Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
* * *
Honeysuckle, the scent faint on the air, the bright green lawn punctuated by blocks of flowerbeds, all spilling with colors and textures, the soft sound of a sprinkler humming in the background. The home is white and modern, the glass walls showcasing low-slung furniture and bold art. A few years ago, I’d flipped through an Architectural Digest and torn out pages of a home like this. A few years ago, I’d have given anything for it. Now, I would have been happy with hot water and a genie to remove all of my debt.
* * *
Nathan wasn’t removing my debt, but he was doing one step better—taking care of my father. On the drive to the Destin airport, he’d presented me with two brochures, one for a facility an hour outside of Nashville—one for a facility in Jacksonville, close to Dad’s current home. I pocketed both, deciding to let my father decide, but not before I saw their rates, the figures causing my stomach to knot. For Nathan, it may be nothing. For me, and for my father, it is everything.
* * *
“Coming?” Drew stands at the front doors.
* * *
I force a smile, and step forward.
* * *
The tour doesn’t take long, the common areas quickly addressed. Media room. Gym. Great room. Dining room. Kitchen. We swing by Nathan’s office, and skip one hallway altogether.
* * *
“What’s down there?” I slow, and Drew all but pushes me forward.
* * *
“My room, and the laundry. You won’t have need of either.”
* * *
“You live here?” I stop, visions of newly-wed romantic time clashing with the idea of bumping into Drew in the middle of the night.
* * *
“Will that be a problem, princess?” He crosses his arms over his chest, and I can see why Nathan would hire him, his intimidation factor high, his build impressive. In my wedges, I still only come to his shoulder.
* * *
I shrug. “It just seems weird.”
* * *
We cross through the great room, and to the other end of the house. Drew opens a door, and we step into the master suite.
* * *
Dark tile floors. Rich blue walls. A huge bed that sits atop a fur rug. The fireplace from the great room also opens into this, and I envision myself, naked on the rug, the fire’s warmth on our bodies, Nathan above me. I swallow a smile.
* * *
“His bathroom is through there.” He gestures to an arched opening, and I can see a jetted tub and the edge of a shower. I turn back, and watch him move to the windows, pulling at a handle, the entire wall sliding into itself and opening to the backyard. “Your room is out here.”
* * *
My room? I hurry forward, stepping over the transom and almost trip down a set of steps, following him along the side of a pool and toward a guesthouse. I stop. The guesthouse is a miniature version of the main home, right down to the identical fireplace and all glass walls. It’s a fish bowl, and I can see its entire layout without setting foot inside. A bedroom, with a seating area and desk. A bathroom. Mini-kitchenette. Fireplace. My room.
* * *
He opens the sliding door and turns to me.
* * *
“I’m confused…” I glance back at the main house, that contained at least two guest rooms, if my tour’s memory serves correct. “I’m not staying with Nathan?”
* * *
“No.” He steps in, holding the door open for me.
* * *
“Why not?”
* * *
“Why would you?”
* * *
This is exasperating. “Because I’m his wife?”
* * *
“In name only. You’re forgetting that this is a business arrangement, not a romance.”
* * *
“A business arrangement where he fucks me?” It feels crude, saying the words in this environment of expense and class.
* * *
He sighs. “Nathan isn’t great at being told he can’t have something. I’d apologize for his actions, but you seem to enjoy them.”
* * *
I snap my mouth shut, no good comeback springing to mind.
* * *
Drew glances at his watch. “I’ll let you get acquainted here. The others will be arriving in a half hour, if you want to freshen up.
* * *
I raise a brow at him. “The others?”
* * *
The others. They invade like a hoard of zombies, knocking over planters and clawing past curtains in their haste to pull at my hair, scrape razors over my skin and wield tweezers with sadistic zest.
* * *
Okay, maybe it isn’t that bad. I lift up the edge of the gel mask and glance down at my feet and the woman perched before them. “What color are you painting them?” When I ask the question, half of my face mask cracks.
* * *
“Nude,” Rosit Fenton barks, scurrying over in a swish of Burberry plaid and cream. “From now on, Candace, only nude on your nails. It’s a rule.”