Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“You. Are. Mine.” Victor punctuates every grunted word with a thrust and a thunderous declaration that I’m his.
Heart stuttering, my chest drapes over the tabletop. I can no longer hold myself up.
A warm volcanic eruption pulsates inside of me, sending tears to my eyes as the connection solidifies. Victor leans into me but realizes my body can’t even hold my own weight, let alone his muscular mass. He wraps an arm around me, his powerful abdomen anchoring him over me.
Eyes closed, my pulse flutters all over as Victor’s British accent envelops me. “I will never let you go, Little One. Not ever.” A soft, silky kiss accompanies each word.
20
Victor
* * *
I’ve put on bloody airs for the last three weeks. While Luxury’s gotten as far as how neither guy got the girl’s number at the diner, I encourage her to continue reading her mum’s diary. Curiosity caused her mum to spend her last dollar on a cardiologist conference that both men were speaking at. Although, I’ve read her mum’s journal in its entirety, I play up my curiosity, too, on the rare occasion she reads the blasted journal.
Within this time, we’ve traveled to London and attended various events and galas. She’s captured thousands of pictures. I’ve enjoyed that bright smile of hers along the way. In the back of my mind, I've dreaded two things. None more profound than the last. One, I must visit with the Queen while on our side of the pond. Two, addressing my home in Arlington.
Today, I’ll entertain the reigning monarch.
Seated in a barber chair located in the salon on the West Wing of Somerhaven Hall, I tell a fresh-faced Burt, “While I'm out today, keep an eye on Lux.”
Burt places the cool shaving cream on my jaw. “Please elaborate. After such a lengthy holiday, I require more detail. Do you mean for me to keep Miss Luxury safe from Princess Mary or Miss Madeline or . . .”
“Or whom?” I ask through gritted teeth as Burt holds up the razor. Its sharp pristine edge smooths over my skin. My butler gives the bloody look.
Nevertheless, we won’t mention my father. The next threat belongs to Overton. That old man has made quite a ruckus about losing his business.
“I dare Overton to glimpse what belongs to me. His current endeavors have already placed his life in jeopardy.”
“I am aware you are allowing Overton to tread stormy waters,” Burt begins, swiftly maneuvering the razor around my stubble. “But you’re aware that Silas has also returned, which can only compound the list of persons to keep Luxury safe from.”
I glare at Burt. He knows not to make such implications. I will murder my father where he stands if he comes near Luxury. The same goes for Overton. Father and enemy shall receive equal treatment.
“Well, it should be clear. My concern is Luxury.”
I almost tell Burt the Butler he missed his calling. He probably would’ve made a great father, but I’ve no proper example to compare the chap to.
“Yes, your concern is shielding her from my mum’s toxic mouth. I’ve reprimanded the princess for her antics. Oh, and I murdered one of the blasted duke’s guards.”
“Your father’s—”
“Yes! He touched her inappropri—her bloody arm, Burt.”
“Oh,” he places a hand on his chest, “you gave me a fright.”
“They frightened her, too. Save for one. He was a bit forceful. Upon his final breath, he understood the error of his ways. Now, you’ll steer her away from Madeline’s beady eyes, too,” I snap.
Burt scoffs. “Ahhh, dear Heavenly Father, I’ve to keep peace among all the lady folk?”
“Amen.” I chuckle.
“That was not a prayer, Victor.” He wipes my jaw with a steamy towel. “The Lord of Lord’s said this is an impossible feat. He further elaborated that bringing Luxury home may have been just as detrimental as allowing her to stay in New York.”
My eyes roll away as I sit up in the seat.
After a helicopter ride, I arrive at Buckingham Palace. The conversation that is soon to occur between my grandmother and me consumes my mind.
I've toed the line for years, delegating most issues at my duchy. Really, there should be no problems. But with my grandmummy, who knows.
A staff member escorts me into the greenhouse where Her Majesty often takes elevenses.
Thank God. Burt’s prayer must’ve accounted for something as this location indicates Grandmother is in good spirits.
A table’s set for two. A light rose tea kettle and cups are out, as well as the Queen’s favorite scones.
Hands behind my back, I glimpse the various flowers Luxury would know by name.
My Little One had called me a tapered, red rose bloke. At one time, I was not.
“Oh, my handsome Victor,” Grandmother says.
I glimpse over my shoulder then spin around. Grandmother’s wearing a light purple dress and blazer. The tiara atop her head matches the twinkle in her eye.