Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
I guess I could always ask one of the guards who sometimes walk the halls in this wing whether Mr. Torrio is in, but I wouldn’t want word to get back to Callum I’m asking about him. I’m in the middle of a chess game, basically. Always looking a few moves ahead.
It’s exhausting, but it would be even more exhausting to live under Dad’s roof again. I need to believe I’m making the right decision here, so I remind myself how overbearing and protective he is while I take a shower after finishing dinner.
I hesitate before opening the door leading out to the bedroom. My fingers close around the knob, but I can’t bring myself to turn it. Am I afraid Callum will be waiting there for me? Or am I secretly hoping he is? I wish I knew how to feel about him.
I wish I knew how to feel about myself and the way disappointment rings in the back of my mind when I find the room empty. Nobody’s waiting to punish me… or to hold me.
I pout. Does he really plan to ignore me for the rest of our lives? I could kick myself for believing he ever cared about me on a real level. How could he have if he could so easily avoid me like I never existed?
Sure, I’m avoiding him, but that’s different. I didn’t threaten him with a gun, for fuck’s sake. It’s plain stupidity to want to see him after all of that. It’s bad enough I’m still under his roof, letting him provide shelter for me. I already know I have no pride. But to want him, to hope he pays me a visit in the night. It’s fucked up, so fucked up.
By Sunday morning, I can’t stand it any longer. I don’t feel like going out to pick up breakfast yet again, and I’m going stir-crazy. I’ll scream if I have to stare at these walls for another minute.
That’s what forces me out of the room and how I find myself tiptoeing across the house. Callum’s usually in his office every day of the week. I doubt he’ll know I left the wing. That’s if he even cares.
The sunny kitchen is a tremendous improvement, and the aroma of coffee lightens my mood. I go to the cabinet and grab a mug. I’m about to pour myself a cup when the pantry door opens, and I nearly drop the carafe.
It’s only Sheryl, the family cook, who looks as surprised as I am.
“Oh! I imagined you’d left by now,” she says with a soft laugh. “I was checking to make sure the pantry is stocked with Miss Tatum’s favorites.”
“No, I’m still here. I’ve been spending a lot of time alone.”
She arches her eyebrow. “Have you been eating?”
“I pick things up here and there,” I offer with a shrug.
She scowls, but I don’t think she means it harshly. “A young person like you should save your money, not waste it on cheap junk and overpriced coffee.”
I laugh. “You sound like my dad.”
“Your father is a wise man. Now, there’s no way I’m going to let you leave this kitchen without fixing you something to eat. What would you like?”
“Scrambled eggs, maybe? I’m simple and don’t want to be a pain.”
“Nonsense. It’s what I’m here for, and with Miss Tatum on her trip, and Mr. Torrio in and out at all times of the day, I don’t have nearly enough work to keep me busy.”
“Okay. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take it back to my room.” Because even now, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m taking a colossal risk. He could come strolling in any second, or I might run into him on my way back. Why was it such a big deal for me to come out here? I can’t even remember anymore.
How long does it take to cook eggs, for god’s sake?
By the time she slides the plate my way, I’m ready to run. “Thank you so much,” I murmur with a tight smile before turning away and starting out for my room. This is ridiculous. I can’t believe how my heart’s racing, and my skin’s flushed and sweaty, all because I didn’t want to spend the entire weekend behind a locked door.
These had better be some damn good eggs to make it worthwhile if he finds me out here.
“Bianca.”
It’s not Callum’s voice calling out from across the central hall that separates the two wings, thank god. Otherwise, I’d drop my breakfast all over the floor and maybe pee myself.
How can I still want him, even though the idea of running into him terrifies me? I need help.
Romero is at the other end of the hall. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but I’ve always seen him as a decent guy. I know he’s just as bad as Callum—the only difference is he’s never been mean or threatened me, and he looks friendly enough as he approaches. It’s Tatum he has a problem with, not me.