Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
He says a lot of things after that.
He explains what quizzes I’d have to take and what the assignments would require. All the reading material and whatnot.
I’m not listening to him, however.
I’ve tuned him out not because what he’s saying isn’t important but because I have other important things to focus on. Like the fact that when he reads, he has this habit of lifting his eyes while keeping his chin dipped and for some reason, I find that extremely… sexy.
I find that extremely commanding and authoritative.
The way his forehead creases slightly and the way his eyelids flicker as he looks up at you when he’s busy doing his favorite thing in the world.
And then there’s that pinky finger of his with that silver ring.
While reading, he has a habit of resting that finger right at the corner of a book, right at the edge, and then tapping it, the pages, the binding, whatever, every now and then. Making that silver flash and sparkle like a beacon. I guess he does that when he drinks as well, tapping the glass with his pinkie.
I find that extremely sexy as well.
I find it so sexy that I can’t help but ask, “Why do you wear that ring?”
I’ve always wondered about it but never had the chance to ask. And now, this might be my only chance since he wants me to leave soon.
My question makes him stop talking. It makes him lift his eyes in that sexy way of his and go, “What?”
I tip my chin at his left pinkie. “That ring. Why do you wear it?”
He stares at me a beat, just like that, keeping his face dipped, his forehead creased, before he lifts his face and replies, “It’s a family heirloom.”
The mention of his family gets me alert. It makes me sit up straight on the chair as I ask, “What does it mean?”
He notices the change in my demeanor with a flick of his glance but shows no outward reaction. “Not much. It’s just something every Marshall wears when he assumes his responsibilities.”
“So like your…” I pause and lick my lips, “dad gave it to you?”
“No.” A pause, then, “It was in the will. He was indisposed at the time.”
“What does —”
He sighs. “He has dementia. Alzheimer’s. Meaning he doesn’t remember anything. Doesn’t recognize anything nor is he aware of anything.”
My heart is racing. “Where does he… I never saw him. At the mansion.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Mo didn’t tell you that?”
Shame pricks my chest that Mo was the one to tell me something intensely private to him. “No.”
I wanted to ask her though. But I stopped myself; I’d already broken so much of Alaric’s trust that I wasn’t willing to add another breach to my list.
He watches me for a beat. “That’s because he lives in an assisted facility.”
I clench my fists in my lap. “Do you, I mean, ever see him?”
“Every month.”
“You go see him every month?”
“Yes.”
I swallow. “But he was…”
I don’t know what to say here. I don’t know how to put into words what his father was. How he treated Alaric. How he was responsible for making Alaric feel unwanted and hated. I hated him the first time I heard of him last night from Mo, and I hate him now. The news of his condition doesn’t change that fact. It does make me feel pity toward him though.
“He was an asshole, yes,” Alaric finishes the sentence for me, his shoulders tight. “But he’s still my father and hence my responsibility.”
“Do you always fulfill your responsibilities?”
His jaw tenses for a second before he replies, “Yes.”
“Do you always like fulfilling your responsibilities?”
Another few seconds pass in silence as he watches me with a firm jaw. Then, “No.”
“So then —”
“But it’s necessary, like this one. So can we get back to it?” he cuts me off and glances down at the file. “I have an appointment right after.”
I want to prod more.
I want to ask him more. Ask him all about his childhood, his dad, the school he went to.
Even though I know the story now, it doesn’t mean I know what he felt.
He never told me anything.
In his own words.
But I’m not going to. At least not right now.
When he’s so determined to fulfill his responsibility toward me.
“I’ve arranged a meeting with lawyers of both parties at the end of the week. I’d like you to be there so we can go over the terms of the trust fund and what the next steps are.” He flicks a page. “While you’re under no obligation to listen or to follow those steps, I’d highly recommend that you do so anyway. I think it’ll be wise to set some money aside in investments and stocks. Low-yield bonds are a good solution long term and the lawyers can help you with that. And I’m thinking that maybe you should consider applying for a fashion or design program of some sort. Not this year of course, but the next. In the meantime, we should look into community colleges and something similar. While I make no promises, I can talk to a few of my colleagues and see what I can come up with and —”