Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“I don’t like your attitude.”
“I bought you pizza and wine. Surely I get a slight sarcasm pass.”
“Absolutely not. If I give you an inch, you’ll take a mile. I’m no fool, Lord Kinkirk.”
He laughed, opening a door that looked modern enough that it was out of place against the thick, stone walls. “Don’t ever call me that again.”
“Why? Do you like it?” I teased him.
He shook his head, walking into the kitchen, but he didn’t answer.
Huh.
Maybe he did like it.
Either way, he was screwed. I was going to call him Lord Kinkirk at every available opportunity.
His first fuck up was telling me not to.
His second was not telling me if he liked it or not.
It was like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey. He had to know I was going to keep calling him it.
“Ooh, this is better,” I said, closing the door behind me. There was a roaring open fireplace that was throwing heat out, and it was practically begging me to sit next to it with a glass of wine. “Oh, now we’re talking.”
William laughed, setting the bag on the island countertop in the middle of the room. “I might have asked someone to start it before I got back,” he admitted. “And there’s probably already a stack of wood outside our room.”
“Oh, how the other half live.” I put the bottle down and glanced around. It was a relatively normal-sized kitchen, and by that, I meant it wouldn’t look out of place in a standard three- or four-bedroom house.
Granted, most regular houses didn’t have huge fireplaces in their kitchens, but if you took that out, it was pretty normal.
“Where are the wine glasses? And what pizzas did you buy?”
William slid the boxes out of the bag, then reached over to a wine glass rack and slid two glasses off. “It’s like they appeared by magic.”
“Do be quiet,” I muttered, cracking open the screw top of the bottle.
It was nice to know that, even in a castle, one could still find cheap wine.
I poured two glasses as William laid out the pizza boxes.
“Here. Duncree’s finest pizza cuisine,” he joked, waving his hand across the boxes like he was a gameshow host.
I pressed my lips together, fighting a smile. “All those pizzas and none of them are my favourite.”
“What?” Alarm flashed across his features, and he looked at the boxes. “Oh, fuck. Don’t tell me it’s pepperoni. I didn’t grab a pepperoni.”
“All right, I won’t.” I collapsed into a fit of giggles, bending at the waist, and burying my face in the crook of my elbow on the countertop. All that fuss and bother, and he’d forgotten one of the most classic pizza combinations in the world.
“Cheese, ham and pineapple, ham and mushroom, barbecue chicken, and a meat feast,” William said helplessly, and I just about heard his pitiful tone through my giggles. “Maybe I should have just asked, then I’d have gotten the right one.”
“Oh, stop.” I was barely able to talk through my laughter, but I lifted my head to look at him. “It’s just pizza. I’m fine with a cheese one.”
He met my gaze, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I can go and find a pepperoni one.”
“William, it’s practically the North Pole out there. I’m not going to make you go out for another pizza when there’s… five. God, why did you buy five?” I descended into another fit of giggles, this time keeping our eye contact.
If I didn’t, I was going to end up laughing my arse off on the floor with no chance of getting back up.
He pressed his lips together, and he looked as though he was trying to repress his own laughter. He had the kind of sparkle in his eye that preceded either mischief or an uncontrollable fit of giggles.
At least it did for me, if you listened to my grandmother.
A dangerous thing to do, all things considered.
“Oh, stop laughing at me,” William said with a gentle huff. He grabbed the cheese pizza and one of the other boxes and carried them over to the cooker as I hauled myself onto one of the uncomfortable-looking wooden stools.
I was right. My arse was going to kill if I sat here for any longer than a few minutes.
I’d wager I’d be more comfortable if I sat on a cactus, but I wasn’t sure I fancied testing it out.
Didn't seem worth the risk just in case the cactus was, in fact, more uncomfortable than this stool.
“There. Two pizzas in the oven.” William brushed his hands together and looked at me triumphantly.
“You look incredibly pleased with yourself,” I remarked, eyeing him speculatively while I cradled my wine glass with one hand. “Is that the first time you’ve ever put a frozen pizza in the oven?”
“Of course not. I was a student once. I lived off frozen pizzas, beer, and bread I may or may not have picked blue spots off.”