Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
“Arabella?”
“My sister,” he confirms, turning off the engine and jumping out, hurrying to open my door for me. “She flits between here and Milan. She’s in the fashion industry and stays with me whenever she’s in town.”
I nod and glance around at my surroundings. “It’s quite a bachelor pad.”
“It’s a house. Bricks and mortar.”
“It’s lots of bricks and mortar,” I point out.
“It’s a house,” he repeats quietly, extending his hand toward me. I read between the lines and conclude that what he’s trying to tell me is that money is nothing to him. Easy to say when you have stacks. I’ve already decided that Luke is more than comfortable. His business, his suits, his office. His garage alone would probably fund the life-saving surgery that Billy—
I swallow and wipe my mind clear.
“I can see I need to work really hard to keep those thoughts of yours from wandering,” Luke says gently, turning his hand over to prompt me to give him mine. “But I’m never one to turn my back on a challenge.”
My hand lifts and retracts a few times, my mind telling me that this is all so very wrong. Everything about it. Yet my hand wants to go forward more than it wants to go back, and we’re touching a second later. He applies a light pressure, and although it’s only my hand in his, I feel like a magic blanket of safety has just swathed me in its warmth. I look up at him. He’s studying me carefully.
“I’m your friend, Lo. Tell me,” he whispers, moving in closer to me, like a silent offer of support in case I need it when I confess.
But I won’t confess. Never. “You promised not to ask.”
“You promised not to cry.”
I blink, encouraging a drop of water to trickle down my cheek. I didn’t realize I was crying, and that’s sad in itself, because I’m at the point that it happens so often, I’m almost immune to sensing it. I use my spare hand to brush at my cheek.
“You don’t even feel your tears anymore,” Luke sighs, taking the one step closer that has me bandaged in his arms, except this time mine aren’t bunched between us, so I wrap them around his back and hold him as tightly as he’s holding me. I wouldn’t have guessed that the cuddle he gave me at the vet could be beaten. How wrong I was, because now, here, it’s on another level of comfort. My cheek is pressed against his chest, my head buried under his chin. “I want to tell you that everything will be okay,” he says quietly. “But I can’t because I don’t know.”
He breaks away and holds my cheeks in his palms. Spending a few moments wiping my eyes, his gaze flits across my face as I stand silent and still for him. The last time someone held me like this, looking into my eyes—caring about what’s there—was on my wedding day. It’s the last time I felt warm. It’s the last time I felt cherished. That I matter.
“Most people avoid me,” I tell him. “Most people run in the other direction, like they’re scared my sorrows are contagious. But you’re here.”
“The only thing contagious about you, Lo, is your smile.” He squeezes my cheeks. “Give me one.”
It’s an effort, especially with my mind constantly questioning whether I should be friends with Luke, whether it’s appropriate, but I manage a small lift of my lips, albeit shyly.
“Poor attempt,” he scolds, very seriously. “Try again.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s hard to smile when my face is being squished.”
“But you look so cute with your face all squashed.” He removes his hands, and this time my smile’s not forced. It breaks out as if it’s been waiting a century to be let loose. “More like it.” Grabbing my face again, he re-squishes, crushing my smile but making me burst into laughter. “God, that sound.” He slings an arm around my shoulders and leads me to the front door. “Would you like a drink?”
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
He opens the door and I walk into an open, airy entrance hall, with a black and white tiled floor and stark white walls. It would be quite clinical, if it wasn’t for the elaborate glass chandelier, the huge pieces of abstract art, and the mirrored furniture. “I’m having a whiskey.” Luke walks through double doors to the right, and I follow, entering a massive . . . pub? There’s a pool table, a jukebox, a dartboard, and a bar.
“Big enough television?” I ask, pointing at the wall, which is virtually covered from end to end with a massive screen.
“Welcome to Luke’s Bar.” He holds up a bottle. “Whiskey?”
I grimace, giving him his answer, so then he lifts a bottle of white and I nod. He gets to pouring while I look around. “This is a man’s paradise.”