Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
Whenever she brought up her tattoos, sorrow flared from her. He wished there was a way for her to keep her markings, but he had no control over such things. “Whatever you need, I’ll take care of it.”
She smiled sweetly. “Thank you.” She tossed something called Everything But The Bagel Seasoning into a box. “Right now, I need to eat. Do you want to grab some fast food for breakfast and then we can hit the truck rental place?”
He hadn’t expected her to be in such a hurry to get back, but he was also eager to return home. The world off the farm reeked of deceit and immoral temptation. He wanted his mate safe and protected, two things he could provide much easier on the farm. “Whatever you need.”
While her spirits were high at the moment, he suspected the day would be a difficult one. Sooner or later, she’d recognize the finality of her choice. Seeing her life, her belongings, and the modern amenities she owned filled him with a strange sense of regret and worry. What if she missed those things and he was not an equal replacement for so many luxuries?
She stilled from packing spices into the box. “Why do you look like that?”
“Pardon?” He glanced back at her, wondering if he missed something.
“You just got the saddest look on your face.”
He blanked his expression, evicting all worries from his mind. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking.”
“Of?”
“Nothing.” He turned back to the bedroom. “I’ll dress and we can see to your needs.”
“Christian, wait." She followed him Into the sitting area. “What’s going on?”
He hesitated then admitted, “Are you positive you can give all of this up?”
Her eyes moved from side to side, taking in her apartment. She scoffed. “This? You do realize I live in squalor, right? Like, here’s poor.” She flattened her hand so her palm faced the floor and held it in front of her face. “Then here’s dirt poor.” She lowered her flat palm to her midsection. “And I live about five stories below that.”
“Your technology—”
“There are libraries and other ways around that. I mean, I’m not going back to be your hostage. I’m going to be your wife. We can figure that stuff out. I just want to be with you.”
Her lack of opposition was a strange and welcome change. He nodded and his worries abated. “You’ll be my wife.”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “And you’ll be my husband. Wow. That sounds so weird.” She laughed to herself and pecked a kiss on his jaw.
To his ears, it sounded perfect.
Christian watched Delilah dress a salad with a packet of sludge that poured from a small pouch. She tore open a clear wrapper with her teeth and revealed an oddly formed fork in the shape of a spoon.
“Are you going to eat?” She tilted her chin toward the hot parcel he held.
He unwrapped the waxy paper and found a greasy sandwich. It looked like a patty of sausage but smelled like a pancake. Sauces and orange cheese seeped from the sides. He sniffed the strange bread that did not smell like anything they baked on the farm. Hesitantly, he took a bite.
Flavor burst in his mouth and he drew back, surprised to discover such a salty-sweet combination inside. “It is good.” He chewed, further unwrapping the paper for a larger bite.
“I’m lovin’ it,” Delilah sang, stabbing her fork into her salad. “Try your shake.” She plugged the cups with two fat straws and slid his forward. “I’m shocked the machine was working for once.”
Swallowing another bite of greasy meat, sauce, and cheese, he leaned forward and sucked on the straw. The veins behind his eyes pulsed as the chilled contents moved like sludge. “I can’t get any into my mouth.”
“Keep sucking.” She chuckled. “That’s what he said.”
Christian frowned. “Who?”
“It’s from The Office.”
“What office?”
“It’s a sitcom. A television show.” She smiled, about to say more, then the excitement in her eyes faded. “Never mind. We’re never going to watch it.”
He sensed the day was becoming more overwhelming for her as she relinquished more of her modern amenities. “Delilah, tell me.”
“I can’t. There’s too many episodes to explain. Too many seasons.” She frowned and looked down at her salad, appearing not to love it as much as she had a moment ago. “Too many shows.”
He didn’t understand her attachment to television. Mortals were mentally invested in the lives of characters in a way he couldn’t comprehend. But this was important to her. These memories made her laugh and he didn’t want her to lose that joy. “We will watch the shows you love.”
“How?”
“We have an eternity ahead of us, pintura. We’ll visit places with televisions and you can show me all the episodes. And then, we can laugh together at the jokes.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “You mean, we could visit hotels or Airbnbs?”