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)
I find him through the crowd, near the door, hands stationed behind his back, knowing he would rather have followed after Luxury. The lad has his orders.
“I do believe my fondness for my butler has shocked the room, overpassing my verbal assault.” I chuckle softly. “When Luxury arrived, I brought her to Somerhaven first. She greeted everyone, all the servants, as equals. The chit has a good heart, a fucking golden heart. Her only fault is loving me. To a bloody fault.”
While I speak, my gaze connects with every person in the room. “The last, you all know as Princess Mary. Of course, I loved my mother—a rather innate feeling growing up. I followed through with my end of the bargain as I saw others show affection to their mothers. Even that wanker, my father showed her affection, presumably twice. Thanks, arsehole, for my life and that of my brothers.”
Another shocked gasp.
“Not to say I ever loved the tosser. He’s just a tool to indicate that one shows respect toward their mother. Hmmm, perhaps, it was always respect. And now I’m rambling.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Nevertheless, this Mary person is now dead to me.”
Another gasp takes over the room.
“Now, I do believe that pretty much sums up the extent of my service to you all who live in my duchy. Burt, have the hired help assist you in removing the rubbish from my home. For those of you who have not prejudiced my love, provisions abound. Staff, have yourselves a drink, try the veal. And I suspect I’ll hear on fucking Twitter or some other point of reference that I’ve verbally assaulted and called you all cunts and arseholes, which is your prerogative. I’ve no desire to stifle one’s voice. Yet if I hear another bloody ill word or witness a devious stare in my woman’s direction again, I will take great pleasure in ending you.”
I bloody damn well swear that this felt better than harassing Overton. The crowd parts like the Red Sea as I stalk past.
Near the door, I address Burt. “Don’t give me that bullshit father stance later, either.”
His expression never changes, though pride gleams in his eye. “Not unless Luxury holds you at fault, sir.”
I continue through the double doors and up the closest set of stairs. The blood in my veins is all jumpy.
I fucking said I love her.
As I round into the bedroom, I hear the toilet flush from the adjoining bathroom. Oh, thank God, she hasn’t left.
Wrenching the bowtie from my neck, I toss it on the bed. “I can’t fucking believe it. Lux, I’m sorry, Little One.”
“No, it’s okay.” I can hear the false smile in her voice as she lightens the doorframe.
“Like bloody hell it is. I just told the racist fuckers in my duchy to leave and not in the nicest of tones.”
As I shove out of my tuxedo jacket, Luxury stays put, not passing from the marble flooring to the herringbone wood.
“Oh, Vic.”
“I told them all that Madeline and I are not engaged. Luxury, I told them I am in love with you,” I profess, throwing the jacket onto the bed.
Warm brown eyes widen in intensity. “You can’t!”
“What are you say—” I stop short as the bathroom door slams in my face. “What the bloody fuck, Luxury?”
49
Luxury
White noise funnels in my ears while one word sears through my skull: Pregnant. My fingertips graze the knob, quickly locking the door.
“Just give me a moment, please,” I shout.
“Lux, open up!”
“Just a moment, please.” As I sink to the floor, I yank at the bodice of my dress.
I’m pregnant. Have to be.
I’ve doubled up, tripled up on birth control pills before.
What if Victor assumes my pregnancy was an attempt to entrap him? Everything I’ve eaten, Victor also has. This isn’t food poisoning. Certain smells have begun to make me queasy.
I could go for some hot Cheetos in ranch dressing—oh no—dipped in pickle juice.
I’m definitely pregnant. God, I’ve been an emotional wrecking ball lately.
“Bollocks! I’ll break the fucking door down.” His open palm slaps at the paneling. Emotion bleeds in Victor’s tone as he exclaims, “Bloody hell, Luxury, I just said I love you!”
“But you don’t love me.” I sit on the opposite side of the door, hormonal and crying. “Vic, what the hell are we doing, huh? This isn’t going to work. Your mom . . . Madeline . . .” I whimper, “Me.”
The day we met, I had cried. Victor explained that tears were a woman’s form of manipulation.
Was he drawn to me or my tears?
He will think I got pregnant—on purpose.
But I’ve doubled up on pills a couple of times before, Vic.
I beg him to leave me be. Noble as Victor is, he sighs, and I hear him walk away.
God, what did I just do? I wanted to tell Victor later on. Now, the citizens of his duchy will say I got myself pregnant on purpose. They’ll believe that he declined the engagement with Madeline because of me. They’ll say I entrapped him.