Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Pff. You’re such a cynical man.” Pulling me toward the kitchen, she continues. “What did you give her for her birthday? I hope you made an effort with the gift. Women pay attention to small details like that. The bracelet was nice, but Papa chose it. It’s not the same, you know?”
Adeline’s enthusiasm and love of life are always contagious. Smiling despite myself, I say, “I did give her a cat.”
“You said she rescued it.”
“I got everything the cat needed.”
Drawing me into the kitchen, she shakes her head. “Nope. That doesn’t count.”
“A phone?”
She dumps the satchel on a chair. “Getting better, but that’s still last year. What about this year?”
I take a seat at the table and fold my hands on the top.
A kiss.
No. That was for me.
“So?” Adeline asks with her head buried in the fridge. “I hope you didn’t have something impersonal delivered.” She straightens with a carton of milk. “Like flowers or chocolates.” She makes a face. “That’s for men who don’t want to take the time to think about it and put effort into picking out something themselves.”
“I gave her my ring.”
Silence wraps around us as my sister freezes on her way to the stove, gaping at me with round eyes.
Why did I tell her that? It wasn’t my plan. It wasn’t not my plan either. If anyone notices that my ring is missing, I have no issue about telling them what I’ve done with it. Maybe I just wanted to shut her up.
It takes her a moment to come to her senses. She glances at the naked ring finger of my right hand and back at my face. A slow smile curves her lips. Pointing the milk at me, she says, “Now that’s a birthday gift with meaning.”
“I’ll replace it with her own ring of course.”
“Of course.” Her expression is radiant. “And like a considerate fiancé, you’ll let her choose it.”
I don’t reply.
I doubt Sabella will want a ring, especially not from me. Not that it matters. There won’t be a choice. Not in the ring she wears, and not in the husband she marries.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Sabella
A man stands on the shore. I recognize the dark suit and his shaved head even before I reach the first breaker. The coldness that travels through my body isn’t from the water alone. Roch is a solid, all too real reminder that Angelo wasn’t bluffing, at least not about having me watched.
Anger fuels my body, giving me the energy I lacked a few minutes ago to surf the big waves. My exhaustion is so complete that I give up when I surface behind the last wall of foam, letting the tide push me out onto the beach.
Roch comes running.
I’m lying flat on my stomach in the shallow water, too tired to push onto my knees, when a pair of black shoes and dark trousers enter my line of vision. A firm hand grips my arm and drags me out of the water onto the sand. I register Roch’s drenched pants and shoes through my choking. A fresh surge of fury pumps through my veins.
I jerk free. “Don’t touch me.”
Surprisingly, he lets go.
Rolling onto my back, I cough until tears roll down my cheeks. I pinch my eyelids shut against the glare of the sun and just lie there for twenty seconds or more, sucking in air like a suffocating person.
When I open my eyes again, a round face is staring down at me, blocking out the sun.
“I have permission to touch you when necessary,” Roch grumbles.
“You don’t have my permission.”
“You almost fucking drowned,” he all but growls.
I scoff. “I’m a good swimmer. I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah?” He narrows his eyes. “It didn’t look like that when you washed up like a piece of driftwood. If this is a habit of yours, I’ll have to get a fucking boat, and there’s no place to tie a boat on this no-good beach.”
Sitting up, I lean my weight on my arms and squint at him. I don’t tell him boats can be tied on the lagoon. Not that many people go out to sea from there. The river is too unpredictable. The sandbank that forms the riverbed is forever changing. Sometimes, the passage is deep and the flow so strong even a seasoned swimmer like me risks her life crossing it. At other times, it’s so shallow, you can walk to the other side. A jet ski will be more practical, but I don’t tell him that either.
Even though I’m dizzy and lightheaded, I make to get up. I’ve never pushed myself this hard or far. He grasps my arm and helps me to my feet.
I pull away again. “I said don’t touch me.”
The line of his jaw hardens. A trickle of sweat runs down his temple. He must be dying of heat wearing that black suit in the hot sun.