Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 61851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Regardless, she found the gesture incredibly thoughtful. “This is . . . nice. Thank you.”
He gave her a genuine smile. “You deserve to be indulged, and I hope this helps make up for my earlier faux pas.”
“It’s definitely a start.”
He chuckled. “Good to know I can redeem the situation and myself. Now, while you’re relaxing, I’m going to go take care of dinner . . . unless you need me to stick around to scrub your back?”
That flirtatious gleam was back in his eyes, and as much as she wanted to see what he’d do if she said yes, she shook her head. “Thank you, but that’s what that loofah with the long handle is for,” she said, pointing toward the back scrubber hanging from a peg beneath the shelf with her body oils and other bath items.
“Don’t say I didn’t offer,” he said, and with a shameless wink, he left her alone in the bathroom, closing the door after him.
Anxious to enjoy her bath and the relaxing ambiance, she stripped out of her clothes and clipped her hair into a messy bun on top of her head, then sank into the gloriously hot, gardenia-scented water up to her shoulders.
She leaned her head back against the small pillow suctioned onto the lip of the porcelain tub and closed her eyes, a content sigh escaping her lips as she felt her entire body go lax.
She’d taken probably a hundred or more baths over the years, but none that someone else had prepared for her. It was a nice, luxurious feeling to be spoiled and pampered, even in this simplistic way. Not even her previous, long-term boyfriend had done something so sweet and considerate for her.
Then again, she’d quickly learned that Noah—an accountant at her father’s investment firm—didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He’d always been practical, realistic, and efficient. And precise, especially when it came to how well ordered and planned out his life was. She’d been naively okay with those personality quirks . . . until they began affecting her directly.
His emotional manipulation started out in subtle ways . . . his opinions on what to wear that he found more flattering and appropriate, especially around his co-workers and business associates. Criticism about the meals she ate and how the ratio of carbs to vegetables was unbalanced—and did she really need that dessert? How her long, wavy hair wasn’t suited for the kind of refined, sophisticated woman he needed by his side. Recommendations of ways to lose weight, and when she didn’t conform to any of his suggestions, disagreements turned to arguments and, eventually, harsh ultimatums that had backfired on Noah.
He’d thought he could control her life and mold her into his ideal of a perfect girlfriend and eventually wife. He’d mistakenly believed that her life revolved around him. He’d been so certain she’d be willing to completely change herself, physically and mentally, to please him—though she doubted he’d ever be truly happy with her, despite any changes she made—and he’d been shocked when she’d rejected his final demands with a very unladylike fuck you, I’m not changing for any man, then walked out on him.
But despite her bravado, she couldn’t deny how much it hurt that she hadn’t been good enough just the way she was. It hadn’t helped when her pissed-off mother informed Jessica that she’d allowed such a great catch to get away, and she’d probably never find another man like Noah.
If that were the case, then Jessica didn’t want another man. Especially not one like Noah.
Refusing to let those memories ruin Derek’s sweet gesture, she took a drink of her wine and let herself fully enjoy the bath, the candlelight, and the soothing music. With her head cushioned on the pillow and her body warm and relaxed, she drifted off into a nap. When she awoke, she knew by the song that was playing, one by a different artist, that about half an hour had passed. The water was also lukewarm, and when she lifted her hands, her fingers were pruned.
She had no idea what Derek was making for dinner, but she didn’t want to keep him waiting, so she stepped out of the tub, then used the heated towel to dry off her skin—now soft and silky and fragrant from the oil he’d put in the water.
She left her hair up and changed into her favorite loungewear for the evening—a soft, cotton, long-sleeved top with a loose neckline and comfortable drawstring pants—then headed downstairs. She inhaled the scent of something rich and savory, and her stomach grumbled loudly.
When she entered the kitchen, she expected to see pots and pans on the stove, ingredients cluttering the counters, and unwashed dishes in the sink, but her kitchen was spotless, except for the delivery bags on the island with the name of the restaurant they came from: Nonna Vittoria, an authentic, family-owned and operated Italian restaurant.