Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“Stay right there,” she said. “Don’t move a muscle.” She grabbed an easel and put a canvas on it, positioning it across the room so she faced me.
“Please don’t. I’m not in the mood today.” I closed my eyes and prayed for it to all go away.
“You are in my studio, so you are fair game. Now bend your knees up and balance the sketchbook on your legs.”
I groaned in annoyance but did as she asked.
“Yes, just like that.” She started sketching lines on the canvas. “Go ahead and go back to whatever you were drawing. Just try not to get charcoal on that silk damask upholstery. It’s antique and hard to remove stains.”
“So where did you sneak off to this morning?” I settled into the chaise and started sketching lines again. “I didn’t see you at breakfast.”
“Nowhere important.” Something about her tone was off.
I glanced at her and raised my brow, waiting for her to expand on that.
“Please keep looking at your paper and try not to move too much.” Her hand was flying over the canvas. No doubt she already had my form appearing. God did I envy that ability.
“Then, dear sister, tell me where you were this morning.”
“I was with Raul.”
“Raul who?” I asked, thinking about the different men in our circles. There was a Ronaldo and a Richard, but I couldn’t think of a Raul.
She stepped behind the easel and mumbled something I wasn’t quite able to hear.
“I’m sorry. Can you say that again?”
“Raul is the new gardener.”
“Rose, I thought we agreed you weren’t going to talk to the gardener again.”
I sounded harsh and judgmental, and it wasn’t that I thought the gardener was beneath her.
I was worried about the repercussions of her actions.
Mother would destroy him.
There was no telling how far she would go. She would have him deported even if he was a naturalized citizen. She would accuse him of theft or, if he touched Rose, of worse, and have him locked away.
Not to mention Rose had grown up used to a specific lifestyle that I doubted the gardener would be able to give her.
Was an infatuation going to be enough to keep her happy?
“I know, I know,” she said from behind her easel. “I didn’t plan on it, but the morning light was so pretty. I took my breakfast on my balcony, and he was working on the plants directly under my window. He called out to me, and we got to talking, and he makes me feel…” She paused like she was looking for the right word.
“Makes you feel what?”
Could this man make her feel the way Mr. Manchild made me feel?
Was he manhandling her the way Mr. Manchild handled me?
That was a very serious offense.
I could do nothing about my fiancé touching me. He had the power, but if this Raul had laid a hand on my baby sister, and if it got out, she would be ruined.
“He made me feel seen and heard. When I spoke, he listened to what I said, hung on every word. Talking with him made me feel like I was important and not because of my family, but because I had something to say that was worth listening to.”
“That must have been nice.”
“It was. He was so sweet.” She peeked her head around her easel, and for the first time, I saw the morning glory pinned behind her ear.
“Is that from him?” I nodded toward the pale pink flower behind her ear.
“It is.” She disappeared behind her easel again. “I promise I am being careful. We haven’t done anything more than talk. There was nothing inappropriate. We talked mostly about flowers, but Amelia, I really like him. I don’t know what to do.”
“I wish I could tell you.” I sighed. “If I had the right answer, I would happily give it to you. It must feel great to be seen as a person and not just a name or net worth, but you know he isn’t a viable option for you.”
“I know.” She put down her pencil and moved to gather the paints she wanted to use.
We worked in complete silence for a while, both lost in thought about the men who made us feel different than anyone else had made us feel before. Rose felt acknowledged and seen, and I felt desire and passion mixed with a distinct and intense loathing.
Why did Mr. Manchild have to have such a powerful effect on my sanity, on my body? That wasn’t the marriage I was meant to have.
I was meant to have a marriage of cold detachment.
We were to be polite and show a united front in public. I was supposed to run my husband’s social calendar, give him heirs, raise those heirs, and have polite conversations over dinner.
A marriage made as a business deal meant that, for all intents and purposes, we would live separate lives that just intersected with the children and social functions.