Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
I frown.
“I don’t see anything . . . it’s how I feel.”
I take his hand again.
“For the first time in my life . . .” He frowns, as if getting the wording right in his head.
“How do you feel, Tris?” I whisper.
His eyes meet mine. “Like myself.”
Emotion fills my heart.
“I feel that when I’m with you, I’m who I’m supposed to be.”
I smile softly.
“It’s like . . .” He frowns. “It’s like I’ve gone back to being a teenager, and you’re reprogramming everything I thought I ever knew.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I whisper, confused. “I don’t want to reprogram you.”
“No.” He frowns. “Wrong choice of words. I mean, you’re showing me what I want as opposed to what I was supposed to want.”
“You mean my kids?”
“No,” he whispers. “I mean you.”
I frown.
“You’re everything I never knew I wanted. Feminine but strong. Your beautiful body.” He smiles softly. “Your selflessness with your boys.”
I watch him as my heart somersaults in my chest.
“You put everyone’s needs before yourself, Claire.”
My stomach clenches.
“And for the first time in my life, you make me want to put someone before me.”
I’m overcome with emotion. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For being everything that I thought you weren’t.”
He smiles. “No, thank you.” He raises his glass to mine. “For being exactly who I thought you were.”
I smile through tears. “Who, a bitch?”
He chuckles as he clinks our glasses together. “A raving bitch with a magical vagina.”
I laugh out loud.
It’s official—I do love this man . . . I really do.
I just wish I could tell him.
I straighten my dress. “Do I look okay?” I whisper as Tristan leads me through the crowd. We’ve just arrived at the auction and are weaving our way through the people to the other side of the room to meet his two younger brothers. I’m sick with nerves.
“You looking fucking hot, Anderson. Stop it,” he whispers as he strides through the crowd.
God, this is a nightmare. Why did I agree to this?
We are in a trendy art gallery warehouse; the crowd is eclectic and buzzing with excitement.
Huge abstract paintings are on the walls, and people are gathered in front of them, admiring their beauty. Loud funky music is being piped through the space, and waiters are circling with silver trays and glasses of champagne.
This is another world, far from the school homework I’m usually doing on the dining room table on a Sunday night.
We get to a clearing. “There they are.” Tristan smiles as he leads me toward two men standing and looking at a painting.
They are handsome and similar to Tristan: dark hair and tall and built—the family resemblance is strong. Dressed in jeans and sports jackets, they look as much like fashion models as their brother does.
“Hey.” Tristan laughs as we get to them.
They both spin toward us, and their eyes light up. “Tris.” They both laugh as they all shake hands.
“This is Claire.” Tristan smiles proudly. “This is Elliot and Christopher, my two younger brothers.”
“Hi,” I breathe . . . oh God, this is hell.
Their eyes widen as they stare at me, and then, as if remembering their manners, they smile. “Hello, Claire.” Elliot shakes my hand first. “Lovely to meet you.” He’s businesslike and emits a dominant power—quite daunting, actually.
“Hi.”
Christopher smiles and leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “Hi, Claire. I’ve heard a lot about you. So lovely to finally get to meet you.” Christopher is much more relaxed, it seems, and he looks like Tristan. He’s my favorite—I can already tell.
“So . . .” Christopher smiles as he looks between us, making small talk. “What have you two been doing all weekend?”
From my peripheral vision, I can see Elliot looking me up and down as he stands back and sips his champagne. What is he thinking?
God, I just want the earth to swallow me up.
“Oh, you know.” Tristan smiles as he puts his arm around me. “Bit of this and a bit of that.”
Christopher laughs. That’s code for sex.
And he’s right; we’ve been at it like rabbits all weekend. It’s a wonder I can walk.
Tristan holds his champagne glass up toward the painting we are standing in front of. “So this is Harriet Boucher?”
Elliot’s eyes light up as he stares at the huge canvas in front of us. “This is her.” He smiles at it in awe. “Spectacular, isn’t it?”
Tristan scrunches up his nose, unimpressed. “Meh, it’s okay.”
Christopher laughs. “I could take it or leave it, to be honest too.”
Tristan and Christopher begin to chat between themselves.
Elliot’s eyes come to me. “What do you think, Claire?”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I reply.
He smiles softly as his eyes go back to admiring the painting. “Yes, it is.”
“Tristan says that you love this artist?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“I do.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “Not love her as such, but I admire her work. She is by far my favorite artist.”