Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Before the press came, a Victorian-era costumed museum assistant gave us a private tour. The ground floor served as a shop, selling an array of goods from deerstalker hats to novelty teapots, magnifying glasses to several Sherlock Holmes books.
Hand-in-hand, we strolled through the ancient home.
The study overlooked Baker Street and maintained the same décor any room of that sort would in Victorian times. Every space was dressed as if the characters still lived there. I sat in Holmes’s armchair by the fireplace and Chase snapped pictures like a giddy tourist. We entered his bedroom adjoining the study where all of Holmes’s possessions lay out—Persian slippers near the bed, a disguise or two on the shelf, his pipe resting in front of his chemistry equipment, and a violin across from a calabash pipe.
Even the landlady Mrs. Hudson had an area with a beautiful fireplace
And the tour continued as we delighted in the peculiar objects of the mystery genius’s laboratory. Once the assistant left us alone for a few minutes, we lingered for far too long in Dr. Watson’s room where I checked out the character’s books and Chase copped a few quick feels of my behind.
When Chase’s legal team and publicist showed up, they briefed us on the best methods for answering the press and then guided us back to the front to meet the crowd.
And it was a big group. A sea of cameras and news reporters from all of the UK’s major television networks surrounded us. International journalists were sprinkled throughout the space. Chatter filled the air. Flashing came next. Several men and women moved in with their cameras.
Chase’s publicist signaled for us to begin.
Let’s see if I cannot embarrass myself on national television.
As I stepped up to the podium in front of the museum’s entrance, my stomach rumbled in fear. Eight microphones stuck out of the platform like little severed heads. In fact, with the horror of these past months it might have been better if those mics were actually tiny cut-off heads.
This may be my future. News teams and press conferences. Can I do this?
“Are you nervous?” Chase whispered to me.
I leaned his way and forced a smile. “Hell yes. There’s about thirty people in front of us holding microphones.”
“Fifty actually.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I usually count them all to calm myself down.”
Shock hit my voice. “You’re nervous, too?”
“I hate cameras.”
“It never looks like it.”
“That’s because I’m an amazing man.”
“Clearly,” I mumbled.
“My best advice to you is to remember who you are. They are standing in front to hear your voice. That’s powerful. You’re somebody in this moment, and there’s not much you can do to upset them, besides not talking at all, and even then you standing up here silent with your mouth open is still good TV for the evening.”
“The chances of me freaking out are high,” I admitted.
“I’m here. Don’t worry about anything.”
“I don’t want to embarrass you, Chase.”
“You could never do that. And if you do something foolish, I’ll buy up all of the major news channels and forbid them to show the clip.”
“I think that’s a bit much. Don’t you?”
“Nothing is too much.” He leaned my way and brushed his lip against my ear. “I’ve already proved I would kill for you. I can’t think of anything that I wouldn’t do for you.”
My eyes widened. “You don’t have to—”
“I do.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” I smirked.
“Doesn’t matter. The sentence started off with madness. I don’t have to what? Love you? Protect you? Keep you out of harm’s way, no matter if it’s your family or the world? No. I do. It’s going to be my job. I might as well start now.”
My words left me.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
I gathered my strength. If he could profess to ruin the world for me, I could freaking keep it together for a ten minute press conference. “Yes, I’m ready.”
He kissed me on my cheek. “This goes down in a few seconds.”
I frowned. “I thought we had five to ten more minutes.”
“More like five to ten seconds.”
Bile rose in my throat. “Great.”
A few uneasy chuckles fled him. “It will be fine.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Then we’ll destroy the problem around us.”
“Alrighty.”
“I’ll start.” He inhaled, exhaled, squeezed my hand, and guided me closer to the podium. The publicist and legal team stood on our right.
The crowd came alive around us.
Chase tilted toward the biggest microphone. “Good afternoon, everyone. I’m thankful that we were able to hold a quick press conference on such little time. Who wants to go first?”
A ballsy female journalist with long, black hair began, “Mr. Stone, do you have any information on the dead woman’s body that was discovered at your ball just a couple of days ago?”
“Thank you for getting this out of the way early.” He nodded at her. “I will not be answering any questions dealing with the masquerade ball and the horrible events that took place there.”