Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Sliding through the rack of dresses, I stop when I come to the one I wore in San Francisco. It feels like both forever ago and just yesterday that we were there, with all that has happened. Pushing it aside, I pull a blue dress off the rack that has one shoulder and an odd hem at the bottom.
Slipping off his shirt, I put the dress on and walk to the mirror. The dress is sophisticated and a little sexy with the one-shoulder, cinched waist, and loose skirt that ties at a slant, showing the skin of one thigh. Grabbing the pair of heels, I wore back in California—since I know how they fit and kind of remember how to walk in them—I put them on. I take his T-shirt with me, tossing it on the bed before walking down the hall to the living room. Since he likely heard my heels clicking on the wood floors, his head is up, and his eyes are on me as soon as I come into view.
“Beautiful.”
“Not too sexy?”
“Oh, it’s sexy as fuck, but it’s perfect.”
“Thank you.” He holds out his hand, so I close the distance between us.
“I got you something.” He grabs a red box from the table next to where he’s standing, and my heart starts to pound as he opens it up. Tucked inside is a gold bracelet that looks on the outside like it has little round screws inserted into the gold.
“It’s stunning.” I watch him take it out of the box and realize it’s two separate pieces.
“Give me your wrist.”
“I’ve never seen a bracelet like this,” I say as I hold out my arm, and he clasps the two separate pieces together.
“Hold that for me.” I do, and he takes two small gold screws and a gold screwdriver out of the box and begins to lock it in place.
“It’s called a love bracelet. Unless I remove it, you can’t take it off.” He tucks the screwdriver into his pocket while his thumb smooths over the gold bracelet.
I stare at the piece of jewelry, and I can’t help but feel like there is something significant about him having my only means of escape from the piece of jewelry, which doubles as a show of possession on his end and an act of trust on mine.
“I love it,” I whisper, trying really hard not to cry.
“Good,” he whispers back, touching his fingers to my chin. “No crying.”
“I can’t cry. We don’t have time for me to fix my makeup.”
“We don’t.” His smile is small when he leans in to touch his mouth to mine. “Come on.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the elevator and down to the front entrance, where a car awaits. Even with the traffic, it doesn’t take us long to get to the restaurant where his family is meeting us, and when we get inside, the girl at the podium lets us know the other guests are already seated and waiting for us.
A nervous flutter fills the pit of my stomach as we walk through the dimly lit room toward the table, and with everyone waiting on us, they all watch as we get closer. When we’re a few feet away, his mom stands and tosses her napkin onto the table.
“Elora.” She smiles, grabbing my upper arm and pressing the side of her face to mine, which is a shock to my system.
“Mrs. King.”
“Francesca.” She leans back with a smile, then she gives the same face-touch to her son before walking back to her seat so that Sofia and Lucia can greet us as well.
When it’s Ricardo’s turn, I try to convince myself the look on his face is just an awkward smile and not the scowl that it really is.
Roman pulls out my chair, and once I’m seated, he sits next to me, resting his hand on my lap.
“I’m so glad we could do this before you two left,” Francesca says sincerely, smiling at the two of us.
“Me too.” I place my napkin on my lap. “I wish Diana could be here.”
“Hopefully soon. The physical therapy is working, but she’s too proud to use the walker they gave her for if she leaves the house.”
“She’s stubborn like her grandson.” I look up at Roman and smile.
“Yes, well, he’s always been that way, never giving up and fighting until he gets what he wants,” his mom replies with a hint of pride in her voice.
“Those aren’t bad qualities to have.”
“They have made him very successful.”
“He’s had a little help along the way,” Ricardo inserts, and I look his way. “His grandfather left him most of his company.”
“He was successful on his own prior to that,” Lucia defends, and I catch the barely there eye roll she gives her father.
“So, you guys are going to Wyoming?” Sofia asks, obviously sensing the tension suddenly filling the air around us and taking it upon herself to change the subject.