Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“What is it like?”
“Depends on the neighborhood, but it’s loud and busy. Congested. Kind of messy at times. But it’s got a lot of heart. The most heart, actually.” He thought for a second. “On a Sunday afternoon, when there’s a game on, the whole place kind of hums. Everyone’s got a little bit of a buzz on, and you can walk down the street and hear whistles and cheers going off on everyone’s televisions. Laughter. It’s a good town. I love it.”
Chloe’s heart raced, as it often did when she thought about leaving home, fleeing the sheltered bubble of Darien, and experiencing an entirely new world. How scary it would be, but how rewarding at the same time. In fact, she’d been thinking of it to the point of distraction lately. “You make it sound magical.”
Sig studied her face. “It is. You’d fit right in.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, like she was crazy to ask. Or doubt.
And his—perhaps premature—faith in the fact that she could make it in Boston, in a whole ass new city, made her want to confide in him. To reveal something about herself. Something she’d told her mother—on several occasions, only to be casually shut down. “There is a conservatory in Boston that I’ve dreamed of attending for so long. Berklee. They invited me once to play for the faculty and afterward, even after the tiniest glimpse, I couldn’t stop thinking about the people, the place. The students who came and went as they pleased. And . . . I applied. Secretly. Almost a year ago now.” She whispered the last part, as if her mother might overhear. “But . . . the dean said I have a standing invitation. At no cost.”
“That’s . . . incredible. Damn.” Sig faced her a little more fully. “So you have been to Boston?”
Chloe shook her head. “I’ve been inside of a town car, a hotel room, and an auditorium in Boston. I didn’t go walking or exploring.”
“Did you want to?”
She nodded. And suddenly, she needed another draw of champagne.
A groove formed between his dark brows.
Before she could ask, he lifted the bottle from the table and tilted the chilled glass against her lips, her nipples slowly winding into stiff peaks over the possibility that he could read her needs so accurately.
And fill them.
“How old are you, Chlo?” he asked, searching her face.
“Twenty-five,” she murmured.
He nodded. Wet his lips. Leaned in. “Then what’s keeping you from Boston?”
“Nothing,” she whispered, inching closer, until she could feel his warm breath on her mouth. She wanted to spill everything to him, to this man who seemed to have the kind of capabilities and self-reliance she’d only ever dreamed about. She longed to tell Sig that she didn’t know how to begin taking care of herself. How the very thought of waking up alone and having to fend for herself was so intimidating it gave her chills. A man like this wouldn’t be able to comprehend such debilitating dependence on money and security, though.
Would he?
“Say it,” Sig said.
“Say what?”
“The thing you’re not sure you want to tell me.”
This moment, this night, officially felt like a dream. There was nothing but his eyes. The warmth of his presence. The quiet lull of their voices. The unique . . . knowingness between them.
“My mother sent me to music camp when I was six. On opening night, I watched a demonstration of the harp. I saw it played once. Later that night, I snuck back into the instrument room and . . . I just knew how to play. It was like a language I’d learned and forgotten, but it all came back to me.” She wet her lips. “They caught me on the security camera and it was sent to my mother. And then all her friends. It was even featured on the news.”
He laughed quietly. “Damn.”
“Yes.” The longer she hesitated to say the rest, the more her pulse pounded. “It’s funny, though, when you’re a prodigy in one thing, it doesn’t necessarily make you good at anything else. Whether it’s tennis or schoolwork or making friends or . . . just plain common sense. And I think people were disappointed by that. By me not being very . . . well rounded. You know?”
“No,” he intoned, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine you disappointing anyone.”
They moved closer to each other simultaneously, neither one of them seeming to be conscious of it. “I’ve got the harp and . . . I’ve gotten comfortable with that being all. I’ve gotten too comfortable, maybe, and that’s easy to do when . . .”
“You have money.”
He understood. Maybe he couldn’t relate, but he wasn’t judging her.
Still, the extended state of vulnerability was making her feel jumpy.
“Anyway . . .” Chloe ordered her upper lip to curl flirtatiously. “Why would I go to Boston when I’m having so much fun being driven around by a chauffeur, stealing champagne, and making trouble in Darien?”