Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Undeterred, Leon takes the car key from my bag. “No problem. My future wife likes to give me a good chase.”
At future wife, the guard’s demeanor turns uncertain. His grip on the gun slackens, and he takes a step back. How can I blame him? No one fucks with the Starley family, and in this case, the future Mr. Violet Starley.
To the guard’s credit, he asks, “Is this true, Miss Starley?”
Leon lets me go, giving me just enough space to turn between the car and his body.
I give Leon a hard look. “It’s a mistake to announce something that’s not going to happen to the world.”
A beep sounds as he unlocks the car.
“Oh, it’s happening, darling,” Leon says, taking my arm and pulling me aside to open the door.
The guard takes his phone from his pocket. “Do you want me to call your father, Miss?”
At the futile threat, Leon smiles.
“Stepfather,” I say, yanking my arm from Leon’s hold. “And no, that won’t be necessary.”
The guard doesn’t seem convinced when Leon bundles me into the car.
“Don’t worry,” Leon says to the man in a wry tone as he fits my seat belt. “I take care of what’s mine.”
There’s no mistaking the possessiveness in Leon’s words. The guard backs away another step when Leon comes around the car and takes the wheel.
“You’re a caveman,” I say when he starts the engine.
He chuckles. “If you behaved, I wouldn’t need to be one.”
Crossing my arms, I turn my face to the window and fake indifference, but by the time we arrive at his house, my nerves are shot.
He cuts the engine but doesn’t get out. A couple of seconds pass before he says, “Violet.”
The commanding way in which he says my name makes me look at him.
“Why are you fighting this?” he asks.
My retort is sarcastic. “Because I don’t want to be with you?”
His tone remains gentle. “Why not?”
I utter a laugh. “I won’t even know where to start.”
“Try me,” he says, cupping my hand where it rests on my lap.
I pull away. For starters, I don’t want to be trapped in a life I can never escape from. I want the freedom to make my own decisions. I don’t want to end up like my mom, tied to a dangerous man who’ll commit murder to keep her but who’ll never truly love her. More than anything, I want to take my mom away from here and give her the life she deserves. I don’t want to be tied to a man I stole from, because I don’t want to be reminded of my sins every day I look at his face. If I could, I’d run and never stop. I want to run until my legs turn into wings and the endless expanse of the sky kisses my cheeks. But as long as I don’t have the money, that dream will only unfold on paper, comic book sketches of a life that will never be.
When I don’t reply, he gets out and comes around the car to open my door. Not giving me a chance to refuse, he takes my hand and helps me to my feet. He takes a remote from his pocket and presses a button that opens the pedestrian gate. At the front door, he unlocks a security gate and presses another button to deactivate the alarm.
“Make yourself at home,” he says, leading the way after flicking on the light.
I look around. The entrance is spacious with a cloak room on the left and a powder room on the right. Instead of walls, Arabic dividers with cutout patterns provide a measure of privacy, but with the golden light shining from behind, they border on transparency. A Moroccan lamp with colorful glass beads embedded in the copper hangs from the ceiling, throwing patterns of red, blue, and green light over the wooden floor.
He takes my bag and leaves it on a commode in the powder room while I stand rooted to the spot.
“Would you like to freshen up?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say for no other reason than not knowing what else to do with myself.
He motions at the powder room. “Take your time. Come through to the bar when you’re done. Just follow the hallway to the back of the house.”
Mercifully, he leaves me alone. The decision is strategic and not without compassion, granting me the reprieve to gather myself. Entering the powder room, I take in the plush burgundy ottoman in front of a mosaic vanity with a copper-framed mirror. The cosmetics on the shelf include hand creams, soaps, and body lotion, all caramel-perfumed. That he knows my favorite brand comes as a shock. It’s the one luxury I allow myself, and the products aren’t available in stores. I buy them at the market from a lady who manufactures them from organic ingredients.