Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Chapter two
Luca
Once a month, like clockwork, my parents send a prospective bride my way. After a whole slew of rock solid NDA agreements, debriefings, and legal threats from my lawyer, Samson Stonewell, followed by an intensely awkward dinner, said woman leaves, no longer prospective of anything and having no desire to be my wife.
To be fair, it’s not my face that chases them away. It’s my attitude.
I know my parents mean well. I know they love me and that they’re worried, but honestly?
This is just fucked up.
Every time I reject a potential bride, they only get more determined to find a woman who doesn’t exist. I don’t discourage their efforts because it’s so much easier to let them do this than to try to convince them that I’m fine, it’s all fine, and everything is always going to be fine.
Money can buy silence, but it can also buy silence. When people think of New York, they no doubt think of the wildly vibrant, densely populated New York City. But just over two hundred miles away, the Adirondacks are an entirely different world. If you want to be rich and famous and at the heart of everything, you go to the city. If you want to be rich and not famous and at the heart of yourself alone, you come out here. I’m just one of many who sought seclusion in the quiet beauty of this place. I was lucky I had the means to disappear and withdraw when I needed to.
It’s the last Friday of the month, which means fuck my life night. I mean, date night.
Though Stonewell meets the women for the initial terror session, err, I mean debriefing, it’s Adam who leads them in, their eyes wide and looking like they’ve just seen multiple ghosts. Stonewell can be incredibly convincing. He’s very discouraging when it comes to things like people ever mentioning a single word about me outside of these walls, and he’s also tremendously helpful when it comes to disabusing my parental arranged dates of the notion that they’re going to strike it rich by marrying me.
I have the table set, the dishes all prepared and laid out. In that respect, I like to be prepared. Also? I’ll never stop loving to cook, and at least this is an excuse to do something extravagant.
Adam’s footsteps have a particularly heavy tread tonight.
It’s twenty-two minutes after seven. I prefer that my guests be punctual, but I know not to be too much of a bastard about it.
Adam approaches me at the window. I’m very careful to keep my back turned during the first few minutes of acclimation. “Sorry,” Adam whispers, but not all that quietly. “She got here early, but seemed confused and a little bit hostile. It took Stonewell an extra bit of time to get the paperwork squared away. I hope this hasn’t ruined your meal.”
At first, Adam was another stipulation my parents forced on me—a live-in caregiver—but it worked out. Adam is as close to a friend as anyone I have. He’s not just a nurse. He does whatever I need him to do, including playing the role of butler for these evenings, seeing as he finds it hilarious.
His ability to laugh about this is one of the only reasons I can bear it. The debriefing that comes after usually makes for a riot. Not at the expense of the poor women who are unfortunate enough to have to endure this, but at the whole world. If I couldn’t laugh about how karma made me its bitch, I might actually toss myself off my front balcony.
And seeing as this house is a timber frame built right over the lake, that would only result in me having a swim.
“It’s fine,” I reply.
“Okay, I’ll be in my room. Save me some leftovers, yeah?”
“The whole table is full. I guarantee there’s a week’s worth of food there.”
Adam laughs and saunters off, whistling loudly.
I’ve angled myself so I can give the room the good side of my face but also side eye my guest. I know what she sees. A tall, well-built man elegantly dressed all in black, backlit by the sun setting on the lake, and a feast of a spread laid out on the table. I don’t skimp on the candles, and the chandelier over the table still happens to be built of antlers—sigh—so the whole thing has a very antique, homey lodge meets old money feel about it.
What I see surprises me.
This woman doesn’t look like all the rest. This woman. Nice. Stonewell already gave you her name. It’s Callie. Use it. I find my lips twitching, aching to break out into a grin.
Callie doesn’t seem much like a Callie. She came in full goth for one. Goth? Can that word be used like that? Her hair is long, straight, and jet black. Like the blue black of a crow’s feather. She’s rocking pale foundation or face paint—I have no idea bout this—accentuated by her heavy black eyeliner, long lashes, and black lipstick. She’s not short, especially not with the huge platform boots she’s sporting. Black tights lead up to a knee-length black velvet dress, the batwing sleeves long enough to brush the floor. The only splash of color in the outfit is a red velvet choker with a little silver spider hanging from an oval-shaped red stone.