Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
She’s silent for a few minutes, then she says, “What would happen to me if I did go to the press?”
“You won’t go to the press, Chloe. You know better.”
“Derek, I wanna be real with you.”
“Haven’t you been real all along?” I ask.
“Yes… but, I mean, I want you to take what I’m saying seriously.”
“I take everything you say seriously. Say what you wanna say.”
“I really think you need some help. I’m not being funny here. Some real help.”
She waits for my reaction. When she doesn’t get one, she continues. “How about this? If you agree to sign yourself in and get a psychiatric evaluation, I’ll agree to go on a date with you after you’ve had some counseling. Maybe we can-”
“Nice try, but been there, done that and it’s why I am who I am today.”
“Meaning?”
“You wanna delve deep into me? Figure me out? You can have that, all of it, when you’re in this relationship with me and we’re in a safe place. Until then, I’d rather not open that vault.”
She’s frowning.
I continue, “But I believe you when you say you think I need help. What will help me is achieving my goal with you. It’s you and me, baby.” I kiss her hand again.
She snatches it away and folds her arms across her chest. “If you think I’m marrying you, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
“If you aren’t my good girl, Chloe, you’re in for some sad realizations.”
“And what are those?” she snaps.
“The realization that I’m not paying lip service here. I get what I want. I want you. And while I don’t want to upset you or make you sad, I’ll do whatever I need to do to make my point crystal clear to you. I’ve gone easy on you the past few days giving you a chance to acclimate, but believe this. You will marry me. You won’t divorce me. I’ll work at this as long as I need to in order to get to my end goal.”
“So, you’re continuing to threaten me?”
I sigh.
“What’s the threat exactly, Derek? What are you threatening to do? You make a lot of threats. A lot of undefined ones. I don’t actually know what’s at stake right now.”
“Right now, I want to focus on your surprise. I’m so excited about your surprise, I might let you away with the stunt you pulled with my family. But believe me, you don’t want to test me by speaking to anyone outside my family with your ‘he needs help’ plea.”
She lets out a long sigh and rubs her eyes. “Where are you taking me right now?”
“If I revealed that, it would ruin the surprise.”
“I don’t want it. And you’re deflecting.”
“Yeah, Chloe. You do want this surprise. We’ll be there in less than half an hour.”
She stares out the window. Sulking.
I stop my SUV and look at my girl who’s staring straight ahead through the gates. She hasn’t said a word in thirty minutes. She’s been pissed off. Fidgety. Huffing.
Now, she’s altogether different. She’s wide-eyed. Confused.
The house sits far beyond the tall, black gates with a long, black asphalt driveway that cuts through the lush lawn with perfect diagonal lawnmower marks. Built in 1927, the gray stone-wrapped house with four front dormers and a new gray shingled roof has a wide front porch supported by several fieldstone- covered pillars. The porch wraps around the house on the left side, going back to the large yard. I know from the photos it wraps all the way around the back of the house, stopping just before the extension that makes up a garage and further living space done in white wood siding. That extension was put on in the late seventies, consisting of living space plus a three-car garage. It’s got a tall widow’s walk directly behind the garages where the extension goes from utility space to more living space.
Mature trees dot the large front lawn, and the back yard is treed too, including several fruit trees and a big, old oak with a massive two-storey treehouse in it, a ladder leading up and a curved slide leading down into a sandbox. I’m guessing that’s why the widow’s walk was put in – direct view to the treehouse and kids playing in it.
“Wh-what are we doing here?” she asks.
“You had this house bookmarked on your web browser,” I unnecessarily advise.
“I know that,” she says, frowning.
“You also sent it to Hallman. To Alannah and your friend Coraline.”
“I’m aware.”
“You also pinned it on that what do you call… décor site.”
She looks from the house to me with a perplexed expression. “You even crawled my Pinterest profile?”
I smile.
“What are we doing here, Derek?”
“I bought it,” I tell her. “For us.” I grab her face and press my lips to hers.
When I move back and take in her face, she’s utterly still and for a change, I don’t think I can read her expression.