Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 718(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Julian
I looked at my princess as she settled down to read, pushing her glasses up her nose as she got comfortable. I was feeling nervous, heart racing a little, my soul well and truly exposed in the words onscreen.
I’d been writing in the background for weeks, showing Rosie selected chapters – the filthy ones – but the majority were not. Especially not chapter one.
The Girl Downstairs
I’d bared it all.
The way my angel first appeared at my door, with the frantic rapping as she called for help. Her panicked breaths, the pleading in her beautiful eyes. The way I saw her beautiful, caring soul in that moment, and the way she always wore her heart on her sleeve. The way from that very moment I’d have followed her into hell to keep her safe from evil.
I’d written about her loyal protectiveness as she took her mother’s hands on the sofa, desperate to ease her pain. The way she’d been so grateful for my help as she’d wrapped her arms around my waist with a deluge of thanks that didn’t need to be said.
I’d described her in crystal clarity. From the sweet bobbing of her ponytail as she walked, to the cuteness of her dimples when she smiled. Her sweet addictive laugh, and the way she covered her mouth so adoringly when she got consumed by the giggles.
The perfect pitch of her voice, and the tender whispers of thanks she gave far, far too often.
She never needed to thank me. I’d give her everything I had to give, just for one little sparkle in her light blue eyes.
Chapter one was an outpouring of how Rosie had reached into my soul and brought me back to life, starting right from the moment she’d asked for my help. How I’d seen straight into her soul in return.
My first glimpse.
The glimpse that had changed my world and picked it up from the dregs of nothing.
I lit up a cigarette at the window, but Rosie didn’t look over at me, too transfixed as she scrolled. Her cheeks were blooming pink, and I could see the tears welling up.
“You’ve turned me into quite a heroine,” she said, but I shook my head, flicking ash out the window.
“No, I haven’t. No words could ever do you justice. This is purely an effort to capture your spirit on the pages.”
She giggled. “My sneakers aren’t cute when they squeak on the corridor floor, Julian.”
I laughed back. “Oh, they are. It’s the way you twist your feet just a little when you walk. It’s always the left one.”
“And my coconut hair shampoo didn’t smell that great. It was a crappy one from the bargain store.”
“It suited your hair. Delicate.”
Her eyes met mine, and they were so alive it made my breath hitch.
“My hair doesn’t look so great when I’ve been tossing and turning in bed though, does it? You hadn’t seen it at this point. I guess it comes in a later chapter.”
“It always fans up, actually. Very cute. If I’m lucky, I get to see it like a mousy brown halo when you’re sleeping.”
She laughed. “A bloody halo? Stop it. You’re bigging me up.”
“I’m not,” I said. “Believe me. The book captures nothing but truth.”
“You’ve written this as a book? An actual book?” Her eyes widened.
“Indeed, yes, but I can’t take all the credit for it. It’s been edited by one of my previous students. He was very impressed, which was lovely to hear. I half expected him to write it off as a poor effort and shelve it for my personal gratification.”
“I’m glad you only half expected it, or you’d never have sent it.”
“Yes, and you gave me the positive half of that expectation. It was all down to you.”
She kept on reading, and I kept on watching. I could tell which parts she was reaching, purely by her expressions. I’d come to know them well enough. I saw her tears welling, and her dimpled smile, and the way she put her hand on her heart when something took her aback. Pink cheeks, and her dainty laugh, and the way she’d look up at the ceiling, just for a second while she pondered things.
I just hoped I’d captured it all nearly so well on the pages. If so much as a fraction of the adoration I felt for my angel had made it through into words, it would be a masterpiece.
My editor had certainly sung some praises.
I got her a coffee while she was still reading, and she thanked me, sipping without taking a break. I knew some of the dirty parts must be approaching soon, and sure enough, she grinned like a dirty little minx when she recognised scene number one.
“I know this bit.”
“Yes. You know plenty of them.”
Her grin disappeared soon after, and again I knew which point she was up to. She was reading about the deep depths of my protective rage, and my willingness to slam the knife into Scottie’s ribcage as I threatened his life.