Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Marnie lights up. “Good pills? The kind that makes my back stop feeling like it’ll fall off?”
Birdie waggles her hand. “Good-ish pills. I’m not about to make you an opioid addict, but we’ll take the edge off, how’s that?”
“I’ll swallow whatever you got. Incidentally, that’s what I used to say to my ex-husband.”
I grimace, thinking Birdie might not appreciate Marnie’s lewd sense of humor, but the old woman only cackles.
“My husband wishes. Your ex must be a real piece of work to lose a girl like you. Now, let’s talk schedules. Mrs. Corvino, you’re welcome to stick around if you like?”
“No, that’s okay.” I kiss Marnie’s forehead. “Love you. Get settled. I’ll be back later.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She sinks into her pillow and closes her eyes. “Not with those fucking stairs.”
“We’ll install an elevator,” I promise as I make my way into the hall.
A warm feeling swells in my chest. Marnie’s here and she seems okay. The house is safe and it’s almost like the attack never happened. The only problem is Rafe.
He’s pulling into himself and I don’t know why.
Since Hattie’s busy with a new nanny, I have time and space to breathe. I linger, letting myself soak in the good feeling for a few minutes. Marnie’s going to be okay—and then the hard work of putting her back together and trying to make up for the hell I put her through will begin.
But for now?
We’re all under one roof, and we’re alive.
I walk down to the kitchen. Byron’s prepping lunch. “June! Always a pleasure! Your lovely daughter was here only a few moments ago. That nanny has her hands full.”
“Oh no, what did Hattie do?”
“Stole six carrots and said she’s going to feed the ponies.” Byron gazes at me with unashamed pride. “That girl’s got an imagination.”
“She does, only I hope it doesn’t get her in trouble.”
“A little trouble’s okay! That’s what I think, at least! Now, what can I get you?”
“Something for Rafe, actually. He’s in his office working and I doubt he’s taking time to eat.”
Byron pauses and looks at me, surprised, and I fidget under that curious frown. But it quickly passes and he’s back into motion. “I know just the thing,” he says, gathering ingredients. “Give me a few minutes. Sit over there.” He gestures at a chair near the wall with a knife. “And don’t move!”
I do as I’m told. It’s nice watching Byron work. He’s a master and it shows. The man’s meticulous, careful, and skilled. His attention to detail is impressive and his knowledge of ingredients, flavors, techniques, and cooking time is unsurpassed.
Which is why I’m delighted when he hands me a plate with grilled cheese.
“Seriously? This is what he wants?”
“This is what he needs,” Byron corrects. “Wait a moment. One more thing.” He hurries off and returns with a big mug of hot tea. “Now you’re settled.”
“I’m not even sure I’ve seen him eat carbs before.”
“Rafe takes care of himself,” Byron agrees. “But I have a feeling he’ll bend some of his rules if his wife brings him that personally.”
I get the sense I’m being set up for something, but I don’t have any other ideas for what to feed my monster husband. I thank Byron and carry the plate and the tea down the twisting halls, ignoring the construction, the holes in the walls, the stink of blood and sweat, the workers and twice the number of guards, until I reach Rafe’s private office.
His double doors are exquisite. I knock, awkwardly balancing everything in one hand, and let myself inside. The interior is large and dim, lit only by weak orange overhead bulbs turned to low. The fireplace is quiet with a fine sheen of ash along the bottom. Books line the shelves. A couch is against one wall. The floor is covered in thick, beautiful rugs.
And a massive desk owns the space, behind which sits my husband.
He’s frowning at his laptop and barely seems to notice I’m standing a few feet away.
“Uh, Rafe? Sorry if I’m interrupting.”
He glances over, blinking slowly as he comes back to the room. “June. When did you get here?”
“Just a second ago.” I walk to his desk and place the plate down. “I got you some—“ I awkwardly tilt the tea mug and spill some on the fine mahogany.
For a beat, I think he might be angry. This desk is clearly worth a fortune. It’s lacquered, perfectly shiny, with intricate carvings and raven motifs. It wouldn’t be out of place in a museum.
But he only grunts and moves his papers before they get wet.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay. I’ve got it.” He walks to a drink cart and comes back with a bar towel.
“Oh god, I messed it up. I can be such an idiot—“
“June.” He wipes the spilled tea and puts a hand on my hip. “It’s fine. Really. It isn’t a big deal.”