Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 126154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
I wish I could tell him that I love him. That I’m right by his side, whatever he’s facing, whatever this… is…
But not yet.
Soon. But not yet.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Alexander
I’m not going to let this shit with my father ruin the evening I have planned for Amy. Nor ruin it for me, either.
I shake off my mood as I get ready. I practice my smile in the mirror, making sure I can pull this off without a hint of exhausted paranoia in my eyes.
My father’s not a man of false promises. The old cunt is a lot of things, but a bluffer isn’t one of them.
There’s every chance I’m going to pay the ultimate price for leaving this business.
But that’s not for tonight.
Tonight is about Amy.
I position the knot of my tie just fucking so.
I fasten my cufflinks with a smile for Brutus.
I’ve just let him out for a piss when she knocks at the door.
She looks incredible in black. Her dress sparkles like the finest grade diamonds, and so do her eyes.
“Claude’s message said dress to impress,” she tells me, and does me a twirl on her way in. “Will I do?”
My throat feels scratchy as I look her over. Her shoes shimmer to match her dress. Her makeup is perfectly natural.
“You look beautiful, Amy.”
She runs a finger down my tie and it makes me shiver. “So do you.” She gives Brutus a scratch behind the ears. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“A surprise?”
“Yes. A big one, I hope.”
We’ve barely any time before the cab pulls up, and that suits me just fine, because any longer standing with this beautiful creature in my hallway would render me incapable of leaving this house without taking her upstairs with me first.
I set the alarm on the way out. I check the street before I join Amy in the taxi.
I feel ghosts on my shoulder, waiting for me, but I brush them off as I take her hand in the backseat.
“Are you okay?” she asks me, and I’m glad the cab is too dark to see her eyes.
“I am now.”
“I’m going to have an amazing evening,” she says.
“You don’t even know where we’re going yet.”
“I don’t need to.” She rests her head on my shoulder and I close my eyes. Savour this moment.
Savour every moment.
Charing Cross Road is heaving when the cab drops us, but the venue I’ve booked is totally deserted.
She stares around in bewilderment as I stroll up to the bar.
“This is… quiet…”
“It’s by design, Amy.”
“It is?”
I smile as I order champagne from the solitary barman, and she raises her eyebrows as I take one for myself.
“A one-off,” I say. “A celebration.”
She raises her glass. “A celebration of what?”
“Life,” I tell her.
Her eyes flash with pain, and I wonder why the word hurts her so badly. It’s so stark to me in this one moment – how little I know about this woman. How little I know about her life.
But she is life.
She’s everything.
And she’s also a fucking mind reader.
“You are life,” she whispers and clinks my glass.
“I’m quitting my job,” I tell her, just like that. “I think it’s about time I lived a little.” I laugh at my own sick little joke.
Her eyes are like dinner plates. “You’re quitting?”
“I’m a lawyer,” I tell her, like she hasn’t pieced two and two together already. “I spend my life enabling very rich people to do whatever the hell they fucking want. Destroy whoever the fuck they want. But not anymore.”
She dithers as she sips her champagne. “And you can just… resign? These very rich people won’t want you to leave, right?”
“How is your drink?”
She nods. “Really good.”
I finish up mine, and the bubbles taste fucking divine.
“It’s time for the show,” I tell her, and take her hand.
Melissa
I’m scared and I don’t know why. I don’t really understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
I know it’s really bad.
I also know for sure that I was wrong about Alexander Henley.
I was wrong about everything.
I thought I knew every single thing there was to know about this man, but I was a fool.
Because I know things. Stupid little things. Tiny pieces of shattered mirror I’ve been fitting together as I go.
But the mirror doesn’t make the man.
The man is right here at my side, and he’s not a collection of things. He’s not his interests, or his divorce paperwork, or the smell on his bedsheets.
He’s not the man they call the puppet master. He’s not the lawyer who loves his job the way I always assumed he’d love it.
And I’m pretty sure he’s a man who can’t just walk away.
I’m sure you can’t just walk away from those kind of people.
My heart is in my mouth as I follow him through to the back room, and the venue is still empty here. A roomful of empty tables, and only one of them has a candle on it, the one right in the middle with the very best view of the stage.