Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
The little plaque said it was used not only as an accessory but as a safety net for the women who wore it. It was part of their dowry, but it didn’t go to the husband. It was meant to protect the woman who owned it. If she were to lose, or be left by, her husband, or was to leave, she could sell it and provide for herself and her children.
Wealthy women born more than three hundred years ago had been given more options than I was now, assuming the plaque was true. Would a wealthy woman three hundred years ago have been free to leave her husband? Or had they lived in the same gilded cage I did? With the illusion of freedom.
Most people looking at me from the outside would say I had options, choices. I didn’t, not really. Yes, I could theoretically sell off my jewelry and run away like the women who had worn this clasp might have, but what would I be left with?
How long would that money last? How long would a single piece of jewelry allow me to survive? What would happen to that woman if her husband came after her? How far away would she be able to get?
How far would a controlling man like Manwarring let me run before he hunted me down? Would I make it out of the country, or even the state? I doubted he would let me leave the city before he dragged me back kicking and screaming.
I was lost in thought considering what that meant when arms encircled my waist, and for a brief second, I was excited he had returned. Then I kicked myself for that instant reaction.
“Hey, little miss, you are supposed to be admiring the art, not shopping,” someone with a deep, friendly voice whispered in my ear. I recognized him immediately. It wasn’t Luc, and I should have been happy, but instead I felt a deep pang of disappointment.
“Marco.” I turned in his arms and returned his hug. “How are you? It’s been too long!”
“First you, why are there three big dudes all packing heat watching you? Does the Met have you on some kind of watch list?”
I wasn’t even surprised I was still being watched. Though I was surprised Luc didn’t march back in here and demand to know why I was trying to get rid of him.
Marco was a friend from art school. He had recently separated from his partner, and was always a lot of fun. More importantly, he was always up for a little mischief. Since he was six-four, classically handsome and from “new money,” as my grandmother would say, he was the perfect partner in crime.
Marco had the benefit of being close enough to my world to see it clearly but separate enough to not be under its influence. His parents had meant it when they said he could date who he liked. They just wanted him to be happy.
“Marco, would you like to help me with a little project?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “What kind of project, and why are you smiling like a super villain?”
“How are your acting skills?”
CHAPTER 22
AMELIA
“So, tell me again,” Marco said, putting his arm around me as we headed down the street to a little bistro off Central Park, not too far from the museum. “What are you hoping to gain from this?”
“A little payback.” I rested my head on his shoulder. “And maybe a little clarity.”
“You are playing with fire but slay queen. Slay.”
We went to put on a show for my uninvited, unwanted security detail at a little café on the Upper West Side.
We walked in the park holding hands while we caught up on our day to day. He had attended my wedding but had been too busy with his own relationship drama to reach out and check on me.
After the park, we went for coffee, walking with his arm wrapped around my waist to this cute café which was one of the most beautiful ones in New York. We sat outside on the street where anyone could see us, drinking coffee and laughing under a trellis full of fresh spring florals.
Several people stopped to take photos, some of the stunning, unique café and others who whispered my name or his to each other and would, without a doubt, be sending the photos to the gossip columns. To make the most of this, I made sure to constantly be touching Marco, a hand on his arm or caressing his face.
“What exactly did this man do, that you want to make him jealous?” Marco asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
“He thought I would be content, no, flattered with crumbs of his attention. And that he could delegate aspects of our relationship to his assistant.”
“Kinky.”
“Not like that, though at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked Henry to knock me up if he had a more important meeting.”