Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“We’ll be sleeping together?” I ask quietly, looking down at my hands and trying to picture how in the hell that’s going to work. Him next to me at night. Inches away when I’m at my weakest, wearing my least.
“Yes, we’ll be sleeping together. From now on, every night, you and me.”
“Why are you doing this? Why now?” The questions bubble up, plus a thousand more. What does he think he can gain from making me move into his private room? What’s the end game here? And maybe, just maybe, there is no reason, no ulterior motive, nothing beyond what he’s already said: a desire to be my husband. My real husband. The idea’s oddly terrifying and heartening.
“I realized that I can’t keep going on the way I was going if I want to make this work.” He steps toward me. “And I do want to make it work, Olivia. Despite how much I’d rather throw you in the sea and watch you drown, or how badly I want to tie you up and leave you in a closet for the rest of your miserable life, I still want this.”
I lean back and look into his eyes. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”
“No, I don’t, but I’m willing to find out.” He’s there, so big and close, and I think of his mouth between my legs, his lips on my lips, and I pull away. I stand and move before I do something stupid, something stupider than what I’m already doing. I cross the room and lean against the dresser. It’s wood, solid and cool.
“I’m going back to the pool,” I say because I don’t know how else to avoid him.
He only shrugs. “Whatever you want to do, my wife. I’ll see you tonight.”
I rifle through the drawers until I find a new cover-up and a towel then hurry out. I grab a book on the way and rush into the hall, leaving him alone in the room, in our room. I stand there breathing, just breathing, getting myself together, but it’s hard.
He trapped me in my own life.
But he trapped me with earnestness. There’s a half of me that wants to give in and accept what he’s saying as true, that what he really wants is to be mine, or to make me his, however that’ll work—but the other half rebels and screams and struggles and reminds me just how awful he’s been to this point, and just how awful this gesture truly is. It’s manipulation, or it’s coercion, or maybe it’s a man doing his best. I don’t know. That’s the problem.
Elise doesn’t seem surprised to see me again, and she doesn’t comment when I remain all day until sunset. We talk a bit about trivial things: late night hosts, good new TV shows. We walk to the house together and eat dinner in the living room. Karah comes down with Antonio, and it’s strangely comfortable and normal, watching the little boy play with blocks while we talk about motherhood and raising babies until it gets late and I have nowhere else to go. I can’t avoid this forever.
“You seem on edge,” Karah says, standing in the hallway with me as she heads upstairs. Antonio went to bed a couple hours ago. “Everything okay?”
“Your brother moved all my things into his room.” I can’t look at her as I say it.
But she smiles and isn’t surprised. “I heard about that. You okay? There are lots of other places you can sleep, you know. If you ask the staff, they’ll provide bedding and whatever else you need.”
It’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time and I don’t know why it hits me so hard. I feel the tears spring into my eyes, and I only shake my head and give her a quick hug. She hugs me back, now surprised. Nobody’s ever offered to help, simply to give me what I’m asking for, to give me a way out that keeps my dignity. She just did that, and it feels good, and it’s also painful in its way. I thank her and say maybe another time and hurry away, upstairs and into the unfamiliar living area. It’s dim, but the light in the bedroom’s on.
I head inside and find Casso sitting in bed. He’s shirtless, and I stare at the tattoos on his chest, at the muscles on his ripped chest and stomach. He’s got a glass of whiskey on the bedside table and a tablet in his lap. I can’t tell what he’s reading and he turns it off when I step deeper into the room, watching me warily. He looks so damn normal stripped of his suit and his power, just a handsome man sitting in bed with messy hair and tired eyes.