Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“In Search of Lost Time?”
“A six-volume work by Proust that clocks in at about thirty-five hundred pages.”
The corners of Julian’s mouth lifted at my awestruck expression. “Twice,” he repeated.
“It must have taken him years,” I said, trying to imagine.
“He said it took two. So what I’m trying to say is–”
“Just because he spent twenty minutes watching the footage doesn’t mean he liked it,” I finished for him. “Got it.” I shook my head, still amazed. “Imagine dedicating two years of your life to something you hate.”
“Might as well get married,” Julian agreed.
I laughed reflexively, because you had to laugh when the guy you’d only been seeing for two weeks disparages marriage and your first reaction is ouch. You had to laugh, or he might see on your face that you didn’t think it was funny, the idea of marriage being the equivalent of hate reading Proust for two years straight.
You had to laugh because your first reaction was to suck in your breath and cry.
And there was no way in hell I would ever do that.
22
JULIAN
I could have kicked myself for what I said. Luckily, Willow laughed. But then she didn’t say too much after that. She agreed that O’Conner’s questions about Miller were a promising sign, but she didn’t offer anything else. After we finished our coffee, she rinsed out our cups and went over to the couch with a book she’d brought from Callum’s shelf.
“Good book?” I asked as I sat down beside her. I’d read it in college and liked it.
“Mhmm.” She leaned against me, comfortable and warm. I hooked my arm around her and kicked my feet up on the coffee table. The plans I’d made were fucked, but I couldn’t complain. I had a roaring fire, and after weeks of trying to get a minute alone together, I had Willow all to myself. Snowed in together. Couldn’t leave if we wanted to, and I couldn’t say I wanted to. Her hair felt like silk, the ends falling over the back of my hand. She fit perfectly against me. I could stay like this all weekend.
I could stay like this a lot longer than a weekend.
I closed my eyes and dropped my head back against the back of the couch, letting the thought of permanence permeate. It had been a few years since I’d been in anything long term. The relationships I’d had since had been passionate and brief—the flames leaping high and dying out. Some of them had felt like love, but even those, I’d known the truth. It wouldn’t last long. Something was wrong. The girl or the timing or shit, just me. I searched for that feeling deep inside myself. I was sure I’d find it if I looked. It would be lurking under the contentment, hiding in the shadow of lust. But hard as I tried, I couldn’t find it.
I opened my eyes and looked down at Willow’s head with a frown. Sensing the shift, she looked up and met my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She hiked up an eyebrow and waited. I pressed a kiss to her forehead and leaned my head back again. “Just wondering if Callum has any food in here, or if we’re supposed to hunt a deer or something.”
Willow snorted and looked back at her book. “Callum’s vegan,” she reminded me. “He hasn’t ingested an animal product in sixteen years.”
I stared up at the ceiling beams, feeling Willow’s attention drift back to the Buddenbrooks, a wealthy family that got theirs in the end. She’d like that, I thought, smiling wryly. She was the only woman I’d ever been with who I thought would have preferred me without my family name, connections, and wealth. Too many had cared more about Lewis Productions than Julian Lewis. Some had been indifferent, familiar with the peaks and pitfalls of an inheritance like mine. But Willow—she didn’t like it. It made her uncomfortable. Sometimes I even thought it made her mad, incomprehensible as that was.
No, she was here for me and me alone. No hidden agenda.
And if I wasn’t careful, I was going to fall in love with her.
If I hadn’t already.
Callum scared the shit out of us an hour later when he trudged over and laid his fist against the door like.a battering ram. Willow sat bolt upright on the couch, my arm falling off her shoulders. She twisted around to look at me, her eyes wide as saucers. “Do you think that’s Callum?”
“Of course it is,” I said, even though the sudden noise had gone through me like a shot of adrenaline.
Moments later, Callum proved us right by letting himself in. He was wearing a parka so big that looked like it could have insulated a small house. It went all the way down to the tops of his snow boots, and he was so covered in snow that he looked twice his normal size.