Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Ms. Kearney tilts her head, bitter disillusionment glittering in her eyes as she waits for her husband to deny my accusation, to say he has no idea what I’m talking about.
He bobs his head.
The wife pushes back her chair, gets up, and walks with a stiff back from the restaurant.
I straighten, only marginally pacified.
Anya goes after the woman, but I still have shit to say to this clown. “Anya is mine. If you fuck with her, you fuck with me. Got that, pretty boy?”
He nods again.
“Good.” I straighten his tie, pulling hard enough to yank him forward in his chair. “You’ll hear from my lawyer in the morning.”
The hostess tiptoes over, her face and neck flushed. “Mr. De Luca, is there a problem?”
“No.” I hold Kearney’s eyes. “Not any longer. Isn’t that so, Kearney?”
He squeaks out a yes.
“Can I offer you appetizers?” the hostess asks in a too high voice, but I don’t bother to answer.
I walk outside to find Anya and the wife in a heated argument on the sidewalk.
“He didn’t wear a ring,” Anya exclaims. “He gave me a false name and told me he was single.”
The wife turns up her chin. “You’re not the first young girl who thought you could catch yourself a wealthy man by falling pregnant.”
“Stop right there,” I say, advancing on them.
The woman’s eyes flare when they land on me.
“Your husband is a sack of shit.” I point a finger in her face. “Don’t you dare pin the blame for that son of a bitch’s actions on Anya. I suggest you both get the hell out of here.”
She doesn’t let me invite her twice. She flags down a taxi and jumps inside. The justice comes running out of the restaurant just as the taxi takes off.
Good.
His wife deserves to know she’s married to scum. Or maybe she knows. In that case, I have no sympathy for her.
He hops into the next taxi without a backward glance.
I take Anya’s arm to lead her back to the restaurant, but she yanks free and steps back.
“Anya,” I say in a way that warns her not to walk away from me again. “Let’s go back inside.”
“After the scene you made?” Her nostrils flare. “I don’t think so.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s the guilty one. The only person who should be ashamed is him.”
She presses her arms against her sides and fists her hands into balls. “I’m not ashamed of my baby or of my actions. Yes, I was irresponsible, but I’m not running away from the consequences.”
I close in on her. Crowd her. Corner her. “Are you saying you’re ashamed of me for defending you?”
“Is that what you did?” She makes it sound like a challenge. “You defended me?”
“I also protected you. Do you think murder is beneath a justice? As long as you carry his secret child, he has a good motive for wanting to get rid of you. At least now it’s out in the open.”
“Really?” She utters a laugh. “Is that your excuse for the public spectacle you just made?”
“Why are you so upset about this? I called him out on his bullshit.”
“Are you expecting me to be grateful?” she asks with an incredulous expression.
“What the hell are you saying? What’s wrong with what I did?”
She cranes her neck and holds my gaze brazenly. “I’m saying you should practice what you preach.”
“What the—?” I stab my fingers through my hair and walk two paces away to calm the fuck down, but a second later I’m in front of her again. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Sparks fly from those honey-colored eyes. “I saw the way you looked at my stomach when I first told you I was pregnant. Did you think I wouldn’t notice the disgust on your face? And now you’re pretending to…” She makes a frustrated sound. “I don’t even know what you’re trying to pretend.”
Her words are like punches raining down on my solar plexus. “Wait a minute.” I hold up a finger. “First of all, I don’t pretend. Not with you. I don’t need to. Secondly, why in the name of God would you think I was disgusted to find out you were expecting a baby?”
She opens her mouth to say something, but I don’t give her a chance.
I step closer, backing her up to nowhere. “What you saw on my face that night was the disgust I felt for having pushed my blade against the baby growing inside you. I detested myself for pointing a knife at your unborn child. I still hate myself for it even though that threat wasn’t intentional. You should know by now that I only have admiration for the changes taking place in your body. I hoped my actions would speak for themselves. Haven’t I tried to only take care of you, to give you and your child the best? If you think for even a minute after everything we’ve been through that I’m disgusted by your baby or your pregnancy, you’re a very poor judge of character.”