Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I start crying again. “Mummy, please don’t tie me up. I promise I’ll take my shoes off next time.”
“Promises mean nothing unless they’re backed up with actions.” Mummy wraps the rope around my waist. “This is for your own good, Alissa. Cleanliness is next to godliness. You won’t get into heaven if you’re not a clean girl.”
I continue sobbing, but I nod. “Okay, Mummy, if you say so.”
She smiles. “There’s a good girl.” She ties the rest of the rope around the trunk of the lemon tree, knotting it tightly. The rope squeezes against my belly, making it a little hard to breathe.
“Once Mummy is done cleaning, she’ll come get you. We’ll scrub your shoes clean and then you’ll be allowed back inside. Okay, darling?”
Tears are falling down my cheeks, but I can’t wipe them away because my hands are tied down, too. “Yes, Mummy.”
And she leaves me in the hot sun.
4
MADDOX
The sun streams in through the window in the one-bedroom apartment I keep above the haberdashery. I fell asleep on the couch last night—there’s a fifty-fifty chance of that happening any time I watch TV in the living room after ten. I yawn, stretch my arms over my head, and meander to the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on.
Funny that Alissa is British. I’ve always felt like I should have been born British. I love a cup of tea in the afternoon.
God, Alissa…
She crossed my dreams several times, and I woke up with a hell of a boner.
I grab my phone and check the time. Seven thirty. I have an hour and a half before opening time. Good.
Coffee’s done. I grab a mug from my cupboard—my favorite, the one that looks like an upside-down top hat; a gift from my mom for my eighteenth birthday—and pour myself a cup. I flip the TV from the streaming channels to a news network just to have a little white noise in the background. I couldn’t possibly pay attention to the news right now, just like I couldn’t pay attention to the TV show I was binging last night.
For the last fourteen hours or so, my mind has only been able to wrap itself around one thing.
Alissa Maravilla. The girl who entered my shop on a whim last evening.
The girl who I’m taking to the club tonight.
There’s something about her that intrigues me. She has an air of innocence, but I also sensed a curiosity, a hunger almost, for something a little dark. She’s grown tired of routine and is looking for something a little spontaneous, a little dangerous, even.
I think she’ll like my club.
I’ve never taken a woman there.
I usually go there to meet women. Occasionally I’ll bring my best friend, Harrison, as my wingman. He’s an attending physician at a hospital downtown.
Wait a minute. He might work at the same hospital as Alissa, come to think of it. I don’t know the name of his hospital, but I know it’s downtown, near the Loop. Alissa said she works at St. Charles.
But before she got into nursing, she got two degrees in flute performance from Northwestern.
Not a bad school at all.
I go up there every few months or so. Sometimes I’ll go to the university library to find a book not available at Harold Washington downtown. The music school is built right on Lake Michigan, and it looks like a giant glass cruise ship pulled up to the shore. I’ve never been inside, but it’s hard not to notice it when walking through the university’s campus.
Every so often when I’ve been up there, I’ve managed to attract a co-ed. The Rolls-Royce is good for that. I’ll invite her to my place, fuck her brains out, and then call her an Uber back up to Evanston.
But not once have I taken any of them to the club.
I’m always allowed to bring a single guest. All members are. But Harrison is the only person I’ve ever brought, and that’s always to serve as my wingman.
I pay for his drinks, so I think it’s a fair trade-off. And Harrison occasionally will take a woman home himself. He’s a good-looking dude. People often ask if we’re brothers.
Maybe if this thing with Alissa pans out, she can come up with me to visit her alma mater. We can walk along the lake, take in the sights. She can tell me stories about her six years there. Maybe we could catch a performance of the music school’s symphony orchestra.
Classical music has always interested me, but I know next to nothing about it. My understanding of it begins and ends with old Bugs Bunny cartoons.
And yet she abandoned her chosen field, switched to nursing. Turned right back around and got a third degree in a completely unrelated profession.
What is her story?
One thing is for sure. There is more to Alissa Maravilla than meets the eye. I can’t wait to get to know her better.