Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
I swallowed knives at the thought that I was stuck in a one-room cabin with him for … however long. However long it took me to decide that marrying Stone was preferable to being here with Knox.
I quickly averted my gaze. “I’m going to have a shower.” Why I felt the need to tell him this, voice it to him almost as if I was asking for permission, made me rageful. I hoped that the cabin had hot water. The chances were slim, but a girl could hope. Even if it was safe to say hope was dead there. Knox had trampled on it with his loafers.
He didn’t say anything. Not even a hint of a gesture to acknowledge that I’d said anything. That further served to amplify my rage. Though I wanted to scamper off to the bathroom with my tail between my legs, I gritted my teeth and stood my ground, lifting my eyes up to once again meet that soulless stare.
I counted to ten in my head, holding it, unmoving, remaining silent. It wasn’t exactly a challenge because I knew I’d lose any kind of staring or menacing competition with him. It was more of a statement. That I wouldn’t wither under his gaze like a flower dying from lack of sunshine.
I might’ve looked like a delicate flower, but my roots were hardy, unyielding. I didn’t wear my strength on my sleeve like he did, but it was there, deep under the surface.
I would survive this. Him.
It was a promise I made to myself in those ten seconds.
Then, with my head held high, chin tilted upward in defiance, I marched to the bathroom.
It was only once my clothes were stripped off and I was under the spray of water that was somehow gloriously hot when my strength started to wane.
As my muscles loosened, fatigue flooded my bloodstream.
Why did I think I could handle this?
I had to work up the strength to schedule my dental cleanings.
The water rained over me, washing away my tears.
It was the first time I’d cried since I was taken. Not that there hadn’t been opportunities for me to indulge in a sob fest. Yet no matter how much I wanted to, I would not cry in front of Knox. He would not see that. He would not get that.
I gave myself a minute. A minute curled up at the bottom of the shower, stifling my sobs with my fist lest he hear them.
And once the minute was up, I was out of the shower, the biting air prickling against my skin.
My first instinct was to rush into my clothes, get comfortable, warm. But I needed to get used to discomfort. Needed to relax in the frigid environment.
So I squeezed my eyes shut and stood there, dripping on the bathmat, shivering, for another minute.
My clothes were as practical as you could get for someone like me—someone who loved color, who taught children for a living and expressed herself through clothing. The worn jeans I dragged on were covered in painted flowers, all in different colors, some fading from wear.
I put on a tight, basic tank, not bothering with a bra since I was slinging on a bright-pink, loose, knit cardigan over top.
I wanted comfortable clothes, eager for my PJs, but Knox was out there still. I couldn’t be waltzing around in PJs with fruit all over them.
Not that my regular clothes served as any kind of armor. They communicated just who I was—a kindergarten teacher who didn’t take life seriously, loved pink and flowers, and who was an easy murder victim.
Methodically and slowly, I towel dried my hair, trying my best to prolong the process by putting in my conditioning products, curl-taming sprays, brushing it one hundred times exactly.
Why I’d thought to bring my entire toiletry cabinet to my kidnapping was anyone’s guess, but I was glad to have my creature comforts.
Eventually, I had to leave the bathroom, as much as I wanted to live in there. My stomach was informing me of how hungry I was, and the scent of dinner coming from the nearby kitchen was making my mouth water.
On bare feet, I trod on the well-worn rugs—scattered across the wood floor—to the dining table in the middle of the room. Knox was already sitting there. There were two plates on the table.
He’d cooked for me too.
Huh.
I guessed he must’ve wanted me alive for the moment. He wanted me alive in general. Healthy, Stone had said.
My molars ground together at the thought of it. I was basically a pig getting fattened up for slaughter. But even that wasn’t enough to kill my appetite.
Though it evaporated as soon as I was brave enough to pull out the chair and sit in front of the food Knox had cooked. How I didn’t recognize it by smell was confusing. My senses must’ve been scrambled.