Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Elias abruptly stops walking, places himself in front of me, and gently clasps my cheeks to assist in ceasing my spiraling.
There’s this mysterious thing about him where he somehow makes the earth stall on its axis. I mean, he looks at me when I speak like I’m all he sees.
All he hears.
His devoted attention both swiftly soothes and stokes my desire for him.
The blueness in his gaze brightens at the same time his grip lowers back to his side. “What were you expecting, Zel?”
This but not exactly this like.
I have the same feeling I did when we first met under false pretenses.
However, I made it through that.
I’m sure I can make it through this.
I stop myself from jerking a shoulder in response recalling that “dolls are not permitted to shrug”, something he drilled into me during our first week together. Instead, I toy with a few strands of hair and poorly confess, “I don’t know…something like a golf club but better?”
He laughs and a flurry of butterflies’ coast in my stomach in spite of my embarrassment.
“Elias.”
Around his continued chortles, he manages to question, “Yes?”
“Stop laughing at me!” I quietly squawk, not wanting to draw attention to us. “I expected a golf club place with a couple of boats. Not this Scrooge McDuck mansion and mega yachts.”
“Point?”
It takes a moment to calm my irked tone to ask, “Do you really think I belong here?”
“You belong wherever I can have you, little doll,” he sweetly states on a gentle touch of my long locks.
“So, it’s okay for you to call me that around all these people?”
The silly grin instantly falters.
“They know about your fetishes?”
His brow twitches in an almost hurt fashion.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!
“Elias, I didn’t mean-”
“You did.”
Okay, I did. But I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. Geez, it reminds me of an awkward moment I had with my mom right before she got sick. She asked me if I liked her new hair dye job. I asked was it done on purpose. Mistake one. She then called it burgundy, and I couldn’t stop correcting her by referring to it as purple, which it clearly was. Mistake two. I was so terrified of making a third mistake, I just stopped talking for the rest of night.
Should I do that now?
You know.
After I apologize.
Sheepishly, I state, “I’m sorry.”
An unexpected grin is suddenly cocked. “You’re not.”
I am, too!
Kind of?
Sorry, I hurt his feelings calling his… “desires” a fetish but not sorry I asked. I need to know boundaries. What is okay to say and what isn’t in such snooty company.
Elias lovingly takes my hand, chuckles to himself once more on a shake of the head, and resumes leading me though the building it is evident I don’t belong in. Side by side, with linked fingers, no one would ever know that this is my first time – or quite possibly after my reaction, my last time – to be here.
No.
We look perfect together.
Cover of Vogue worthy.
He stuns other guests in his light tan pants, expensive watch, and impressive pocket square while I capture envious glances with the way my hair gently sways underneath the traditional piece of headwear that so many other females are also wearing.
Their stares tell me I look like a million bucks, but because of one poorly phrased comment, I feel like absolute shit.
Leaning slightly closer to him, I meekly apologize, “I really didn’t mean to bring up your fetishes.”
He momentarily stops again to meet my gaze.
“Um…preferences. I meant preferences.”
“You didn’t.”
Ugh.
That’s what I want to mean!
Elias merely smirks yet again and resumes our stroll to the pier where posh superyachts are at the ready. Along the coast are personal cabanas set up the most prestigious guests. Prim people sit. Proper people sip.
There’s champagne flowing.
Cigars being lit.
Trays of caviar, tuna tartare, and watermelon with mozzarella on top being offered every three steps we take.
Elias and I settle in our assigned space on a comfortable oblong shaped seat. Light colored curtains bellow in the air, creating a privacy effect, as you can’t see the faces of your neighbors yet still make out their shadows.
I sit up straight, mirroring his poised sitting position, and glance out at the tropical water where there are five superyachts with crews anxiously waiting for everything to begin. After reading the names of each boat to myself to the best of my ability, I bury my fingers in strands of hair near my forearm and give a tentative, “I’m really sorry, Elias.”
“For?”
The fact he didn’t look over while he asked me that causes an ache to appear in my chest. “Using the F word.”
“We’re still on that subject?” Elias nonchalantly reaches over to retrieve our waiting bottle of champagne from its icy, steel encasing. “Why?”
“Because you won’t accept my apology.”
“For?”
“Using that word!”
He lets his crystal stare lock onto my brown.