Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 107652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“I’m just worried that you drain your blood as if it’s as simple as driving to the supermarket for snacks. Normal people don’t have permanent ports in their veins.”
“Supermarket?” He placed the cup down and spread open the book on his lap. “What’s that?”
I froze. “You’ve never seen a supermarket?”
He held my stare, his face deadpan and unreadable. “Describe it to me.”
Moving toward him, another dose of absolute pity filled me. “Oh, you poor thing.” I forgot how to command my body—to stop it from going to him. I crossed the room in a daze and plopped heavily onto the window seat, right by his knees.
He stiffened as my hip nudged his leg. His lips twitched and his eyes narrowed, landing on mine with cutting distrust. “What are you doing?”
“You’ve never seen the outside world? Never been shopping or to a restaurant or the beach?” I sucked in a breath. “That’s...that’s—”
“Are you truly this gullible or are you still trying to fool me with tricks?” Shifting away as much as he could, his knuckles turned white as his fingers clutched his book. “Of course, I know what a supermarket is. Now, get away from me.”
I shot to my feet, knocking over a stack of books that he’d placed by his reading nook.
He winced at the clattering but couldn’t hide the wariness in his gaze. He might look like he’d happily kill me—as if he was moments away from having Whisper drag me from his sight—but his temper seemed less from hate and more from exhaustion.
The shadows beneath his eyelashes hinted the blood loss was the least of his problems. Was he an insomniac? Did he have nightmares? If he didn’t want me here, then why had he ordered his four-legged bodyguard to fetch me?
Backing up a little, I said softly, “You’re not feeling well. I can see it on your face.”
His jaw worked as if he chewed on a response then swallowed it down in favour of a snarl. “Don’t presume to know me.” Pointing at the room, he added, “Get to work.”
I huffed and crossed my arms. “I told you, I’m not good at working.” My head throbbed a little in agreement.
“You’re complaining about a little dusting?”
“I’m saying I don’t understand why people work for work’s sake.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I arched my chin at the huge open-plan quarters that was his prison cell. “Apart from the tidy up of clutter, the room is incredibly clean.” I shrugged. “No grime on the skirting boards, no dust on the mantel. Even the windows are streak-free.”
He sat lethally still. “Are you refusing to obey me?”
“No. I’m merely saying you obviously look after this place well enough that you don’t need a maid—”
“And if you like living you’ll do as you’re told and clean.”
“But it’s already clean—”
“I don’t care.” His jaw clenched and any sign of being willing to converse slammed closed with an impenetrable scowl. “Do it.”
An icy shiver ran down my spine, reminding me of all the things I tended to forget when I was in his company. This man wasn’t kidding when he threatened to take my life. I’d seen him do it to others. I shouldn’t piss him off.
He was also the only one who could potentially grant me my freedom.
How I didn’t know, but...wasn’t it better to stay on his good side rather than antagonise him?
Ugh, forget it.
Letting my arms fall, I backed away with a respectful nod. “As you wish.”
His nostrils flared, and for a second it looked like he might say something, but I spun around and marched back to the table to arm myself with disinfectant.
* * * * *
I worked obediently for three hours.
I tried to find lint and debris, grime and dust on every piece of furniture, lantern, and figurine. And apart from a few dirty spots on the coffee table legs where the lattice wood liked to gather dust in its corners, Lucien’s home was horrendously clean compared to mine—and I had a legion of staff back in the house I’d fled from over seven years ago.
Cleaning his space told me more about him than he probably wanted, chiselling away at the walls I’d hastily erected around my heart, chipping them away stone by stone as I gathered up more of his secrets.
He lived here alone.
He’d lived here alone for twenty awfully long years.
He didn’t have anything like modern-day society to distract himself from boredom. I’d found no cell phone, laptop, or access to the outside world apart from a single tablet with a folder full of random movies.
His library was extensive with books in both English and Mandarin, but the fastidious tidiness hinted the long hours were held at bay by finding things to polish, wax, and wipe.
“What are you doing down there?”
I squeaked and looked up, my gaze skimming up a pair of black-clad long legs.