Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
“May I shower now?” Damn it. I want to slay whatever demons she has and help regain her confidence.
“You can do whatever you want. Do you need anything from me?” She shakes her head. “Very well. I will leave you to it. Florence…-” She looks up at me, and I squelch the need in me to wipe her tears from her eyes. She was made to smile, and I will restore it. “I am glad you are here.” I hand her the small bag that I assume is her toiletries. Nodding, she walks into the room and into the bathroom.
I pace for a few minutes, debating about leaving her here alone, but in the end my determination to know everything about her wins out. Lloyd knows something, and he is going to tell me.
Tonight.
Chapter One
Florence
Shit. Despite my best efforts to not be a victim, the fear I’m feeling right now tells me I am. I’m determined to get over it, though. My new husband seems kind, though I know I won’t know for certain until I get to know him better. He seems intense in a completely different way than Gary was, but I still can’t help feeling like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. I stare at myself in the mirror. I don’t even recognize who I’ve become. Over the last three years, I’ve gained a bit of weight from the stress eating, but that’s not what I’m seeing staring back at me. The sad little girl with dark circles under her eyes looking back at me has me praying to God that I didn’t go from one royally fucked up situation into another.
My husband doesn’t give me the bad vibes Gary did, so there’s that, at least. I set my bag down on the counter and opened it. I pull everything out of it. I put my shower stuff on the empty shelf of the organizer in the shower. I set everything else neatly on the empty side of the double-sink basin before reaching into the shower, turning it on to the hottest setting, and stripping.
Once under the spray, relieved, silent tears spill down my cheeks. For the first time in forever, I feel safe. Truly safe. I’m free and safe. I straighten my back and begin to wash my hair, vowing not to let him ruin the rest of my life. I'm exhausted when I get out of the shower and lotion my skin. It’s been a long day. Wrapped in a towel, I tentatively open the door and let out a breath when I see that I’m alone. He’s brought the rest of my suitcases into the room. I know I should unpack fully, but I lack energy. Instead, I open the one that has my pajamas in it. I pull out a long T-shirt and a pair of panties. I turn the bed down and climb onto the left side of the bed. He appears to sleep on the right side since the nightstand contains a giant stack of books and a pair of reading glasses.
I snuggle into the covers and let the scent of laundry soap, and him wash over me. I must have fallen asleep instantly because the next thing I knew, the sun was streaming in through the open curtains. Groaning, I roll over and see that he has been while Fletcher isn’t in bed right now. Before I have the time to dwell on that, the scent of bacon hits my nose, and my belly grumbles. I haven’t eaten since the light breakfast I had yesterday before leaving my apartment. I get out of bed and all but follow the scent plumes like a cartoon right into the kitchen.
A shirtless Fletcher is standing at the stove. Shit. He’s gorgeous. Yes, I noticed it yesterday, but I was too scared to do or say anything to him. But now that I’ve calmed the hell down, I can appreciate the man, my man, standing in front of me. I must make a noise or something because the next thing I know, his eyes are on mine. I smile, a genuine one this time, and he grins back at me.
“Good morning, wife,” he says, his voice all growly and sexy. Hearing him call me wife does something to me. Something I can’t explain.
“Good morning, husband,” I reply, trying it out. I find that I like it.
“Are you hungry?” he asks as he reaches next to him and pulls some plates from the cabinet. In doing so, his big muscles flex. I have to bite my lip to keep from saying anything I shouldn’t.
“Starving,” I say after he says my name because I’ve taken a little too long to answer him.
“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the barstool opposite the stove. I take a seat and continue to watch him. “Coffee?”