Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I don’t think I actually thought straight until after it was over, panic and horror rushing through my system as I backed out of the doorway, out of my bedroom, making a mad dash to the restroom downstairs to clean up, then get the fuck out of the house.
I was sure she hadn’t seen or heard me.
But, somehow, she’d been weird ever since.
The first day, I just chalked it up to maybe feeling weird that she’d masturbated in my tub, even if she believed it had been a private moment. And, well, maybe hormones played in since she’d had that mad dash out the door after telling me she’d run upstairs because of a “bug.”
That didn’t explain, though, why she continued to avoid me after that.
Unless I was just being paranoid, had been getting too accustomed to her being around. Dancing around the kitchen to some old pop songs. Serving me dinner I knew she’d put a lot of effort into. Talking to me over dinner about plans for the house.
I was getting used to her.
And, I had to admit, even just to myself, in a way that wasn’t professional.
I finally understood what he’d meant when Santi had said that “playing house is dangerous.” Because, in a way, he’d done the same thing with his girl that had been hired to bodyguard and babysit his son. Then, yeah, shit got serious with them. The whole happily-ever-after kind of serious.
Christ.
My mom really did know what she was doing when she’d sent applicants my way, didn’t she?
Somehow, she’d known that if she just placed the right woman in my house, doing all the shit a wife would do, that I would start to like it, crave it, want it, then make it happen.
I mean, fuck, not that Avery was the “right woman” or anything.
Sure, I liked her. Found her inappropriateness charming and clumsiness, babbling, and free spirit electrifying. And, yeah, she was gorgeous.
But that didn’t mean I was going to put a fucking ring on her finger.
I was getting carried away.
If I wanted to know what was going on, I could be a fucking adult and ask her.
Decision made, I made my way out of my room, heading downstairs for the day. I didn’t have anything going on, with Lorenzo taking a family day, and not much on my plate since we’d already hammered home how much we needed to close ranks and cool shit down for a while with the Cosimo shit still making some headlines on slow news nights.
I didn’t expect to see Avery.
But she probably thought I was already gone for the day, since I typically left before she even got up in the morning.
But there she was.
In the living room.
Paint and trays and brushes and tarps spread out all around her. I’d told her that I would hire painters, that there was no reasons she had to be doing that kind of labor, but she’d been stubborn about it, digging in her heels and claiming she would have no sense of satisfaction watching other people bring her idea to life.
She already had her music on, and was wiggling around to yet another pop song I don’t think I’d ever heard before, all thumping beat and easy to remember lyrics.
A movement out of the corner of my eye had me looking over to see Silvano making his way up the steps.
Opening the door, I let him in, and his gaze went immediately to the living room. Where Avery was attempting to both pry open the can of paint and take a sip of her coffee at the same time. A choice that made the paint can roll away—luckily, with the lid still firmly hammered in place—, spill coffee over her shirt, and then trip over her collection of brushes and trays as she tried to grab the rolling paint can.
“Christ, she’s a mess,” Silvano said, making a laugh escape me at his serious tone. Serious was his default, though. Save for when he was being a sarcastic prick, which was also a fundamental part of his nature.
“She is,” I agreed, nodding.
“Then why the fuck you smiling?” he asked. “Isn’t her job to make shit less messy?”
It was.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I like her kind of mess, I guess,” I said, shrugging.
It was about right then that Avery snagged the can, and simultaneously noticed two sets of feet in the hallway, making her jolt upright as she stepped back, nearly falling backward with the stepladder.
“Shit,” she hissed, closing her eyes as she tipped her head back to the ceiling, seeking some higher power to intervene. “I know. I know. I’m a fucking disaster,” she said as she flicked off the music.
“I mean at least you can admit that about yourself,” Silvano said, getting a backhand across the chest from me, but Avery let out a little laugh.