Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
A bumbling idiot.
Nevertheless, I power through. “Will you accompany me to the gardens?”
“I’ve seen them, Victor.” Luxury steps forward in her fluffy house shoes. I mirror her movement, prompting her to stop walking.
“I thought you could assist with the roses.” I gesture toward the French doors. “How much water is adequate for the red roses or the yellow roses?” Dammit, Luxury, recall our moment at Kew Gardens when I called all the various flowers roses.
“Ehhh, you have more servants now than when we first met. I’m positive you have a gardener or two.”
My eyes devour the hard set of her mouth. I snap, “Shall I fire them?”
“No, Burt’s not in the position to . . .”
The butler’s voice carries from the kitchen. “I could leave as well, if you’d prefer it, Luxury?”
I grind my teeth together. Nosey bloke.
“No, Burt,” Luxury calls out and drops her palm to her forehead. “Your family. Vic can’t . . . Vic can’t live without you.”
I have myself a laugh. A few seconds of overkill on my part, and Luxury just stands there. I clear my throat and grovel. “Lux, if you do not consent to anything else I ask for another year, will you join me in the garden?”
16
Victor
She said yes.
All I deserve concerning Luxury Whitson is for her to turn and flee in the opposite direction. But she agreed if I did not ask anything of her in the next 365, she’d accompany me to the garden. Though I butchered my chuckles a little while ago, I decided not to get carried away with the romantic gesture. We’re both dressed in pajama pants and shirts. Without holding my hand or glimpsing any of the lovely blooms, Luxury follows me toward an area of the garden near the conservatory. A handmade clay pot and fresh potting soil sit near a wooden bench, which she settles into, placing her feet on the edge and hugging her knees.
That bloody hurts. Observing my woman in the throes of self-preservation.
Time escapes me as I stare at Luxury, finally afforded the sight of her outside, beneath the sunlight. I’ve wealth beyond measure, but I realize I’ve been a poor bloke these past few weeks with her stuck in the house. Now, the sunshine pours over the bow of her lip. But the arches of her brows sit over a furious gaze. And her lack of smile further cuts the contour of her cheeks.
Don’t be a tosser, Vic. Say something. Perhaps witty.
“Roses, roses, roses.” I point to a few bushes away from us that I doubt are roses. Or maybe they are. Either way, they’re not all the same species. Luxury chooses not to correct me. All right, time for new tricks, Vic.
She groans, “What are we doing out here?”
I tap the velvety box in my hand, which is the size of one my late grandfather would keep his cigars. “Will you plant a flower with me?”
“No. You asked me to come outside . . . and said that I didn’t have to do anything you wanted for a year, so.” She shrugs. Not even a hint of a smile touches her lips.
Although salted ocean air breezes across the yard, peppered with the scent of flowers, it becomes bloody stifling. And here I thought the fight of my life occurred in Saudi Arabia. I’ve to battle the woman I love. Force her survival. “Stay here, then, Luxury, and watch me plant the flower. How long could it take, huh?”
Luxury waves a careless hand. “Have at it, Vic.”
Okay, move quickly and efficiently, Victor, before you lose your willing audience.
Or I could hold her hostage.
No.
That’s a little too deranged—too old Vic and Luxury.
I silently berate myself. I hadn’t thought this out much. I’ll need a small shovel, the seed, and perhaps a watering can? But if I leave to retrieve these items, will my woman stay?
I only bet when all the variables are analyzable. And I bet on her.
For a second, I’m lost in the past and the dark thoughts I harbored for Luxury. Young. College-educated. The deceased mother must account for some form of low self-esteem. Impressionable to a vulture like me.
I thought that way.
I’m reaping what I bloody sow. No, Luxury has reaped the shite I fucking instigated.
And all her “low self-esteem” was really just Luxury’s mum's keeping her sheltered after Gina was raped. This poor girl, her whole life, she's been influenced by the actions of others and hasn't been allowed just to grow and be her own person. She’s been influenced by arseholes. Arseholes like me.
Disappointed in myself, I pull out my mobile and call Burt. After ten minutes of Luxury cocking her brow at me, a gardener arrives with a spade and tin watering can. I settle down next to the planter.
“This is new, Lux.” I have another laugh, gesturing to the things around me. “I’ve only gotten dirty in the past to take a life.”