Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“Sounds amazing,” I breathe, and then flinch, nervously peeking back. Jesus Christ, he’s going to erupt. Be wise, Rose. And then something occurs to me . . .
I turn away from my twitching husband. Is this why he won’t permit me to go back to St. Lucia? Because he’s jealous? Paranoid? “Have a great day. And thanks for calling,” I say, now keen to end the conversation. “I’ll call again later if that’s okay?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you.” I hang up. Okay, I may have, in a stupid, pathetic fit of idiocy while in a mood with my husband, purposely poked him, but does he really think I’m capable of betrayal? And while I’m fucking pregnant? I swing around, immune to the warning signs flashing before me. “If you think you’re keeping me away from my son and safety because you”—I point my cell at him—“are a paranoid asshole, think again, Black.”
“I saw the way he looked at you.”
“And I saw the way that woman last night looked at you!”
He explodes, picking up a mug off the counter and launching it across the kitchen, and it smashes against the wall, sending shards of porcelain spraying. I startle as the echo of the collision and Danny’s bellow combine and bounce around the room, and look at him, shocked, my eyes wide. He doesn’t back down. “You are not leaving me!”
Leaving him. That is how he sees it. I don’t know when he went from demanding I stay away to demanding I stay close, but we’re here, and it is an insight into his frame of mind. Insecure. Uncertain. Even more fucking crazy. Deadlier.
“Sort your fucking shit out, Danny,” I hiss, feeling emotion creeping up on me. But I will not allow him to see it. No. This pull between anger and distress is overwhelming. I leave him to cool off and walk aimlessly, brushing at my eyes as I go.
“Rose?” Goldie says, coming down the stairs, seeing me marching across the lobby.
“I’m fine,” I snap, seeing Brad coming out of the office up ahead, stretching. His arms freeze in midair above his head when he spots me. “I’m fine,” I say, passing him and entering the office, closing the door behind me, needing a quiet room. Alone. Away from the house and the people in it.
I rest against the door and breathe in and out a few times, calming myself, mindful of Doc’s words. Relax. Jesus fucking Christ. That’s never going to happen here. This baby deserves more than this madness. Deserves more than parents like us.
My lip wobbles. How easy it is to forget the good times. The passion. The love.
I eye Danny’s desk and pad over, dropping into the big chair, exhausted by the day already. I’ve been in here many times. And never sat in this chair. I gaze across the surface, then pull the drawer open. A pretty gold letter opener lays across some writing paper. I pick it up and run my fingertip down the edge to the tip, pushing into the pad of my finger until it pierces my skin. I hiss and suck the blood away, looking down into the drawer. Danny’s father’s name is printed across the top of the paper. I smile a little, pulling out a sheet, and as I do, I reveal a photograph of him. I pick it up and gaze at the image of a well-built man with happy blue eyes. His cream suit looks expensive. A brandy is in his hand, a cigar resting between his fingers. He was as formidable as he was handsome. Just like his son.
I swallow and place the picture back in the drawer, seeing something glimmer in the corner. My breath hitches, my hand automatically reaching into the drawer. I pick up the ring and hold it up in front of me, staring into the emerald eyes. I want desperately to sneer at it. Laugh. I can’t.
Silly girl, Rose.
She’s bleeding everywhere, for fuck’s sake.
She’s hemorrhaging. She’ll need a transfusion.
Is it alive?
Smack!
A baby’s scream.
The feel of him latching onto my breast.
My hands begin to shake, and I drop the ring. It hits the wooden top of the desk and clangs as I push the chair away, but no matter the distance, the emerald eyes of the snake shine at me, as if coming to life. A sign of those terrible days coming back to claim me. Imprisoning me again. I look down at my stomach. “Oh God,” I breathe, feeling sweaty but cold, heart palpitations taking my breath away, making it harder and harder to find air. “No, no, no,” I gasp, standing, but I immediately sit down again when my legs give, grabbing the edge of the desk. I close my eyes and try to breathe steadily. I try so hard.
Will she be able to carry again?