Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“It’s a private lake. Part of the Fikile estate,” she offers from behind me.
“It’s so…peaceful.” A small frown pulls at my brows as I say it.
Peace is not something I would have expected to find here.
My balcony is peaceful, too.
“No one else has access. It is exclusively, well, yours.”
Mine.
Because I’m the future wife of Enzo Fikile.
Not future, Boston. You’re already his.
I swallow, peeking at her over my shoulder quickly and offering a small smile. As I turn back, something catches my eye several hundred yards out, and I squint.
Not something, someone.
Enzo jogs along the water, his shirt tucked into the back of what looks like a black pair of athletic shorts. The sun hits his form, revealing the sweat streaking his bronzed skin.
He stops suddenly and I scowl wondering what he’s seen, but then his head snaps in my direction, as if sensing my stare from all the way across the lake.
I turn just as Grandma steps outside, offering me a mug.
“Your fresh caramel isn’t quite ready, so the bottled kind will have to do for now,” she offers, pulling her own coffee to her lips.
“Contrary to what you clearly believe, I’m not a spoiled brat who needs fresh caramel for her cappuccino in order to drink it.”
“You are Boston Fikile.” Her face is as stony as ever. “You will always have the option for fresh caramel with your cappuccino. You just happened to beat the baker’s time clock this morning, is all.”
“Last time I was here, no one brought me fresh caramel.” I can’t help the bitter notes in my tone.
“Last time you were here, you refused to leave your room.”
“So this is like a Beauty and the Beast kind of thing, then? No eating if I don’t eat with the giant himself?”
“Precisely.”
I frown but the woman’s face is as serious as ever, so I go back to my cappuccino. Glancing toward the lake again, there’s no sign of Enzo, and when I’m walked like a dog on an invisible leash into the dining room, he isn’t there either. The food is brought out, and he doesn’t show up to eat it.
The four days that follow play out the same way—I eat alone, and I’m led back to my room only to be locked inside it. Having the small selection of books to keep me company makes it suck a little less, but by the fifth day, I’m ready to throw myself off the balcony.
I can’t take the silence, and the beats to the songs I keep on repeat in my head begin to blend, the tempo now lost in the ball of frustration I’m becoming.
So imagine my surprise when I slip my feet into a pair of fuzzy white slippers, prepared to spend my afternoon with a book yet again, and it’s not Grandma who pushes her way inside my room without knocking, it’s my husband himself.
Our eyes lock and while I guarantee mine are full of anger, his are annoyingly empty.
“We leave in fifteen minutes. Meet me in the foyer.” His attention falls to my feet. “After you change your footwear. The gold ones with the stones will suffice.”
“Where are we going?”
He closes the door.
“Dick!” I hiss, kicking off the comfortable house slippers and gritting my teeth as I slip the socks from my feet.
Throwing the closet doors open, I step inside, raking my gaze across the shoe shelf until I spot the gold ones with the stones.
My lips purse and I shake my head, assessing the several dozen pairs that have appeared little by little, all four inches high or higher. All with sharp pointed toes.
I flip off the offensive pair of his choice and slip into the lone pair of flats in this place…that only exist because they’re what I had been wearing the day he found me at the spa. Glancing in the mirror, I sigh, tearing the navy top over my head and swapping it for a black one to match better. It lays low on the curve of my shoulders, exposing my collarbone while still fully covering my spine. Not to mention it’s long enough to tuck into the waist of the white silk skirt.
Enzo’s checking his watch as I round the corner sixteen minutes later, his frown instantly pointed my way. With a shake of his head, he opens the door and I slip outside, right into the waiting back seat of the black Hummer, this one not quite a limo but large enough to have both custom rear and front-facing seats. I choose the seat that will give me the view of the road behind us, assuming Enzo will want to watch the path ahead, as my father would, but nooo. He parks his ass right beside me.
The moment the door closes, a black glass rises behind our seat, blocking us off from the driver for ultimate privacy.