Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“I just…can’t picture you going to a café for lunch, like a normal person.”
I continued to move forward. “You can pick.”
Her mind immediately kicked into overdrive. “Oh my god, there’s this cute little place—”
“Sure.”
“Really? This is, like, the best day of my life…in a long time.”
I tossed my coffee into the bin that we passed.
We went to the café and got a table outside under the umbrellas. People passed on the sidewalk nearby, and the pots around us had red geraniums blooming in fullness. People spoke in French around us, all locals.
She held the menu right up to her face, like she couldn’t decide what to get. “Jesus, I could eat everything…”
The waitress came over and addressed us in French. “What would you like?”
“A bottle of water for the table and two glasses of Bordeaux.”
She walked away.
Raven lowered the menu. “What did you say?”
“Ordered some drinks. What do you want?”
“Uh…I don’t know. What are you getting?”
“Steak and frites.”
“Ooh…I think I’m going to get the ravioli.”
When the waitress returned, I ordered for us both in French. She took the menus and left.
Raven looked around for a while, watching the people at nearby tables, the flowers that bloomed in the pots, the pedestrians on the sidewalk. When she’d taken it all in, she looked at me. Her gaze settled on mine, and she hardly blinked as she regarded me, her bubbly joy slowly simmering down into the intense expression she usually gave me. “I feel like I’m in a dream or something.”
I grabbed the glass and took a drink.
“Just last week, we were sleeping on this tiny bed in the middle of nowhere—and now we’re having lunch in Paris. I’ve seen those brown eyes look at me so many times, but never like this.”
I held her stare, ignoring the world around us and just focusing on her.
She dropped her gaze and grabbed her wine. “I don’t want to go back…” It was a whisper so quiet that I wasn’t meant to hear it.
But I did.
We entered the apartment, the sunshine coming through the windows and filling the room with light from the beautiful afternoon. I intended to go upstairs and work on my laptop and just be alone.
But her hand grabbed my wrist.
I stilled at her touch but didn’t turn around.
“Thank you…for today.” Her fingers stayed on me, gently pulling me toward her so I would turn around.
I turned around and looked down at her, her hair curled in a pretty way, her eyes bright even though the sun wasn’t shining on her face anymore. There was sincerity in her gaze, like taking her outside for the afternoon was equal to the other things I’d done for her. I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge her gratitude because it was a bit sickening that it was something she needed to be grateful for. I turned away again.
Her hand squeezed my wrist so I wouldn’t go. “Do you forgive me?” Her voice turned desperate, like she hoped for something more now that we were back at the apartment, now that I hadn’t been a complete ass to her.
I didn’t turn around to face her completely.
She waited, her fingers still clamped onto my skin.
I didn’t know the exact reason I’d taken her out that afternoon. It was an impulsive decision that I didn’t make until I saw her sitting there looking out the window. Like all the other times I’d done something for her, there wasn’t any thought put into it. It was just instinct. I pulled my hand away and headed to the stairs. “No.”
Fourteen
Stasia
The valet took my car, and then I entered the estate, joining the crowd of women in their fancy dresses and the men in their tuxedoes. A flute of champagne was handed to me, and I took it even though I didn’t drink that piss.
I made small talk with people I didn’t want to make small talk with.
These parties were the bane of my existence.
They just reminded me how corrupt the world really was.
The president invited us.
We donated money to his causes and his campaigns, and in turn, he looked the other way about our enterprise. We were even friends, if friendship was a real thing. After long and meaningless conversations about the weather, the changes to the Republic, and the immaculate estate that entertained us, I eventually found Fender.
With his arm around Melanie, he spoke to someone I didn’t know, his hand holding a flute of champagne even though he hated it too.
Melanie was in a black cocktail dress that barely had a back or a front. She was the trophy that Fender wanted everyone to know he had. With heavy makeup, her curled hair pulled back to reveal her face, and her bare skin in all the places the dress didn’t cover, she stood there with a diplomatic smile, being an accessory more valuable than a watch or a ring. She noticed me, and her fake smile quickly dropped when we made eye contact.