Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
And I’m thinking about getting home and getting into life as a married woman. Thinking about family Christmases and my future.
Despite all the good thoughts, my mind strays to the past. I can’t help but wonder what’s happened while we’ve been away as far as Ray goes. We left on that Friday. He was due in court on Monday.
Did he show up? Or is he still in hiding? Is he going to rear his head again and try to steal my sunshine?
“Cold?” Killian asks.
“A little.” I bunch my shoulders up and shiver.
He leans over and puts another log into the chiminea.
I snuggle in as he settles the blanket back over us.
“What’s on your mind?” Killian asks.
“You don’t wanna know,” I say, sipping my wine.
“I always wanna know what’s on your mind.”
I sigh heavily.
“What?”
“I’m wondering what the story is with Ray. His court date. If he showed up.”
“I’ll inquire about all that when we get home,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “It’s not something you need to worry about.”
I shrug. “Can’t help but wonder. Is he on the run? Is he gonna show back up and cause trouble at some stage? You know… just wondering.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Killian says. “For real. He’s no longer a factor in your life.”
“Kinda hard after so long, after everything.” I stare into the flames for a minute, lost in thought.
“Violet?”
“Hm?”
“Violet,” he repeats, so I look at him.
He’s got a very serious look on his face.
“I want you to try to let it go,” he says. “I know it’s hard, but I want you to believe he’s no longer something for you to worry about. I’m taking care of that. Raymond is my problem, not yours. Okay? Give it to me.”
I snicker.
“Here.” He holds out his palm. “Give it to me.”
“Give it to you?”
“Yeah. Hand it over.”
“Hand what over?”
“All your worries about Raymond Iadanza. All of them. Give them to me here and now and let me handle them.”
I smile. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”
“I try,” he says and there’s a hint of a smile, though he’s still mostly serious. And he’s still holding his hand out.
I put my clenched fist into his palm, fingers pointing down. And then I unclench, as if I’ve handed him something.
“Now dust it off,” he orders, closing his fist.
I dust my hands off.
He waits, holding his fist closed, as if I really have handed him something.
“Go wash your hands with soap and water.”
I laugh.
“I mean it. It’s done. It’s not your worry any longer. Okay?” He looks one hundred per cent serious.
“Okay,” I whisper, emotion burning in my sinuses.
“Go wash and then come back.”
I stare at my hands as I wash them in the bathroom in our hotel suite. Soapy bubbles and hot water. I wring my hands together for a long time until the bubbles have all gone down the drain. And then I look in the mirror and I smile.
It’s symbolic, but it actually helps.
I look healthy. I look happy. In love.
I feel great.
After drying off, I make my way back outside, seeing Killian looking like he’s in a pose of reflection, too, as he stares into the fire, elbows resting on his knees.
He straightens when he sees me.
“All good?” he asks.
“All perfect,” I amend.
“Come here.”
“Go wash your hands first. You’re not allowed to touch me with residue of that still on your hands. I take it you threw it into the fire, right?”
He gives me half a smile and then goes inside and then when he’s back, sitting down, he commands, “Come here right now.”
I climb onto his lap and wrap the blanket over us.
“I love you,” I tell him, snuggling in.
“I love you, Violet. More than I ever dreamed. More than anything.”
He kisses my jaw and then sifts his fingertips through my hair.
“Are you really real?” I ask.
“A hundred per cent,” he tells me.
“And you’re all mine?” I ask, smiling.
“All yours,” he replies, face serious. “Let’s go to bed. Enjoy our last night in Italy with me buried inside you.”
4
Killian
I tuck my phone into my pocket and put my key into the door, turn it, and say, “Wait right there.”
I disarm the alarm system and shove all the bags inside the door, then I sweep my gorgeous, dimple-cheeked bride into my arms and carry her over the threshold.
She’s smiling so big her face is gonna hurt.
I kick the door shut behind me and carry her to the kitchen counter and set her down on it.
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I give her a look of promise that makes her eyes light up with lust. She knows what’s about to happen and she’s hungry for it. My beautiful girl.
Nothing more about christening the counters had been said, but I know she hasn’t forgotten. During the time since she’d officially moved in I’d catch her looking at the countertops with her teeth caught by her lip, with that faraway look that I’ve quickly figured out is her daydreaming, fantasizing.