Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“But I like the idea of Vermont.” He stared at me.
I stared back, perplexed. “Vermont?”
He nodded. “A cabin, one I built with my bare hands.” He winked. “Or one I pretended to build with my bare hands while paying a very talented carpenter. Land where I could build a custom dirt bike track. A vegetable garden for you, in addition to a huge fucking kitchen, of course.”
“For me?”
He nodded. “You think I’m pretending to build a house for little old me, Chef?” He stroked my jaw. “It’s all for you. You’ll open a restaurant. People will come from all over the country. The world. We’ll fuck out in the woods.”
I let his words wash over me. I couldn’t decipher whether it was just a pie in the sky fantasy or if he was really serious. He looked serious. He was planning a future for us. In a cabin. In Vermont. In any other circumstance, a man planning a future for me would set my hackles rising.
But with Kane, it didn’t.
A cabin, a vegetable garden, woods. Yeah, that sounded … nice.
A restaurant that was mine, really mine, where I didn’t have to cater to anyone for publicity, for articles in magazines.
Kane nuzzled my neck. “I’m not sold on Vermont. Or the cabin. Anywhere is fine, with you.”
“I like a cabin in Vermont,” I said in a small voice.
It was the closest thing to commitment I’d ever done in my life.
It terrified me.
Because it felt right.
“Vermont it is,” he pressed a kiss to my lips.
A brick landed in my stomach. That was not an easy guess. Brax wasn’t saying that to fuck with me—well, the arrogant tilt to his lips told me he was—but what he was saying was true. Because Kane had told him about the promises he’d made of a future that quickly turned out to be bullshit.
Brax didn’t even try to hide his shit-eating grin as he saw the blood drain from my face. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re the second woman this week who had to hear that her plans for Vermont were going to have to be put off. Indefinitely.”
I tasted ash, certain I was going to throw up. Not only were his promises of the future empty, they weren’t even original. There was another woman—one I inexplicably hated even though none of this was her fault—who had thought Kane was hers. If I’d had my wits about me, I might’ve questioned where this woman was, why she hadn’t spoken to the media after Kane’s and my relationship was splashed everywhere. I did not have my wits about me, though. And a guarded part of me had been waiting for this, expecting the other shoe to drop.
Brax crossed the space between us, only able to get close to me because I was frozen in place.
His hands went to my shoulders in what appeared to be a reassuring squeeze, but the pressure was too much, to the point of pain. Well, it might’ve hurt if not for the agonizing split in my chest that left me feeling completely numb.
I wanted to run then. Run from the pain, the excruciating pain, from Brax’s smarmy expression, from the blackness clouding my vision.
But I held fast.
I held on to him.
Kane.
To the moments.
All of the moments with him that I had as evidence that I wasn’t just some other woman. That we were something real. And I held on to something else.
“Whether or not that’s the case,” I said, my voice surprisingly strong despite the tornado of emotions swimming through me. “He also has a right to know something else.”
Brax’s oily gaze remained on me for a few moments before realization dawned in his eyes. They went down to my stomach, full of nothing but a cluster of cells at that point. Yet my hands went there protectively, as if to shield the being inside of me from Brax’s stare.
His eyes darted back up to me. Full of faux pity. “What a pickle,” he tutted. “This makes things … more complicated.” He slapped his hands together, and I jumped at the sound.
Harsh.
He grinned at my jump, satisfied at the evidence that I was on edge.
I glared at him.
“So you see it’s important that I talk to him,” I stated matter-of-factly. Calmly.
He nodded. “I see. Unfortunately, even this…” I had to force myself not to smack him when he waved his hand at my stomach. “Is not enough to override his explicit wishes, I’m afraid. But I will tell him.” He paused, pinching his chin. “You have sufficient documentation, I assume. I apologize that I can’t take you at your word, but this isn’t the first time this has happened.”
I tasted bile. Not just from throwing up in the restrooms thirty minutes ago.
Willing myself to keep my expression even, my posture taut, I reached into my purse.