Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Hi,” she pipes out, her voice soft but steady, eyes locking onto mine like they’re searching for something, or maybe waiting for me to say the right thing. There’s this brief moment where it feels like the world narrows down to just the two of us, her gaze crashing into mine, making my heart do a weird little flip.
“Hi,” I manage to reply, my voice a little rougher than I expected. I step inside as she moves back, giving me space to enter. The warmth of the house hits me instantly. The scent wraps around me, rich and comforting. It smells like a home-cooked meal—something hearty, warm, like roast chicken or maybe stew. Whatever it is, it smells incredible.
I haven’t had a meal like that in ages, and for a second, I can’t help but think about how long it’s been since I’ve walked into a house that feels like... well, home. My place is fine, but it’s all hard edges and silence. Functional. Here, though, it feels lived-in. The air feels soft, the lighting low and warm.
The dining table is set, simple but thoughtful, with two plates, a vase of wildflowers in the center, and candles flickering softly like a gentle invitation. I swallow hard, suddenly feeling out of place. This isn’t what I expected at all. I thought we’d sign some papers, have a drink, and call it a night. But standing here, surrounded by the cozy smells and the dim glow of the candles, it feels... intimate. Too intimate for something that’s supposed to be just a business deal.
I catch myself glancing at her again, noticing the little things—the way her hair catches the light, the slight nervousness in her smile.
“You can have a seat,” she says, her voice gentle as she gestures toward the dining room table, where everything is perfectly set up. The plates are already out, silverware arranged just right, and the soft glow of the candles flickers against the warm wood of the table.
“You didn’t need to do all this,” I murmur as I take a step closer, still feeling the weight of the atmosphere around us. It’s cozy, almost too inviting for what we’re about to do.
“All what?” she asks, tilting her head slightly, her eyes catching the light. She looks genuinely puzzled, like she doesn’t even realize how much effort she’s put into this.
“Candles. This... extravagant dinner.” I gesture toward the table, noticing the spread. It’s more than just a casual meal. There’s bread in a basket, something bubbling in a covered dish that smells like heaven, and the wildflowers in the vase are fresh, like she went out and picked them this morning. It feels like a scene out of a movie.
She laughs, but it’s a quick, almost nervous sound. “Honestly, it’s been nice to have someone to cook for. I haven’t made a big meal like this since my dad was alive.”
At the mention of her father, her voice softens, and I can see a flicker of something behind her eyes—sadness, maybe, or just the weight of the memory. I bow my head slightly, suddenly feeling like I’ve intruded on something personal. “Oh, right,” I say quietly, moving toward the table to take a seat. There’s an awkwardness that settles between us, but it’s not the kind that makes you want to leave. It’s the kind that makes you want to understand more.
It’s strange, thinking about her and her father. I remember how close they were, how much they seemed to get along, at least as much as I could tell from the few times I saw them together. And now, knowing that the only reason she’s even considering this ridiculous arrangement is because of his will. It feels... off. Why would a father, who clearly loved his daughter, put such a condition on her life? Why force her into a marriage just to keep the land she’s worked so hard to maintain?
I glance at her as she sits across from me, her hands resting delicately on the edge of the table, fingers tapping absently against the wood. The silence between us feels heavier now, charged with everything unsaid. “So…” I let the word hang in the air, trying to figure out where to even start with this bizarre arrangement.
Her eyes meet mine, steady, but there’s something flickering behind them—uncertainty, maybe, or just the weight of what we’re about to dive into. “So,” she repeats, her voice calm but cautious, like she’s testing the waters. “I guess we should start with rules?”
I nod, grateful for the structure. “I like rules.” Rules mean control, and control means everything stays neat and in its place. No surprises. I can deal with rules.
She leans forward slightly, dishing out some chicken onto a plate as she talks, the simple action grounding the conversation. “I was thinking once you move in, I have a spare room you can sleep in.”