Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
My eyes widen with astonishment. “You did what?”
“It is parked behind the gallery.”
I shake my head. “You bought me a car!”
He looks amused. “Yes. The keys have been delivered to the gallery. Now drink up.”
I pinch my nose and gulp the brew down. “That was actually not too bad,” I say, before my knees turn to jelly. As I drop into soft blackness, a pair of strong hands catch me.
Chapter 41
Autumn
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wo07t6XjNO4
-Too Lost In You-
I awaken on a wide bed. There is a glass ceiling above and through it I can see the stars in the night sky. I blink and turn my head. The vast room is lit only by moonlight. It is very beautiful, but for a second I do not understand where I am or how I came to be there. Then it comes back, Rocco’s apartment, the drink…
I take a deep breath. How strange. My headache is gone and I feel as fresh as if I have dove into a cool waterfall in summer. I rise to my elbows.
“Ah, you are awake.”
I realize my dress is very crumpled as I sit up and face him. He is sitting on an armchair. He has on only his dress shirt from the night before, the collar unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up. In the pale light of the moon he looks other-worldly. Too magnificent to be real. A wild fantasy that few women ever expect to meet in their lifetime.
“Where am I?”
“One of the bedrooms in my apartment.”
“How long have I been sleeping?”
“No more than an hour.”
“Wow, I feel like I slept for hours. That brown brew of yours is powerful stuff. I feel amazing. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. You can take a bottle back with you. Just dissolve two tablespoons in a glass of water and voila…”
“Thanks, I will. Sam will almost definitely need it tomorrow.”
“Just make sure there is one hour for her to sleep it off.”
In the ghostly light from the moon, he sighs.
“So this is it,” I whisper. “Time for you to spill the beans.”
He nods slowly. “Yes, it’s time, but first may I tell you a little story?”
I pull the silky sheets around my shoulders. “I’m all ears, Rocco.”
He drops his head and his wonderful hair glows in the moonlight. How I long to run my fingers through the silky strands.
“A very long time ago, in a far-away country, a very lonely man found a baby pigeon in the woods. It had fallen out of its nest. It was a poor thing, half-dead, a leg was mangled, and its wings were caked in mud. He took it home in his coat and nursed it as if it was his child. He woke up many times in the night to feed it warm milk from his palm. When it looked like it would die, he kept it inside his shirt, and prayed for it to survive. And it did. It became an adult. It always limped and it never really learned to fly. Something was wrong with one of its wings. Nevertheless, he loved it with all his heart.”
Rocco looks up at me, a strange expression in his eyes. “One day, he went again into the woods and he found a box with a baby hawk inside. Hawks were precious in the country he lived in. Only kings and royalty owned hawks and there are only a few of them left in that land. They could fetch many pieces of gold in the market. He guessed the box must have fallen off the horse of a hawk merchant. There was nothing to be done, but to take the hawk home. The hawk was nothing like the pigeon. It was wild, fierce, aloof, and almost reptilian in nature. It didn’t want to snuggle in his shirt. It was born to be a predator, so he began to train it to hunt.
“He would hold a dead rat in his hand, and the hawk would fly towards him and land on his gloved hand. Then one day, the leather contraption that was attached to the hawk broke, and the hawk soared away towards the tall trees at the edge of the woods. He knew he had to get the hawk back down quickly, or it would fly away and eventually get tangled in a tree branch. Hanging upside down it will starve to death. He called to it and showed it a dead rat, but it refused to come to him. A storm was brewing. Big drops of rain had already started to fall. He was desperate. He needed to do something to bring the hawk back.”
His voice has dropped to a whisper and I lean forward to hear. Something about the story makes the hairs on my hand stand. I know it's not just any story.
“An idea hit him. It was a brutal idea, but he was desperate. He didn’t know what else to do. He ran into his house, took his pigeon from its cage, and went back out into the storm. He held it up high over his head and called to his hawk, but it wouldn’t come. Tears began to pour down his face. He lowered the pigeon down. It was wet and bedraggled, and looked at him with an uncomprehending look. He stroked his finger along his throat. He knew it couldn’t fly, but he could throw it into the air, and the frantic flapping of its wings would surely be irresistible to the predator instinct of the hawk. He would fly towards it and tear the pigeon to bloody pieces. At that moment he would be able to recapture the hawk. The pigeon would of course be killed. It was a terrible sacrifice, because he loved the pigeon, you see. It was his only companion. But anybody at all would have made the same decision. The hawk was precious, rare, and worth so many pieces of gold. He could always buy or find another pigeon.”