to break it.