Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I was glad for the long, cold flight in the early morning hours to get my body back under control.
“Thanks for breakfast. But you do realize if I’m going to actually stay here, I’ll need more than just food?” Her voice is sharp, like she’s trying to make up for the way my gaze affects her body.
“Anything you need, you have but to ask.”
“I need clothes. And a toothbrush. You know, the basics? And I will so murder you if you bring me back size six clothes or some bullshit like that.”
I frown. Hmm. I have never thought about purchasing a woman’s clothing or how to go about it. But I see what she means. For all I have thought about getting myself a consort, it does turn out there were certain. . . practicalities I have overlooked.
But she is here, and that is all that matters.
“I can have you a complete wardrobe by tonight,” I say confidently. “And anything else you need. Just make me a list.”
What I have learned, no matter the era I live in, is that money can triumph over any difficulty. Whether it be gold bars, paper scripts, or these plastic cards that connect to bank accounts, wealth is always the true king. And my brothers and I have accumulated our fair share over the years.
Romulus saw the wisdom of investing our wealth in Italian banks in the early seventeenth century, the returns of which have made us one of the wealthiest, if most famously secretive, families in Europe. Romulus also arranged for a human accounting firm to be the face of the family.
But over the years, I knew Romulus had expanded interests with the investment firm, connecting to a fixer who could take on odder requests, such as when we needed new kitchen appliances and other modern conveniences delivered to an empty warehouse in a remote Finnish town, one with no video surveillance. Then Thing or Abaddon would pick them up and bring them back here.
She frowns at me from beyond the door, then closes it in my face.
I have waited for her all night. I do not mind waiting a little longer. I close my eyes, and my keen ears listen as her soft feed pad away from the door. I hear the rustle of the bag as she opens it and her little, stifled moan of pleasure as she bites into one of the beignets. Oh yes, I feel that noise all the way down my entire body. I determine at this moment to introduce her to every pleasure I can imagine. To memorize her every sensuous sigh and gasp that I can introduce her to.
I wish she had not closed the door between us and that I could see her face as she devoured the pastry. I would give away half my wealth to see the look of ecstasy that accompanied that little moan.
Patience.
I have to stifle a groan of my own. I am bad at patience. It is not one of my virtues. Not that I have many of those anyway.
A slight slurp as she sips the coffee and a bite into the pastry again with a softer sigh this time. How she tortures me. Does she know?
I breathe out.
I don’t think she does. She’s unconscious of how sumptuous I find her, I think. Of how much restraint I must expend every moment I’m in her presence and what punishment it feels like to have this door between us.
What feels like hours later but is probably only twenty minutes, I hear her feet pad toward the door again.
My breath catches as I step back.
Apparently, not quickly enough because when she opens the door, she gasps in surprise to see me there. “You’re still here. Have you been waiting the whole time?”
I think about disseminating for a moment, then opt for the truth. “Where else would I be?”
She blinks rapidly for several moments, then looks down at the floor. This is when I notice, sadly, that she’s dressed herself as she was yesterday, in the blue pants that outline her legs so deliciously.
I cannot say I am sad about these modern fashions. The pants women wear now leave both so much and so little to the imagination as they detail the entire shape of a woman’s legs. I am entirely entranced by her shapely curves and again must tear my eyes away so I am not caught staring.
“Did you make a list?” I ask.
She notches her chin higher. “I did.” She shoves a piece of paper toward me. I recognize it as the stationary from my desk. The ink is sloppy from my ink pot and not correctly blotted.
I note at the top of the list is modern pens and a journal. Then, a long list of items, everything from a toothbrush and toothpaste to bras and clothing items with numbers and letters beside each that I can only assume delineate sizes but may as well be gibberish to me. I trust that the human fixer will be able to decipher the code.