Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“You do have a choice, however,” the man said, crossing one foot over the other and leaning on the corner of his cage.
“What? I’ll do anything,” he said. He hated to beg. He hated it. But in this case, he would do what he had to do.
The man jerked his head backward toward Grim’s cage, a smile spreading over his lips. “Come with me, or I’ll take his eye. Just one. He has two, after all.”
From beside him, Cedro heard Grim release a long breath. “Ah, fuck me,” the old drunk muttered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Is that you, Noelle?” Chantilly called.
“It’s me,” she said, stepping into the massive bedroom suite and closing the door behind her. Chantilly wheeled out of the dressing room, a luxurious space that featured racks and racks of designer clothing, a marble-topped counter built to Chantilly’s chair height in the middle that held her sizable collection of jewelry and accessories, and an entire wall of shoe racks that stored all her footwear, from the Louboutins to her pink feathered slippers.
Chantilly was seventy-five, and she still wore heels. Some might say the wheelchair made that possible, but Noelle knew the woman well enough to know she’d likely be wearing heels even if she’d had use of her legs.
“Well look at you,” Chantilly said, her hands at her ear, head tilted as she put on an earring. “What’s the occasion?”
Noelle smoothed her palms over her outfit. It wasn’t overly formal at all—a cotton floral maxi sundress. But it was strapless and hugged her breasts, even if it was flared out from there, just grazing her ankles. “You know it’s the turtle-hatching watch party tonight—”
“Yes, I’m well aware of the social events scheduled at Sweetgrass,” she said, turning her chair and leaning toward a large gold filigree mirror on the wall and smoothing a platinum-blonde hair back into place. She turned, eyeing Noelle again, her gaze moving quickly over Noelle’s hair—blow dried and curled in loose waves—to the makeup she’d spent fifteen minutes applying. Which meant thirteen minutes more than she usually spent on her face. She felt herself blushing under the older woman’s knowing perusal. “What’s unexpected is you.” A twinkle came into her sea-green eyes. “And I’m wondering if it has anything to do with a certain guest who checked in to Atlantic Moon last night.”
Noelle sank down onto the red velvet settee by the door. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”
“Not around here I don’t,” she said, the soft whir of her chair sounding as she moved toward Noelle and parked herself next to the settee. “Who is he?”
Noelle traced a button in the tufting. “He’s Callie’s father,” she said softly, not meeting Chantilly’s eyes.
“Oh my,” Chantilly said, and in her peripheral vision, Noelle saw her bring her hand to the base of her throat in surprise. “Well, I didn’t expect that.” She felt the older woman’s considering gaze on her. “And you’re all gussied up for him, are you?”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but Chantilly had seen her almost every day for the past seven years, on regular workdays and on special occasions. She knew very well when Noelle was gussied up and when she wasn’t. “I needed some confidence,” she admitted.
“Well, getting gussied up will do that for a girl,” she said, patting the underside of her swept-up hair. “Why is he here, and how did he take the news about Callie?”
“He was angry. And hurt. Mostly hurt, I think.”
“I see.”
“As far as why he’s here, I don’t know yet. He has something to discuss with me, apparently. I think it has to do with our past.” Despite the warmth of the room, she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself and running her hands over her bare arms.
“Your past . . . ,” Chantilly said.
Noelle nodded, swallowing. “I know I haven’t told you all about that, Chantilly—”
“I looked it up,” she said.
Noelle’s head pivoted her way, her mouth falling open.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised. You know very well I’m a nosy nelly.” When Noelle only blinked at her, she went on. “You’ve grown into a poised, confident woman since you first arrived, so young and so timid, wearing a tiny baby bump. At first I wondered if you’d been abused,” she said. “There was such a haunted look in your eyes. I thought it must be your daughter’s father who’d hurt you so terribly. But then each time I mentioned him, though you were evasive and only told me he didn’t know he had a child, your eyes filled with . . . what I thought might be love. And so I wondered . . .” She examined her perfectly manicured nails for a moment. “I went online. I read about the terrible crime committed against you so many years ago. I’d feared the child might belong to . . .” She waved her hand around as though the words were too terrible to utter aloud and should instead be brushed away. One of the men who raped you. “But the timing wasn’t quite right. And so then I figured Callie’s father was a man you met shortly afterward, when you were still recovering from what happened to you, too traumatized to settle down with anyone. Too afraid to love. Am I close?”