Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“I know. This place means so much to me, and you’ve been so good—” I wipe my face, struggling to compose myself. And mostly failing. “But it’s a family thing.”
Kate’s expression darkens for a moment. “That wasn’t an empty offer. If you’re in trouble—”
“It’s not like that. I just wanted to say this place does good work, and I’m going to make sure it’s always taken care of no matter what.”
“Bianca…”
“No, listen to me.” I take her hands in mine and squeeze them tight. “You know where I’m from. You can probably guess why I feel like I need to spend so much time here. This place is good, and there’s not much good left in the world. Even when I’m gone, I promise, Grace House will always have what it needs to keep the good stuff going. I promise, okay?”
Kate’s eyes are teary now. I’ve seen her cry dozens of times. But now it really hits me. Those feelings are for me.
“You’re always welcome here, okay? And either way, you have to keep in touch. You’re my favorite, you know that?”
“I better be,” I say, laughing lightly and wiping my face. “Thank you, Kate. Thanks for everything.”
We stand and hug. I feel better now that it’s over. I can tell she still thinks I’m being beaten or trafficked or something, and she’s really not all that wrong. If she knew I was entering into an arranged marriage, she’d probably lose her mind.
But this is how I give back.
Grace House will survive. It’ll survive for a really long time if I have any say in it.
And once I’m in New York running the new business, I can sprout a dozen more Grace Houses all over the place.
More goodness. More light to balance out the dark.
It’s a hard choice, but it’s the wrong one.
I walk out of Grace House with my head held high, feeling proud of myself.
While also dreading what’s to come.
I’m drained and beyond exhausted when I get back to the mansion. The place is cool and quiet, and I like the sound my flats make on the hardwood floors. They creak and flex as I walk to my suite, and I swear they were built that way on purpose. No way in hell anyone’s sneaking around in here.
Which makes me think of my ghost. Whoever it is, he must work here already. This house is one of the most heavily guarded and best-protected places in the whole freaking world. There are cameras hidden all over the place, probably more than I realize. Armed men lurk in dark corners and watch from up on the roof. Drones buzz overhead, looping around.
And yet my ghost keeps coming.
Like he walks straight through walls.
I unlock my suite door and step inside, already planning how I’m going to throw on sweats, turn on the TV, and rot my brain from the inside with enough wine to knock out an elephant.
But the smell hits me like a kick to the teeth.
It’s him again. My ghost. Woodsy and warm. Spicy and masculine. I breathe it in and feel dizzy as the scent slams straight into the top of my skull.
He never comes this early.
My ghost only ever shows up at night. I find his smell lingering in the morning, but it always fades by the afternoon.
This doesn’t make any sense.
I look around, heart racing. Did he break in here during the middle of the day? I thought it was hard enough getting through security at night, but the daytime is straight-up suicidal.
How could anyone pull something like that off?
“Oh my god,” I say, hands flying to my mouth as I stare at my little dining table beside my kitchenette.
It’s back. In all the years my ghost has been visiting, this has never happened, not once. I walk over to the table on shaking legs, heart slamming into my ears.
My Chapstick is back.
It’s standing upright with a rose behind it.
Suddenly, I feel like someone’s watching. I look around in a panic, caught between running, screaming, and grabbing a kitchen knife.
But there’s nobody nearby.
“Why did you do this?” I ask, voice trembling, choking on my own fear and excitement. “What happened, ghost?”
There’s no answer. There never is.
But he’s also never left a gift before.
I can’t understand it. Something must’ve changed, but I don’t know what. I pick up the little black tube and pop off the lid.
I’m absolutely sure he used it. More than positive. The knowledge burns in me, but there’s no way I could even know something like that.
I raise the tube to my lips and swipe it across. I wait like something might happen. Only there’s nothing.
I lick slowly, wanting to taste him. I close my eyes, breathing his smell rapidly. There’s only wax on my tongue.
I clutch the tube tightly as I lift the rose. It’s just a regular flower. I sniff it and smile as the sweetness fills me.