Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
I tried to sound like I’d be totally okay with that, but I definitely failed. I was internally panicking at not only my daughter leaving early but not having her under the same roof as me for the remaining time I had with her. But the alternative…
Although I would’ve liked to think we could control ourselves—in the interest of my daughter, for goodness’ sakes—I knew that we couldn’t.
Violet’s shoulders dropped, her eyes softening at the edges. “No, Mom, I’m not leaving earlier. I love it here.”
Too caught up in the moment, I looked back up at Swiss. “Well, then do you know something I don’t?”
“I know that Violet’s room is gonna be at the other end of the house. Our new house.”
I stared at him. “Our new house?” I parotted.
He nodded, a seed of a smile on his face. “As much as I love this place, and I fuckin’ do, I think we need somethin’ a little bigger… somethin’ ours. Place with a kitchen you can spread out in.” He motioned to the small, orderly area I was using for prep.
Though I made it work and loved it more than the all-white kitchen with endless space in my last house, I would’ve liked some more room.
“There were a few last-minute details I had to hammer down, but this weekend is move-in day.” His eyes cut to Violet and they shared a look.
A knowing look. A look that I was not privy to, so my eyes darted between them accusingly.
“What was that about?” I demanded.
“Well, Swiss wanted to show me before he signed all the papers,” Violet shrugged with a smile. “He wanted to make sure you’d like it, and he wanted to make sure I liked it, since he wants it to be my home too.” They shared another look. This time it was not knowing. It was more intimate.
It was a look that made me want to burst into tears.
Violet blinked away the emotion in her eyes that I knew came from having a father who would not have asked her opinion on such things. A father who wouldn’t have cared whether his wife or daughter liked it, who’d have expected them to accept it.
“And I like it,” she exclaimed brightly. “Love it, in fact. And he’s right… There’s like an entire house between our bedrooms. Plenty of space and sound insulation.” She waggled her brows.
I wanted to sink into the ground.
“So it’ll only be a few days,” she continued. “And I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise not to become a prospect, although I did convince Hansen to let me if I change my mind.”
I grinned again. “I bet you did,” I muttered then I looked up at Swiss. “She’ll be okay there?”
“She will,” he grunted. “Safest place for her.”
Thinking on it, forgetting about the parties with strippers and copious amounts of booze, I had to agree with him. The biker clubhouse had been the safest place for me… my entire life. Until this house.
“Do I get to see the home you’ve bought for us without consulting me?” I asked snippily. Or at least, I tried to be snippy. The concept of my fiancé buying a house without my input was something Preston had and did do. But this was different.
This was Swiss.
And I trusted him utterly and completely. If I was honest with myself, I did not want to go through the rigmarole of open houses, inspections, figuring out if I liked a place... Because my home was in this kitchen. Not the walls, the roof or the floor. But the two people I was with.
Everything else was extra.
“Nope,” he replied happily, his eyes twinkling as he regarded me. “Gonna fight me on that, Countess?”
Desire assaulted me in a way it shouldn’t with my daughter in the vicinity. Yeah, maybe it was a good thing she was moving to the club. “No,” I answered quickly. “No, I’m not.”
So that’s how it was decided. My almost nineteen-year-old—her birthday was that weekend, yet she’d somehow convinced me not to throw her a party—would be moving in with outlaw bikers before heading off to college.
And I would be moving into a new house. The one my biker fiancé had picked out for us.
“I was thinking about something,” I said, trailing shapes on Swiss’s pec.
It was late. Very late.
We’d packed Violet’s things into her rental car—well, Swiss had packed her things. He wouldn’t dream of us lifting anything heavier than a purse—then followed her on the motorcycle to the club. I’d settled her into one of the vacant rooms, promising to bring some proper sheets and a comforter the next day.
She, unsurprisingly, had rolled her eyes at that. Though she’d grown up with nice things, she was not spoiled or a snob, something I was delighted to discover. I mean, I’d known that, but I’d never seen her outside the manicured, curated life we’d created for her. And she was thriving in this one already.