Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Why?”
A long stare ensued. It was obvious I wouldn’t get an answer to my question. “How did Grave become a long-term client?”
“It’s a long story…”
He extended his hand, as if to say we had all night.
“Why am I supposed to answer your questions, but you don’t answer mine?”
“Because I own you.” The words were quick, like a knife through the air. “And don’t forget it.” He held my stare as he said it, as if he dared me to push back.
Hugo entered the room that instant, so I held my silence…not that I knew what to say anyway. He cleared our salad plates then brought us cups of soup. It was classic French onion with croutons on top.
“I don’t stand on street corners or linger in clubs looking for clients. I charge a premium for my services, a premium that most men can’t afford. I know what I’m worth, and I won’t settle for a coin less.”
He didn’t reach for his spoon. His eyes were glued to my face like cement.
“Grave didn’t blink an eye over my nightly fee. One night turned into two. Days added up to a week. Then he said he wanted a permanent buyout. A monthly salary in addition to the luxurious life he could offer me. It seemed like a good deal at the time, so I took it.”
His eyes didn’t stray from my face, not even slightly. He didn’t blink either. With the utmost focus, he stared, treating my face like a masterpiece of sculpture in the foyer. It reminded me of Grave, the way he made me undress as he watched from his armchair. “What changed?”
“He asked me to marry him.”
His stare didn’t waver.
“I mean, told me to marry him. Didn’t really get a say in the matter. He already had a wedding dress for me. Didn’t even get to pick it out…”
The soup was getting cold, but neither one of us reached for our spoons.
“That was when I left.”
“Why?”
“Because…” My eyes broke contact with his face, letting him win the contest we’d never agreed to have. “It made me realize how much I’d fucked up my life. I sold my body because I didn’t have a choice, and I’m not ashamed of that. But then I realized the other sacrifices that I was making…like never falling in love.”
His stare was still hot on my face. I could feel it.
“I told him I couldn’t marry him. Told him our arrangement was over. He didn’t like that.” I turned back to face him.
He looked exactly the same.
“So here I am.”
Hugo entered the room and gave a quiet gasp. “Is there something wrong with the soup—”
“Leave us.” Cauldron raised his voice only slightly. His eyes never left my face.
Hugo immediately departed.
It was back to silence.
“He’ll never stop chasing me. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere he won’t go to find me.”
His stare was absorbent, taking in all my emotions like a sponge. But there was no sympathy on his face, barely calm understanding. He was interested in my tale, but not necessarily moved by it. “There is one place he won’t go.” He reached for his wine and took a drink. “Where you are now.”
The sun had finally set, disappearing behind the trees and then the world. When darkness arrived, new noises entered the soundtrack. Crickets sang their songs in the tall stalks of grass, frogs croaked from a nearby pond. It took a moment for the stars to emerge over the edge of the cliff, but slowly, they began to twinkle.
I sat on the couch in front of the TV, looking out the window instead of at the screen. When I had been with Grave, I’d accompanied him wherever he went, shared his four-poster bed in his master bedroom. The only time we were apart was when he was working in his study. In Cap-Ferrat, I was in constant solitude, surrounded by quiet tranquility, the beauty of the small village.
The knob on my bedroom door turned, and then he appeared, his silhouette a distinct triangle, broad shoulders leading to narrow hips. The shadows hid his features for a moment, but as he walked farther into the room, I could see that he was shirtless, his gray sweatpants low on his hips. He stopped at the edge of the couch, looking down at me, his muscular arms at rest at his sides.
“Could you knock next time?”
“I don’t knock in my own home.”
I was in nothing but a white, long-sleeved nightshirt, a blanket over my bare thighs. After dinner was over, I’d done my nighttime routine by washing my face clean of all makeup and letting my skin breathe before bed. Definitely wasn’t ready for company.
Even in the darkness, I could see the deep tan of his skin, the aftermath of days and weeks on his yacht in the Mediterranean. His chest was free of hair, smooth with the outline of the muscles of his pecs and tight stomach.