Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
After a quick shower to do something about my puffy eyes, I throw on some loungewear and search for food. The house is eerily quiet, so I hurry down the stairs and into the kitchen. The sight I find shocks me to my core, Lucky standing at the stove, stirring.
“What are you doing?”
He flashes a smile over his shoulder, and holy shit, my panties are instantly damp.
“If you don’t know what I’m doing, we have a lot of work to do to prepare you for the real world.”
“Smart ass.”
“It’s called dinner, Princess. You slept through dinner last night, so you should be starving by now. Did you have a good sleep?”
I shrug. “Yeah. It was nice to forget the shit show that is my life for a while. Where is everyone, and why are you making dinner?”
He shrugs again. “I sent them home.”
Home? This is their home.
“You mean you sent them to their quarters.”
He frowns at me, and I roll my eyes even though there’s not much heat to the action.
“My staff lives here. Their quarters are at the west end of the house.”
“Okay. Technically? I sent them to their rooms.” He turns back to the stove as if he’s annoyed, but he’s not. I’m starting to understand Lucky.
“I figured you might want a little privacy tonight, even from Frannie.”
Damn, he’s like a fucking unicorn. A bad boy with a heart of gold, being sweet and understanding without me having to ask.
“Yeah, thanks. That was thoughtful of you.”
He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a thoughtful guy.”
He’s joking, but he is thoughtful, probably the most thoughtful person in my whole fucking life. Lucky is not what he seems. On the surface, he’s a rough sort of man, sharp edges, tattoos, and leather, but inside, where it counts, he’s something else entirely.
“You are, actually. What’s for dinner?”
“Spicy Cajun pasta. Can you handle spicy foods, Princess?”
I roll my eyes, but it falls flat as my lips split into a grin. “I can handle the spice just fine, Lucky. Don’t you worry about me.”
The smells in the kitchen swirl around me, and my stomach growls loud enough to startle a bear.
“Can I help?”
“Sure. If it’s not too early to drink, find us something to drink that goes with Cajun pasta.”
His brow quirks, and he laughs at me over his shoulder, but then his gaze darkens.
I take a step back. “It’s never too early to drink. Do you like wine or no?”
He snorts, and I take that as a no.
“It’s not my favorite, but I’m willing to be open-minded tonight.”
I make my way over to the bar in the living room, where Daddy keeps the expensive booze. The wine cellar is downstairs, but tonight feels like a night for something harder. I bounce my gaze between the expensive bottles.
“Gin or whiskey,” I call out.
Lucky laughs. “I’m fine with either.”
“I can’t decide,” I admit with a sigh.
“Gin is fine for cocktails, but all we need for the whiskey is a few ice cubes.”
Good point. I grab the whiskey and two tumblers before heading back to the kitchen. “How about a twenty-four-year-old Irish?”
That killer smile makes another appearance, and my legs go weak. I need a distraction and find it inside the second pantry fridge where Beatrice keeps specialty items that Daddy requests, like the fancy round ice balls. I pick up two and drop them in the tumblers and smile as I pour two healthy servings.
“How’s this for ice?” I hand one to Lucky and keep the other for myself.
“Smells expensive,” he says and takes a sip, groaning as the taste bursts on his tongue. “Tastes really fucking expensive.”
I laugh. “It probably is, but who gives a shit when none of this is real anyway?”
“It is real.” His smile fades. “Just because Geoffrey is living a lie doesn’t mean your life is a lie. This is your home. It’s where you grew up.”
I shrug. “It’s all I remember, but I’m not sure if it’s home.” I look away because it all feels so foreign now, like a puff of smoke that might disappear at a moment’s notice.
Lucky says, “Home is where you feel like you belong,” and he picks up a large black skillet to place on the small table in the kitchen. “Dinner is served, Princess.”
I refill the drinks and bring our plates to the table. “I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “No time like the present to change that, then.” He takes a seat and smiles. “Dig in.”
We take a few bites, and a smile spreads across my face. “This is good. I approve.”
I can feel his gaze on me, heating my flesh and pulsing through my veins.
“Thanks,” he says. “Not too spicy?”
“Nope,” I say and stuff another bite into my mouth.
“How are you feeling? I mean, really?”