Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“So …” North’s deep voice cut through the room after what felt like hours of strained silence. “It doesn’t look like your sister’s coming back. How long have you known she was a psychopath?”
Maybe it was the whisky warming my belly, or maybe I was bordering on hysterical from exhaustion and the pending need to pee, but laughter burst from my lips.
“Fuck, are you drunk?”
At North’s disbelief, I turned to look at him from my place on the chesterfield sofa. He slouched in a library chair, his long legs sprawled up on the large reading desk. “I’m buzzed,” I admitted. “And trying not to think about peeing.”
“Right?” North threw his legs off the desk and stood. “I’ve been trying not to think about it since that she-devil locked us in here. Where is she?”
“The little brat probably fell asleep.” I threw back the last of my whisky and got up to pour the remaining Macallan. I gestured toward the drink cabinet. “You can open another if you want. I’ll replace them using my sister’s trust fund.”
North smirked before he crossed the room to lower in front of the cabinet. His T-shirt stretched across his muscular back as he leaned in. He wasn’t a beefy guy, but he had deceptively broad shoulders.
The whisky was working its magic because rather than the usual stiffness that seemed to take over my body in his presence, I felt warm and languid. Relaxing my ass against the desk, I sipped at the drink that had long ago lost its burn and watched as North opened the 1995 Lagavulin.
“So how does one come by a name like North?” I asked, swirling the liquid in my glass.
He glanced over his shoulder at me, and I felt a whoosh of butterflies in my belly as I took in his handsome face. What he saw in my expression made him turn around and lean against the drinks cabinet, his gaze assessing.
Finally, just as I squirmed, regretting asking a personal question, he answered, “My dad was a professor of astronomy at Edinburgh Uni. My mum had been one of his students.”
I raised an eyebrow, and he grinned ruefully. “I didn’t know that until a few years ago when I went digging into their past. She fell pregnant with me, and he married her. I was … I was only seven years old when they died, but I remember a lot and how they loved each other. I remember them dancing in the kitchen while they cooked. Always kissing and cuddling.”
The memories he described made me smile even as my heart ached for the little boy who’d lost so much.
“Anyway …” He exhaled slowly. “I remember coming home from primary one, crying because the other kids made fun of my name. And my mum told me I was named after the North Star because they knew I was all they would ever need …” North suddenly swallowed hard against emotion. “To find their way. That I’d brought them together on the right path. I was their true North.”
Unexpected sadness hit me in the gut, and I could feel it choking me as I watched North throw back an entire glass of whisky. He turned to pour another, his shoulders bowed with sorrow.
I forced words through the thickening in my throat. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you remembered so much about them.”
North turned around again, seeming more in control. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I couldn’t have gotten through the shit show that was my childhood without knowing better was possible.”
Admiration thrummed through me. “Some people might have turned bitter to have lost it.”
“I did for a while,” he admitted.
“Is that what drives you? The memories of your parents, those good times?”
“Mostly.”
“What else drives you?”
He considered me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What drives you?”
I sipped at my whisky before replying, “I never want people to think I have what I have through nepotism. There’s no getting away from the fact that I have what I have through privilege … but I always want to work hard. To prove that I’ve kept this position, or any position, because I’m smart and hardworking.”
“No one would doubt that.” North strolled over to an armchair and lowered into it. His eyes remained on me. “Is that why you work until midnight?”
I tilted my head and smirked. “Answer my question first.”
He frowned like he couldn’t remember.
Snorting, I repeated, “What else drives you?”
“Oh. That.” He swirled his glass just like I had done, his eyes on the amber liquid inside. “By the time I reached thirteen, I’d lived in three different foster homes where there were so many kids, the parents barely had time for us. Two of them were fine, if a bit negligent. One liked to slap us around.”
“Jesus.”
North shrugged. “It is what it is. They’re no longer fostering.”