Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“We aren’t changing the agreement,” she says, but I notice that her cheeks turn pink. She’s thinking about it. “And you can kindly get off my bed, please.”
“This isn’t your bed, topolina. You can stay in here for now, but I want you sleeping with me in the near future.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “I never agreed to that.”
“You didn’t have to.” I’m tempted to reach for her again, but I force myself to stand. I walk to the door but pause before leaving. “You’re my wife now. If there’s anything you need, just ask. Clothes, jewelry, cars, anything you want, come to me.”
“How very generous.” She stretches out again, looking wary. “What if all I want is a little space? And my own bed?”
“Some things are out of my control, topolina. Turns out, I like fucking with you far too much to make your life easy.”
She sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “Wonderful. I married a monster.”
“Yes, baby, you did.” I leave, closing the door behind me, but I stay outside of her room for a while just listening to whatever sounds of her that drift through, dreaming of the way she moves her body in bed, afraid of the obsession I feel blossoming inside me—the obsession I’ve felt growing ever since I first broke into her car.
Chapter 18
Emily
I find myself the unwilling recipient of way too much free time.
Seriously, it’s overwhelming. I went from working two jobs every single day, burning myself out and grinding myself to dust, to suddenly sitting on my ass from morning until night with nothing to do.
I spend a couple days unpacking, but there’s only so much I can do with that. Simon’s not around much—he’s busy doing mafia things, whatever those are—and I find myself puttering around the house, looking through drawers and cabinets, basically exploring my new world.
The only silver lining is a phone call from my father three days into my new life. I’m sitting out back with a cup of tea, my knees pulled to my chest and I’m wondering what the hell I’m going to do with my day, when his name pops up on my screen. I answer, nervous there’s another problem, but he sounds ecstatic instead.
“It’s the damnedest thing,” he breathes into the phone, laughing like he’s ten years younger. I can’t remember the last time I heard my father sounding like this. “I got a call from the Social Security office, and it turns out they’ve been underpaying me for years.”
My back’s immediately up and all my warning bells blare red alert. “Dad, you know that sounds extremely shady, right?”
He cracks up, even though it’s not funny at all, and assures me that he thought the same thing at first. “They never asked for any info at all, just said a check would be in the mail, and I told them sure, I’d believe it when I see it. Then guess what shows up?” He describes the envelope in loving detail, followed by the check itself, for an amount that seems ludicrous.
Then it clicks: Dad really did get scammed again. But this time, it’s a reverse scam, and the man at the other end is my husband.
“That’s incredible,” I say, and I sink back into my seat. “Did the check clear?”
“Sure did, hon. Sure did. I’m feeling flush for the first time since—” He doesn’t finish that sentence, only peters off into an uncomfortable silence. “It’s a lifesaver though. Honestly, I don’t know where we’d be without this money, but you don’t gotta worry about me for a while now. The lady said that’ll be the payment amount moving forward.”
I close my eyes, grinning like a maniac, and finally, finally, all this stress, all this strangeness with Simon and his family, it all feels so worth it.
“I’m happy for you, Dad,” I tell him, wiping a tear away. “Seriously, it’s amazing.”
He talks about what he’s going to do with the money—mostly pay debts and such—and I make him promise to take it easy. “You don’t gotta worry anymore,” he says, laughing again, and we hang up.
I sit alone grinning like a moron, the sun bright and warm on my face, birds singing somewhere, the sounds of the city around me: cars rolling down the street, voices talking in some far-off room, a woman’s laughter, the smell of pollen on the breeze. For the first time in a while, I’m happy.
Simon came through. I made him promise not to let Dad know where the money was coming from, and he went above and beyond. It’s not great that Dad’s accepting this without questioning it too much—I mean, who ever heard of getting more money from Social Security?—but I refuse to let that bother me.
The money is the reason I’m here. The pure joy in my father’s voice is the reason I’ll stick around.