Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“And what, you’re just going to stay here and make sure I don’t run off?”
“It’s not necessary,” I assured her. “I can lock every door in this house from my phone if I want to. And even if I couldn’t, you’re wearing that watch. Failing all that, there is one last thing you seem to have forgotten already. I own you, Gypsy. And if you want to fuck with me, be my guest. See how far that gets you. Already, I’m beginning to wonder if prison would be a better alternative.”
Her cheeks flushed red, and her nostrils flared. “You are unbelievable. Do you get off on this?”
“Do I get off on dealing with an overindulged princess who thinks the world owes her everything? The answer is no.”
“You know nothing about me.” She sliced the air between us with her hand, as if to cut any invisible connection we might have.
“I know a lot more than I care to admit,” I replied. “And the first thing you should know is how sorry I am for what happened in your past. But it doesn’t mean that you get to go through life punishing every man who crosses your path for the sins of your father.”
Her fingers curled inward, nails biting into her skin as she turned away to hide the rare display of emotion. “You don’t know anything about my past. I don’t care what you read or who you talked to.”
I let her have that statement because it was the only thing she had right now. The room was quiet, and I needed to establish her boundaries, but my phone alarm went off, signaling it was time for dinner.
I silenced the alarm and walked into the kitchen, retrieving the meal from the fridge that Marisa had prepared for tonight. Gypsy sat at the table, texting her sister while I assembled dinner. When I placed the salad and bread in front of her, she dismissed it with a shove of her hand.
“I’m gluten free.”
“If that were true, then you wouldn’t have eaten the breadsticks at Sinatra,” I said. “But regardless, the choice is yours. You don’t have to eat. You can just sit here while I do.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” She stood and straightened out her dress. “I think I’ll take a shower so I can wash this awful day off me.”
IN ALMOST ANY SITUATION, THERE was usually a silver lining, and in this case, it was Lucian’s open stonework rainforest shower.
I took my time, allowing the hot water to cascade over my sore muscles and soak into my skin. I’d brought my own bath products with me—thank God—because all he had was bar soap and basic shampoo.
After washing my hair and exfoliating my body, I felt like a new woman. Or at least, I felt I could handle whatever the rest of this weekend held. It was only eight o’clock on a Friday, and I was already bored out of my mind.
Stepping from the shower, I reached for one of the towels, which held a lot to be desired. It appeared that even though Lucian had money, he had no clue how to shop for anything.
I dried off my body and reached for the silk pajamas I’d set out, but they weren’t there. In their place was a cheap white tee shirt and black yoga pants. My eyes burned a trail of fire over the offending items before I wrapped the towel around me and walked out of the master bathroom.
I couldn’t even grab something else because it seemed Lucian had locked the door to the closet as well. Nevertheless, I still jiggled the handle until his voice from behind made me jump.
“You can wiggle it all day long. It won’t open unless I unlock it.”
Clutching the towel around me, I turned and met his gaze. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Those are my clothes.”
He crossed his arms and stood firm. “I told you that you would clean the house, and you refused. I told you that you were grounded, and you didn’t acknowledge it. And then you broke a direct order to remain at the table during dinner. The only logical conclusion is that your privileges be revoked.”
“So you’re taking my clothes?” I snorted. “That’s your grand plan to get me to do whatever you want?”
“Not just your clothes.” His eyes flicked to my painted toenails. “The shoes too. And your iphone.”
Blind rage burned into my chest as I stalked toward him. “You can’t do that.”
“I can, and I did.”
“I’m supposed to have contact with Birdie,” I insisted. “You promised.”
“And you can,” he answered. “Through me. If there are messages you would like to relay, I will send them until you can learn some manners.”
“Manners?” A bitter laugh burst from my chest. “That has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard coming from an asshole like you.”