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)
A scoff leaves me, anger and annoyance seeping into my veins. “She didn’t speak a word about whatever it is you don’t want me to know about your sex life.”
His glare only deepens, and he stands there for a full, silent minute.
And then he slams my door closed, locking me inside.
Prick.
It’s just after eight when Grandma comes knocking on my door.
“You know,” I groan, tearing the covers over my head, “you defeat the purpose of knocking when you barge in like that.”
“Up.” She ignores me. “Dress for the lake or brunch at the country club.”
“Murderers have memberships to country clubs?”
“Your fiancé is not a murderer.”
At that I throw the covers off my head, pinning her with a yeah, okay expression.
Grandma smirks, lifting a silver brow. “He has people who murder for him.”
I gape, a small laugh leaving me as I sit up in bed. “Grandma, did you make a joke?”
She cringes at the nickname. “Is it a joke if it’s true?”
Touché.
She taps her wrist, spinning and walking out. “Be ready by nine. How we take our coffee will depend on your choice.”
“I can’t be made to smile for at least another twenty-four hours.”
“Lake it is!” she shouts back.
Thirty minutes later, we’re walking out a giant glass back door I’ve never seen, stepping out onto a stone trail. Trees line the edges, the branches still thick and full, no sign of fall approaching.
Beyond the trees is nothing but small hills of grass, and once we reach the edge of the pathway, a matching staircase appears, as does the first view of Enzo’s private lake.
“Wow,” I breathe, my eyes running along the vastness of the water. It’s shaped like a puddle would be, with small, curving-like loops all around its edges, creating at least a dozen small coves of trees and more. I look toward the farthest point. “Is that a bridge?” That must be where the sound of trickling water comes from.
“It is.” She pushes forward and I tear my eyes from the view to notice she’s wearing a willowy dress and sandals, the most dressed down I’ve ever seen her. I smile at her back, meeting her stare when she twists, as if sensing my gaze. “Come.”
We make it to the end of the stairs and turn left.
A giant pergola sits just ahead, vines of white ivy twirled around its legs and hanging loose at different lengths along every inch of its top. Four wooden chairs, the same deep mahogany as the pergola, sit beneath it, thick white cushions covering each one. A built-in minibar rests at the back-right corner so as not to block any of the lake’s views, and on top is a spread of fruits and pastries, and an espresso machine with a bottle of caramel right beside it. It’s gorgeous and picturesque, but that’s not what has my mouth falling open.
Smiling, I look to Grandma, jumping ahead of her and jogging over to what can only be a sound system.
My eyes fly across the knobs, and my feet are practically bouncing as I find the power button. It flicks on instantly, and I laugh when it’s not a calming classical note I’d expect to find in such a tranquil-like space, but the angry notes of Bad Religion roaring through the speakers.
I close my eyes, listening to the melody and timing the beat of the drums in the background.
I kick my sandals off and step back, lifting my arms into first position, creating a soft circle with their length, my fingertips nearly touching and even with my navel.
I wait until the chorus hits and then I spin, kicking my leg out behind and jumping onto the other with a twirl. My head rolls and my back arches, my arms swinging in a circle around me before I throw my upper body forward while keeping my foot in place.
My left knee comes up and then I straighten, stretching it into the air above my head, only to wrap my hands around my ankle and spin, lowering it inch by inch until it too meets the grass beneath me.
I skip, running two steps and then dive into the air on a full split, my hair whipping my face, but I can’t help but smile and laugh as I turn around.
That laughter dies on my lips, and I stutter-step.
Enzo’s dark gaze bores into me from the bottom of the stairs, where he seems to be frozen…a second man at his back.
I chew my lip, my hair getting into my mouth, and quickly turn toward Grandma with a glare.
She purses her lips to keep from smiling, lifting a small mug topped with whipped cream and caramel. “Cappuccino?” She tries not to laugh and fails.
I swiftly slide my shoes back on, pressing the button on the stereo, and wrap my hands around the heated porcelain. “I hate you,” I hiss.