Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
“You’ve got an amazing, unique figure,” Lindsay agrees. She clasps her hands together in a begging pose, with a grin. “Please get naked? I’ll even attend the session myself. It’s in my own time, so the university won’t care.”
I can feel this is a pivotal moment. I want to say no. I should say no. At the very least, I should check with the man who just gave me an orgasm with his mouth whether he’s comfortable with the idea.
But…
Well, as Lindsay begs, and Phil makes encouraging eyes at me, I’m more aware that I’m a fake than ever. The real Francesca is out there somewhere, and maybe she just got the wrong day to start or something. I kind of hope that’s the case, or that she changed her mind, because otherwise where is she?
This whole gig is a house of cards, and if I make any sudden movements my curvy ass is likely to knock the table and send the whole thing crashing to the floor.
If I was really a model, who apparently sent photographs of my Rubenesque figure as some sort of audition, would I really be so bashful about baring everything for a few hours’ actual paid work?
No, I would not. And the truth is, I need to save up as much money as I can before someone figures out I’m not who I’m claiming to be.
“Yeah, okay,” I say.
A huge crash from outside interrupts the conversation.
We bolt out the door to find another tree has fallen over.
A big one.
This one didn’t land on anything, but the roots stick up in the air taller than the light post it almost took out. They’re like mangled, bony arms. A mess of dead branches are strewn around the area by the pond where they usually do plein air.
About forty of the retreat goers stand around in little clusters looking and pointing and shaking their heads. I’m the only one looking into the forest beyond, looking for a sign of what I expect to find: Rutger, furious, shoving the tree over with bare hands, with the power of his rage whistling like steam out of his ears.
A flash of his massive form retreats into the forest with a long shadow cast onto the surrounding trees where the sun breaks through their branches.
I don’t like people looking at what’s mine.
My heart thrills in the back of my throat.
“Everyone okay?” Lindsay scans the little groups on a pinched-lipped exhale. “We’ll get this tree removed quick as possible. I’ll get Rutger to cut it up and haul it away.” She turns to me with a lighter smile and a tick of her cheek upward. “So, you’re in, Tess? You’ll do the nude class?”
“Sure.” I nod, scratching my cheek, hoping I’m not going to get anyone killed by taking my clothes off. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter 6
Rutger
I’m running out of time.
I stand in my cabin, staring at the lease on my table, willing myself to be able to read it. Not just the names. The whole thing.
Some “development company” has been knocking. They say they’re going to cut down all the trees and build tall buildings. Things I swore to my grandparents that I would never let anybody do. But I don’t know how to stop them. Apparently, I can either sell them my land and have enough money to live comfortably the rest of my life, or they can just take it through the courts somehow.
Taxes, they say. Always the damn taxes.
I went with my grandfather many times to the building in town with the big columns and the musty smell.
He always handed the pinched-faced lady behind the counter a thick stack of money. She would count it and stamp something in a binder, then tell him she’d see him next year at tax time.
Since he’s been gone, I’ve never gone to town to give that lady money, and these people that are coming around say that’s why they can take my land.
Unpaid taxes.
I have no idea if any of that’s true. But there’s another contract next to Lindsay’s, and if I sign that one, I get a lot of money but lose everything I love.
Would signing the lease with the college stop them? Or would it just give my land to the college?
My head pounds like rocks knocking around inside.
“Fuck,” I snarl.
My cabin’s normally a safe haven. I’ve got a few things around that belonged to my grandparents. The blanket thrown over the chair that Grandma knitted. The deer head mounted on the wall that Grandpa shot. I’ve got some food in the fridge that I made with Grandma’s recipes.
The blanket, the deer, and this land are what I’ve got left of them. How could I live anywhere but here? I don’t belong out in the world. I need the trees and the mountain. I hate the concrete and the people in town. At least the artists here accept me. They don’t care about how I’m different.