Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I drag myself back upstairs, my heart as heavy as my feet. Where is he? He’s never out this late for any reason. If he’s working, it’s here in the house. If he has a meeting, which he hasn’t really had many of since we got back here, he’s still home at a decent time—unless the meeting is here, like it was a few weeks ago when I crossed paths with the beautiful woman whose name I’m still not allowed to know.
That woman. I pause at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister tight, staring down the hall but seeing her instead. She was so sophisticated, the kind of person who’s intimidating without having to say a word. Her presence alone was enough.
Her lipstick on his cheek. She kissed him on the cheek. That’s not professional. Am I supposed to believe the two of them don’t know each other in some other way?
I can’t believe I’m actually thinking like this, but it’s so clear now. He’s with her, I bet. Or some other woman. What difference does it make? He’s not with me. Why would he be? All I am is a means of getting himself an heir.
I’m pregnant, so that’s settled. But his needs still have to be met, don’t they? And I am a traitor, the person he blames for his grandfather’s death. Why would he turn to me? I’m only his wife.
Rather than close the door, I leave it cracked a little so I can hear if he comes in downstairs. It’s not like I’m going to be falling asleep anytime soon, not when I’m so freaked out. I pace the room, trying and failing to keep ugly images from flashing in my mind. The two of them together, having a great time. At a club, maybe, or a high-end restaurant. Cruising around, going back to her place or to some hotel somewhere. Fucking like a couple of animals while I sit here and wait for him to come home.
I guess it only makes sense if he doesn’t feel anything for me but hatred. Looking at it from his perspective, I can’t even blame him. He’s young, powerful, and, God knows, he’s hot as hell. There’s no reason for him to lock himself in this house with his pregnant wife, who he hates, when there are so many other women out there, women from his world, women who know the score. Not naïve little nobodies like me who only stumbled into this by mistake.
That woman, whatever her name is, she’s the kind of woman he should be with. I bet dear old grandad would love her. He probably wouldn’t be able to stop himself from hitting on her long enough to broker a marriage deal. Even now, when the man is dead, I find myself grimacing at the thought of him. I’m sorry he went the way he did, but that’s more for Enzo’s sake. I guess I don’t have it in me to quickly forgive somebody who threatened to have me murdered for not giving his grandson an heir on his schedule.
One o’clock comes and goes. Two o’clock. I sit down on the bed and try to concentrate on catching up with my reading, but it’s no use. I can get through a whole chapter and not actually absorb any of the information. Not with Enzo at the forefront of my mind. Not when I can’t help but imagine him rolling around in bed with that woman.
The house is quieter now. I tiptoe to the door and listen hard—there’s no pacing downstairs, no muttered conversations.
In fact… at first, I think I’m imagining the sound, so I creep out into the hall and peer down the stairs. Sure enough, the soft snoring I thought I heard is for real, coming from the guard posted by the door. He’s now seated on the couch, his head hanging low. I bet he wouldn’t be so dismissive if I threatened to tell the boss he fell asleep on the job. He’s supposed to be guarding me. Well, the baby, and I just happen to be the person carrying the baby, so I’m included.
He couldn’t even bother to stay awake. Yeah, he might soon regret talking to me the way he did.
That’s childish—worse than that, it’s a distraction from what I need to be thinking about. Here I am, wanting to get these guys in trouble when I should be concentrating on how to use this to my advantage.
I could leave. I could sneak right past that guy. He’s out cold, the way I’m sure most of the other guys are by now. It must be boring, just standing or sitting there with nothing to do but wait for something that probably won’t ever happen. The house is quiet as a tomb. I would probably fall asleep, too, if I wasn’t so busy imagining the various positions my husband is twisting that strange woman into right this very minute.