Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
“Now I see why you were always so tight lipped about him while visiting home. You were afraid to ruin the magic.”
“Kinda,” I sniffle away additional tears. “Go figure, I’d find a different way to ruin it…”
“Mean-” the word is abruptly cut short, convincing my attention to glide over to her.
Following her gaze over to where a familiar luxury car has pulled up to the curb beside our driveway with a moving truck practically kissing its bumper, I cautiously scrutinize the uncertain situation.
The instant the well-groomed man steps out, I whisper his name, “Dietrich.”
“Must you park so close?” He scolds the male that’s exiting the passenger side. “Our vehicles are not in courtship. There is no need for them to practically be holding hands for all the world to see.”
Just hearing his voice alone provides me with new hope.
Quickly launching myself from my seat, I use one hand to shove down the messy hair all over my head prior to using the other to softly wipe away the tears near my puffy eyes. The descent down the steps isn’t nearly enough time to be presentable for him of all people; however, I know by the polite nod he grants that my efforts go noticed.
I can hardly hold in my excitement. “Dietrich…”
“Miss Pierson.” My name has hardly finished leaving his lips before he’s fussing at the males once more. “Today, gentlemen. Ensuring that you do your job is not the only thing on my agenda.”
They mumble something hateful in Spanish to one another that I pray Elias’s most trusted house attendant doesn’t ask me to translate for him.
It’d probably have him threatening to give them lessons on polite speech as a tip rather than the cash they’re most likely planning to collect.
And Elias always tips well.
My mouth lowers to ask what he’s doing here, what they are doing here, when he announces, “Large furniture, first, gentlemen. Large boxes, next. Anything marked fragile, last, as I will personally be watching every step from the truck into the Pierson’s home.”
“Is that really necessary?” One of the movers inquires at the same time he climbs up the ramp to retrieve an item.
“Yes.”
A grunt is all he’s given in return, yet I quietly inquire, “Is it really?”
He meets my stare, irritation over being questioned twice pulsing through it. “During Mr. Whittington’s previous residence change to his penthouse, one of his vintage ships in a bottle – a family heirloom from the early 19th century – was broken due to the incompetence of the individuals responsible for its relocation.”
There’s no stopping the cringe that crosses my face.
“They are no longer in business, and I am not one fond of history repeating itself.”
“Excuse us,” one of the men grumbles as they pass by us with a familiar piece of furniture.
My dresser.
The first of what I’m guessing are all of the things he bought for me.
For his doll.
“Where do you want this?” One of the movers questions along their awkward walking with the bulky object.
Not being quite sure of what to say leads me to a half-hearted shrug.
“You know better, Miss Pierson,” Dietrich instantly reprimands. “Such an uncouth behavior is not permitted.”
His choice of words revive the hope I swear had a DNR.
“Perhaps ask Mrs. Pierson on the best location for the item for the time being,” he instructs to the men who are slowly approaching where Mom is still gawking in her wheelchair.
My head turns to briefly watch the exchange, which provides the butler with just the amount of time he needed to personally retrieve something. The instant he has my stare again, he politely holds up my backpack that I have no doubt contains my computer.
I transfer the article from his hands to mine. “So you don’t hate me?”
“It is not my place to like or dislike, Miss Pierson.”
Would it kill him to just say yes or no?
“However,” he unexpectedly continues, “I will say in comparison to other company Mr. Whittington has kept, you were among those I wished would have endured a longer duration.”
It takes everything in me to bat away my smile. “How is Elias?”
“I am not permitted to speak on behalf of Mr. Whittington.”
“Thank you…” As I chuckle softly, a few more tears squeeze down my cheeks, and I wipe them away with trembling fingers. “Thank you.” I propel myself into Dietrich’s arms, hugging him tightly much to his obvious dismay. “Thank you!”
He groans in displeasure while gently pulling himself out of my clutches, “For what, Miss Pierson?” There’s an unnecessary adjustment to his lapel. “Ensuring the movers are not careless,” his gaze narrows to them as they walk by, “with your most valued belongings?”
“For telling me he’s okay.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You did. See, only a fully alert, ridiculously angry Elias would forbid you to speak of him. He’s back to his stubborn self, I guess.”