Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I stared at her. My beautiful, strong and badass friend. She had never spoken of this. Had never let me see the pain now obvious in her deep brown eyes. I shouldn’t have been as shocked as I was. We all knew that Zoe had secrets. Wren, Yasmin and I had brainstormed many nights over bottles of wine. The more we drank, the more outlandish our theories had become. She’d been a spy for the CIA, now retired, living a quiet life, or that she was currently in the CIA, investigating corruption in Hollywood. That she was a time traveler, sent back to save humanity.
“I don’t want to have to watch you survive that,” she glowered, her voice husky.
My insides shook at her words, the icy chasm of pain in her tone.
I reached out and squeezed her hand, knowing that she’d locked up her hurt deep inside and wouldn’t share it with me, not now. “I won’t, I promise,” I avowed, making a promise that wasn’t mine to keep.
Jay was in the living room when I got home, Debussy playing. My heart melted. My entire body was relaxed, despite the humming of my martini buzz. Even though I was unsettled by my conversation with Zoe, unsettled by everything, my stomach in knots over the realities that I was facing with a life with Jay. But there was no life without Jay. I had to face those uncertainties head on.
With the help from a couple of strong martinis.
Jay was sitting in a big white armchair that was more than large enough for one person, even him with his length and generally overarching presence. There was a twin to this chair between a marble side table, but thus far, it had never been used. If Jay was sitting in his chair, I was too. Not that I was bothered by that. Not a single bit.
He put down his laptop in a dismissive way that only a very rich man would treat a very expensive piece of technology.
I climbed onto his lap without a word, my entire body relaxing even more as I did so. His arms went tight around me, and I wanted to stay there forever, burying my head in the proverbial sand that was literally my fiancé’s rock hard, muscled chest.
But after an evening with Zoe, it was impossible to bury my head anywhere. After a delightful thirty seconds, I lifted my head.
“We haven’t talked about finances,” I spoke, staring at Jay.
He stared right back. “We have not,” he agreed.
I jerked my foot up and down while I waited for him to say more. Though I knew Jay well enough to know he wasn’t going say a word more. He just regarded me coolly, with that slight twinkle in his eye.
“I am going to live here,” I said, moving my eyes around the lavish living room, not entirely sure how I would design it but knowing it would be remarkable. There was plenty of time to change things.
“Yes, you’re going to live here,” Jay affirmed. “Or, if you don’t like it, we’ll sell it and buy something else. Build somewhere else if you’d prefer that.”
I stared at him. Not just at the blasé way he was talking about gaining and spending millions of dollars, but at how willing he was to change huge parts of his life for me. It was jarring to see him trying to be something he didn’t know how to be—a partner, a lover, a husband.
“No,” I replied quickly. “No, I like it here.”
Although these walls held the cold memories of how Jay had been before, of the women who came before me, I loved his fortress on the hill. Our fortress on the hill. I loved that I could always smell the sea, loved that it was always mixed with Jay. Loved that I was watching this house evolve just like I was watching Jay evolve.
“Okay,” Jay nodded once, moving his hand up my bare thigh.
My body responded immediately, as it had since the first time Jay touched me.
“No, not okay.” I placed my hand on his, stopping its ascent.
His chin tilted down toward me in a way that told me he was irritated. Join the club.
“I need to contribute,” I clarified.
“You do contribute,” he argued, trying to move his hand.
I narrowed my eyes and squeezed his hand, using all of my strength to stop him. I knew if Jay really wanted to fight me on this, he would win in a heartbeat. And when his hand got to its intended destination, I wouldn’t be fighting anymore.
“If you say that my contribution has anything to do with sex, you’re really going to piss me off,” I balked, trying not to think about how his hand would feel at its intended destination. “Because that is then basically describing a prolonged Julia Roberts and Richard Gere situation. Not okay.”