Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“I’m not giving you a happy ending while we’re going seventy miles an hour down the highway,” she finally lets out.
“And here I was thinking we’d agreed on taking risks,” I challenge.
She’s quiet for a second, and when I take another peek at her, I notice the hard swallow she takes. A grin threatens to form across my face because I know she’s contemplating it. For the past two weeks, I’ve accepted every opportunity to encourage her to break out of her shell. And it’s worked, mostly. We’d do small things here and there—tiny little bets around the loft, but nothing like what I’m suggesting. I’ve purposely been the perfect gentleman, sleeping on the couch every night except the first.
She’s still a little shaken up from the blow job in the alley and the last note I left, so I’ve been pacing things with her. Getting her to trust me and making sure she’s comfortable is imperative. So, I never push her too hard, and oftentimes, I give a little to keep things fair.
For instance, I’ve agreed to sit across a dining table like some big happy fucking family tonight. Now don’t get me wrong, dinners were a big deal growing up. Except in the Russo household, there was nothing familiar about them. They were always a means to an end for my father, a transaction for whatever business was coming down the pipeline. I can’t recall the last time we just ate and enjoyed each other’s company. But these past couple of weeks with Siân have been precisely like that.
Every night, she cooks and sets place settings at the large dining table I haven’t used since Jennifer furnished the place. Most of my meals are on the go, but with Siân around, I’ve even gained a few pounds. It’s been a nice change, but meeting her proverbial parent isn’t something I have in mind.
“I’m messing with you,” I admit, even though I’d love nothing more than to feel her hands all over me. But it’s fine because soon, she’ll be mine completely.
We cross the county line into a small town an hour outside the city. It’s a vast difference from where we’ve been staying. All the homes are spaced out, some with properties large enough to house animals. It’s dark out, so I can’t really see my surroundings, but as our headlights flash across the different yards, I get a glimpse of the type of place she’s taking me to. It’s rural, quaint, and I imagine everyone knows everyone.
“Why does…?” I pause, trying to remember the caretaker’s name.
“Cynthia,” she finishes for me.
“Yeah. Why does Cynthia live out here and not in the city?”
Siân sighs and settles into her seat with her eyes focused on the road ahead. “At the stop sign, make a left.”
I nod and follow her instructions.
“We used to live out here together, actually. We moved around a lot when I was younger, but it’s always been just Cynthia and me.”
“She doesn’t have any kids of her own?” I already know the answer to this because I know everything there is to know about Siân’s life. It may have taken me a while to find her, but when I did, I learned as much as I could.
Siân shakes her head and drops her chin to her chest, while fiddling with her fingers. “No.” She takes a breath. “Just she and I since I was ten.”
“And your parents?” I ask softly.
Siân swallows again, and this time when she stares up at me, sadness is written in the lines above her brow. “Cynthia’s my parent. Well, the closest I’ll get to one.”
“What happened?”
I can see the level of unease ripping its way through her body, but I ask her anyway. Getting her to talk about what happened means she can heal from it, and if she can heal, no one can use it against her—including me.
“They died. Well, they were killed when I was ten. Three more blocks and it’ll be at the end of the circle.”
“Sorry to hear that. Do they know who did it?”
She shakes her head. “It happened in Italy.” She pauses, then looks at me. “Yeah, fun fact,” she teases gingerly. “Hence the letters being left in Italian. I’m pretty sure whoever’s been stalking me all these years knew my family. I don’t remember anything, but from what Cynthia has told me, my father knew the man who killed him. He would have killed me, too, had she not gotten me out of there. After they killed him, they set my home on fire.”
“What do you mean, you don’t remember anything?”
“I was in bed when it happened. Cynthia woke me up, and we snuck out through a hidden passageway in my room. Apparently, dear ole dad was into some bad shit. I would have never guessed it because he’d been so good at keeping that from me. All I knew was that I was a girl who loved her father, and he loved me.”