Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
So yeah, I’ve been busy with the very first party at St. Mary’s.
Which came together and became possible because of him.
The new principal.
Who apparently can’t refuse his baby.
One night, while showing him my designs in bed, I had a whim. A fantastical thought about making these dresses for all my friends. By then, I’d already told him all about Callie and Wyn and Salem, and also Echo and Jupiter. I’d already told him how even though I’d hated living here, these girls made my life so amazing and happy. And the only reason I did that was because I know that he still has guilt for sending me here. Even though he did it to protect me at the time.
So there I was, talking about it and telling him how amazing they would look in these dresses, and wondering where we’d even wear these lavish things, and he said, “Here.”
“What?”
Bare-chested and propped up on the pillows, he looked up from my notebook and said, “Do it here. At St. Mary’s. Like a get-together or something.”
“Like a party?”
“Yeah. Whatever.” He shrugged as if he hadn’t just blown my mind. “You can have your friends here. Just tell me what you’ll need for it and for these.” He tipped his chin at the designs. “And I’ll have them delivered.”
I looked at him for a few seconds.
Okay, fine. It was more than a few seconds.
I mean, it had to be.
The man had just dropped a bomb on me and it was wonderful and otherworldly and oh my God. And so I just launched myself at him. I threw myself at him and hugged him so tight that I think I almost killed him. Or so I thought until he hugged me back at my whispered thank you, and then I showered his face with all the kisses and all the thank yous I had in me.
Which I guess made him hard and so he picked me up and dropped me down on his dick.
So it’s not really a mystery that I love him, is it?
No one, and I really mean no one, has taken care of me like he does. No one has seen me and believed in me like he does. No one and absolutely no one makes me feel happy and safe and warm like he does.
The only mystery is that it took me so long, so fucking long, to realize it.
And now he’s gone and I don’t know when he’ll be back.
Neither do I know if I’ll get the future that I want. If he’ll give it to me like all the other things that he’s given me.
I don’t know if he’ll give me himself.
So I’m keeping myself busy.
I’m keeping myself furiously busy.
As soon as I arrived, I asked Mo to teach me how to make a cherry pie. If she thought it was weird or why or what it meant, she didn’t let it show. So I spent hours learning how to make his favorite dessert.
So far I’ve made four practice cherry pies — all of them sucked but I’m not going to give up; I’m thinking of spending all day tomorrow making and remaking until I get it right — and finished sewing two dresses, one pink and one yellow. These turned out okay. I won’t call them perfect but I did what I set out to do.
And it’s only midnight.
I’m pacing the room like a maniac, trying to think of what to do next, my fingers aching and bruised, my heart aching and bruised as well.
When the door bursts open and the man my heart, my entire body, is aching for is here.
And it looks like he’s in pain as well.
All disheveled and ruined with his hair rumpled and sticking up in places, a thick forest of stubble on his jaw and a heavy frown. He stands at the threshold, both his palms splayed wide on the door as if he burst it open with all the force inside his body, his tie swinging.
“Alaric,” I breathe out, my heart soaring in my chest.
“I couldn’t find you.”
His voice, so raspy and thick and syrupy, hits me across the room, across the feet and feet of hardwood floor and a massive king-sized bed, all the way to where I’m standing by the far wall.
And I press a hand on my belly that’s fluttering and tensing. “What?”
“I looked everywhere.”
I don’t understand. Why did he have to look everywhere? I was here.
“B-but I was here,” I repeat my thoughts out loud.
His nostrils flare. “This isn’t your room.”
My eyes widen and my fingers press harder on my belly when I realize what he’s saying.
Oh yeah. Of course.
I got so busy with all the things, all my revelations, that I forgot where I was.
“Is it?” he prods when all I do is stare at him in dumb silence.