Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“You know what? Don’t ask me to do anything for you again.”
“I didn’t ask you to do this. In fact, I don’t understand why you would, unless you think you had to step into Whit’s shoes because he’s not around.”
“You mean there’s another Whittington in line to eyeball me menacingly?” Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her body closer.
“The things you’ll put up with for love, right?” In my arms, she turns her brother’s way, hands resting over my arms. “Did you tell Brin about my wedding gift?”
“I did not.” And I don’t know where this is going as dark amusement flciks across her face.
What the fuck am I going to owe her now?
More to the point, what am I going to get for it?
“Oh my God.” She practically bounces on the spot. “You’re not going to believe what my darling husband bought me.”
I tighten my arms around her. Don’t overdo it, princess. Also, fuck do I like the sound of that.
“What?” Brin sounds suspicious. For good reason.
Lavender turns and, rising to her toes, presses a kiss to my cheek. I feel every inch of her body against mine—thighs, stomach, breasts. She’s a fiery heat that I try to contain by wrapping my hands around her waist.
“He’s going to be so jealous.” Her whisper skates my cheek as she pulls away.
Reluctantly, I let her.
“Follow me, loser,” she sings, making for the door.
“I’m pretty sure she wasn’t talking to me,” I murmur.
“Raif, you’ll want to see this,” she asserts, disappearing into the hallway. “Leo?” I hear her call. “What floor was the garage on again?”
“What’s she talking about?” Brin demands, glancing behind him. “What the hell have you bought her?”
I gesture him ahead. I wouldn’t want to steal her thunder.
24
LAVENDER
Brin’s face. Days later and I’m still tickled pink when I think about it. Brin does not look good in green.
I know it was mean of me to taunt him with the thing he most covets, but I couldn’t help myself. Though technically, my McLaren is like his dream car multiplied by ten. And I suppose, technically, it isn’t a gift from Raif but more like something I’ve yet to earn.
I don’t even like it, to be truthful. It’s way too flashy for me, and the way the door opens up rather than out is annoying. It’s also an invitation to be carjacked, so I’ll be selling it to the highest bidder as soon as Raif and I are through. I might even give Brin first refusal.
Just for shits and giggles.
If he’s answering his phone to me by then.
I’m not ashamed to say I’d tried to use my… womanly wiles to persuade Raif to tell me exactly what went on between Brin and him. But he just did something with his tongue, and my brain cells all went pop.
I suppose I have fifty-one weeks of this to work out what I’m missing. Something tells me it’s envy, plain and simple.
Fifty-one weeks of annoying him.
Fifty-one weeks of pleasure.
Poor me!
It’s amazing how only a week has passed. I feel like I’ve been living this life, the high life, for way longer. Daisy and I get on like a house on fire. As in, she sometimes looks at me as though I’m scary. But she’s slowly coming out of her shell around me and loved being in the gallery again on Tuesday.
Unlucky for her, she was back to school the following day. I’d assumed that would mean I’d have to go back to slumming it and using public transport. But when I came downstairs on Wednesday morning, phone in hand, trying to work out the Tube timings, I found a new face in the kitchen.
New to me at least because Luis’s face looks like it’s been around a few years. As well as a few fists. Anyway, he introduced himself to me as my new driver and has barely said a word more since. It’s all a bit strange. I can have a conversation with Sam, the chef, no problem. He speaks to me like I’m a regular person. Antonio will answer if I ask him a question, but Leo won’t even look me in the eye.
I don’t think it’s completely unrelated to how I’d found a Harrods bag on my side of the bed on Tuesday evening. Inside was something I hadn’t brought with me from my flat: a dressing gown. My old dressing gown was once fluffy but is now a little ratty. It has a hood with teddy bear ears, and you could probably soak it and make a pan of soup from the stains.
My new dressing gown, more rightly a robe, is made from oyster-colored silk, full-skirted and bell-sleeved. I feel like a silver screen goddess when I’m wearing it. But boy, are those sleeves annoying when you’re eating porridge.