Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re right. I don’t need to wear a Cinderella dress, do I?”
“Whoa. Do you have one of those?”
“Maybe one day.” I slip on my sneakers, then take her hand. “You’ll have to show me the way.”
“Okay, follow me!”
I almost have to pinch myself as we approach the giant house. With the sky still dark and a few stars still showing, it looks almost Gothic. Emery traipses over to the house as though it’s the most regular thing in the world, which, to her, it is. She takes me into what I can only assume is the second living room, pointing at a vanity unit. “All my stuff is in there.”
“Let’s get started, then.”
She sits at the vanity unit. I begin brushing her hair, but after a few minutes, I realize she’s not going to make it for long. Her eyes start to close. When I stop, she murmurs, “I’m not sleepy.”
I laugh. “If you say so…”
But a minute later, she’s snoring. I look at myself over the top of her lolling head, a smile on my face. Then, gently, I lift her into my arms and leave the room, heading for the double staircase which overlooks the foyer. It seems grand to me. I can’t imagine walking these wide hallways as a kid, having them be my reality, feel normal.
I walk up and down the hallways, trying to be quiet. All the doors are closed. I can’t just go around opening and closing doors, hoping to find her bedroom. Emery murmurs and hugs closer to me, putting her face in my chest.
I almost scream when Gray speaks from behind me. “Are you lost?”
I turn, letting out a shaky laugh. “Jeez.” My heart starts beating crazy fast when I realize he’s just wearing a pair of shorts. It’s his house. It’s not even six am yet. Of course, he has every right to wear that, and that alone.
I stare for too long at the moonlight shafting in through the big windows, the steel coloring bouncing off his broad chest, the ridges of his abs clearly defined. It’s like he’s carved from stone. He looks down at himself as if only now realizing he’s half naked. When he looks up, he smirks, maybe to smooth over any awkwardness.
“I’ll show you to her room.”
“Yeah, sure. Um. Thanks,” I mutter.
Get it together, Callie.
He walks by me, making me so glad I’ve got his little girl in my arms. I’m not sure what I would do otherwise. That sounds ridiculous. It’s not as if I’m going to reach over and trail my hand down his back and squeeze his very firm, tight backside.
We turn a corner, and he gestures to the room at the end of the hall. “This wasn’t always her room,” he says. “But when she was old enough to have an opinion, she chose it for herself. She likes the fact it has a skylight. She likes to watch the stars before she falls asleep.”
I carry her into the center of the storybook bedroom—a large bed in the middle, a small library off to one side, a play kitchen in the corner, and an en-suite bathroom. She immediately curls up, then whispers, “Thank you, Callie.”
I smile. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“I am. You’re in my dream.”
I turn to find Gray leaning against the doorframe, watching us closely. His smile is enough to drive me wild. He looks proud. As I leave the room, he doesn’t move from his spot. It’s not creepy, but there’s definitely something going on here, or is there? Am I imagining it? Wishing for it? I can smell his manly muskiness as I get closer.
He follows me through the house. But I don’t feel like there’s any threat to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve been around creeps enough times to be able to tell the difference. Or perhaps I’m letting this lightheaded sensation get the better of me.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask.
“I was thinking about my upcoming project,” he murmurs. We’re standing at the top of the double staircase. He seems oddly comfortable around me, shirtless. It doesn’t seem like a big deal. Maybe it’s normal. If we were at the pool, he’d look exactly like he does now, and nobody would care.
“What is it?”
“A plaza. But they want ‘interesting modern art flourishes,’ so that will be the bulk of my work. Were you asleep when my little adventurer came knocking?”
“Half,” I say. “I don’t sleep very deeply.”
“Oh, why not?”
Suddenly, the question feels perverse. It feels like he’s crossing a line. It’s as if we’ve already crossed a dozen lines, but this is, by far, the worst. Because if I were to answer this question honestly, it would mean delving into my past, into all the warped crap. It would mean mentioning the cult. It would mean telling him why I stuck with the stockbroker for so long. It would mean explaining how I helped to free Dad—and that my mother hates me, thinks I’m a traitor, won’t speak to me. She chose the cult. It would imply telling him that when I close my eyes, I see the sickest crap, just vile things.