Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
I almost rocked back on my heels in surprise. “What happened to him?”
“He died when we were eight. Anaphylactic shock. He was severely allergic to bee stings. One stung him while he was playing in the backyard.”
Oh, God. How awful would it feel to lose your twin, someone who felt part of you? Maybe that was the source of the empty spot inside him.
The back of my throat began to ache. “Were you with him at the time?” I asked, my tone soft.
“No. I would have been, but …” He drew in a breath through his nose. “That’s another story.”
I worried my lower lip. “Thank you for telling me.”
He inclined his head. “Hungry yet?”
Rolling with the change of subject, I replied, “A little, but I’m not sure I can eat much.”
“What’s your go-to-feel-better meal?”
I pursed my lips. “Grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“Then sit. I’ll make you one.”
Chapter Twelve
I sank my head deeper into the pillow, so damn snug that I didn’t want to open my eyes. I’d long ago developed a habit of waking up ten minutes before my alarm went off. Which was annoying, really, because it felt like I’d been robbed of a further ten minute’s sleep. But I couldn’t shake the habit off, no matter how hard I tried.
I didn’t usually sleep well in a strange place—I found it difficult to settle. But I’d slept like a log last night. My new bed wasn’t just pretty, it was comfy as hell. And the pillows … God, the pillows were divine. Not too flat, not too soft, not too plump, just perfect.
I wondered if Dane would let me take the bed with me after the divorce. It wasn’t like he’d have any use for it.
Yawning, I forced my eyes open. I’d lowered the electronic shades, so the room was still dark. Fuck, I had electronic shades. And a walk-in closet. And antique furniture.
Not one thing in my life had prepared me for the eventuality that I’d be living with Dane Davenport—especially as his temporary wife. Just the same, nothing had prepared me for the realization that he’d furnished the room specifically to suit me.
I wasn’t reading anything into it. I didn’t think it meant he cared or something. I wasn’t delusional. I was just stunned. And grateful. Even a little touched, because—if nothing else—it meant he recognized how hard all this was for me, and he wasn’t ambivalent toward how I was feeling. For Dane, that was noteworthy. And almost enough to cheer me up after the break-in.
When my cell phone alarm finally went off, I hit the “snooze” option. Purely because I didn’t want to leave the bed. But, intent on not being late for work, I jumped up when the alarm went off a second time. Well, I didn’t quite “jump” up. It was more like I reluctantly edged out of bed with a petty moan.
In the gleaming private bathroom, I did my business and then made use of the walk-in-shower with its head-to-toe power jets. I also made a mental note to soak in the huge, claw-footed bathtub at some point.
Once I’d dried and styled my hair, I applied some makeup, pulled on my clothes, and headed downstairs. The place was so eerily quiet I might have shivered. I expected to find Dane in the kitchen or dining room, but he was nowhere to be seen. The coffee machine had been recently used, though, so he was obviously awake. He’d probably already had breakfast.
While eating my toast and chugging down my morning intake of caffeine, I sifted through some of the emails that he and I had received overnight, just as I always did each morning—it helped me get a head-start on my workday.
Coming across a particular email, I froze. No. Freaking. Way. This had to be a fucking joke.
I’d known Heather would do something stupid out of sheer vindictiveness. I just hadn’t thought she’d send Dane an email in which she tried convincing him that he’d made a mistake in marrying me. Basically, she’d pulled a Travis. She’d given a friendly warning to Dane that I wasn’t someone he should be with, claiming “my conscience just wouldn’t let me stay quiet.” Like the woman even had a conscience.
Damn Heather. Another person might have thought, “Oh, Dane and Vienna are married now; it’s too late to split them up.” But Heather didn’t believe in the sanctity of marriage. She separated couples all the time. And she was good at it.
Either she had no idea that I screened Dane’s emails, or she wanted me to be the one to first read it. Whatever the case, I was pissed.
My fingers itched to type a rude response, but I didn’t for the same reason that I didn’t call her and demand to know what the hell she’d been thinking. I’d deal with her face-to-face. But not until I’d let her sweat for a while—she’d hate that her antics hadn’t garnered her an immediate response, so I was all for that plan.