Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Now, I glance out the window as people powerwalk past his car, stalled in traffic. A thick tension has taken over, creating an imaginary barrier. Victor obliterates the barricade, reaching over and taking my hand. I untwine my fingers from his grasp.
“Luxury,” Victor utters in a suggestive, throaty voice.
I keep telling myself he didn’t say no. He didn’t say he didn’t love me. He just said nothing.
A disturbance cramps my abdomen. “I finally understand that there are a few things you refuse to talk about, Vic. Allow me to make it easier on you. I made a mistake between the two of us.”
With me smooshed against the car door in my tiny little space of the car, I watch from the corner of my eye as he scrubs his face. The feeling of nails scraping across my gut gathers my attention.
Don’t do it, Lux, I warn myself as the unease attempts to demolish my reality bringing about something sinister. It hits me. In Victor's presence, I hadn’t noticed the lack of my PTSD episodes. Another reason I’ve fallen for Vic. He became my vice, chasing away the boogeyman who threatened me to relive the past.
A while later, I’m looking up at the art store right below the loft I share with my dad. Victor starts to undo his seatbelt, noticing my worry as Dad exits the barred gates.
“Don’t waste your time being chivalrous, Vic.” I slide out and slam the door. Holding my breath, I walk across the crowded street. A glance over the shoulder isn’t necessary. The Mercedes has continued on.
My pent-up breath escapes.
Mom had a saying about a man willing to fight for you. God, the words evade me even now as tears sting my ducts.
“Luxury, where have you—?” Dad pauses his ranting to peer into the ultra-dark tinted windows as the car passes opposite us. “Where have you been? Who have you been with?”
“Dad.” We catch the eye of window shoppers. I place my chilled fingers inside the new peacoat Victor bought on the way out of the hotel.
“You’re an adult—but in this day and age—Luxury, we both know the world’s different.” A faraway look torments his eyes.
My gaze falls away as a memory of Momma threatens to pull me under. “I know.”
“Detective Caruso called.” Dad’s light brown eyes are nearly wet with tears. “I haven’t had a wink of sleep, worrying about you. Hell, I even went down to the station and almost got myself tossed in jail late last night. I-I called . . .”
“Uncle Red?” I huff. I can’t recall their last conversation. If I had a sister or a brother, I’d pray for them every day. I couldn’t fathom not speaking for so long. “The two of you make up?”
“Luxury!”
That’s a resounding no. “Sorry. My phone died yesterday evening. Please, let’s go inside and talk.” As I approach the wrought iron door, Dad snatches it open, waving a hand for me to go ahead.
The rickety elevator ride seems even longer than the drive from Hotel Delacroix to home this morning. Instead of kicking off my shoes at the door, I start for the kitchen with Dad on my heels.
The brick and stainless-steel kitchen beckons me to make tea. I grab the shiny red teapot from the burner and pour water from the refrigerator door. I place the teapot back onto the burner, turning around to lean against the counter. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Sunlight streams through all the windows, setting his reddish hair to flames. Dad glares me up and down. “Luxury, someone tried to rob you, and you lack the decorum to call or come home.”
I speak as he tries to catch his breath. “Dad, I’m okay.”
He puts his hands up as if at a loss. “I’ve tried so many times. Told you we could move anywhere under the sun. I was set to head the Washington location of Greco!”
“I know.” Because Momma died, and you were willing to move away. At the time, I had the longest conversation with Uncle Red about Dad. How could my father want to forget? But honestly, I removed Momma out of my mind and made her Gina just like Detective Caruso. Who am I to point fingers that Dad’s stuck in his head?
“Here is where you want to live? Child think.” Dad’s index finger taps his forehead.
“I am. I’m contemplating a steamy shower and putting yesterday behind me, so I won’t be giving a recount of what occurred for the moment.” My tone falls flat. “Can we talk about something else after I change?”
“Sure, that’s okay.” Dad puts his hands on the dining table in a defensive stance as he looks across at me. “Caruso disclosed what happened. Now, who was in the car?”
“Dr. Finch.”
He slowly takes a seat. “I haven’t crossed paths with Finch since we met.”