Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I’m not asking to shame you, Isabelle. I really do want to know. Now show me what you need.”
“I’m fine.”
“For my daughter then. Show me what you need to teach her.”
She grits her teeth. Stubborn. Then her expression changes. Her eyes brighten. And I swear I can almost see a lightbulb go on over her head.
“I’ve missed a bunch of violin lessons. I’d like to go again. And I’d like a job.”
“We’ve talked about a job. That’s a no.”
“But the lessons?” she asks. I realize, given the speed of her response, she knew the job would be a no. She asked so she could have something to bargain.
Angelique comes running to us then, her bag in hand. “We’re done! Let’s get cake!”
We both smile at her, and I wait until Isabelle looks at me again. “Get what you need to teach my daughter and we’ll discuss your lessons later.”
“Later when?”
“We’ll see.”
“Not good enough. Today.”
I sigh. “Fine, today.”
She smiles and it’s a smile I haven’t seen before. “Okay. I’ll be quick,” she tells Angelique and hurries to choose a few things from the shelves. She then hands them to me and again, I see a flush on her cheeks.
I take the books and lead her toward the cash register.
“I hate this,” she says as we wait in line.
“What?”
“That you’re paying. I want a job, Jericho. I want to earn my own money.”
“I will pay you to teach my daughter,” I say, the idea taking shape then and there.
From the look on her face, she’s intrigued but skeptical.
“I’ll deduct these from your first check,” I tell her as I set the books on the counter and look at her. “Deal?”
“Really?”
I nod.
She studies me. I raise my eyebrows.
“Okay,” she says. “Deal.”
“Good.” I thank the cashier, take the bag, and lean toward my wife. “Now let’s go get you that cake you’ve been craving, little liar.”
She smiles victoriously.
I can give her this.
7
Isabelle
Cotton Candy is as busy as ever but since I know Megs, I snagged us the best table at the back. Zeke’s already there when we arrive and Angelique runs to show him all her new books. I wave to Megs and take a step toward the counter. Jericho, ever suspicious, grabs my arm.
“Where are you going?”
I look from his hand to his eyes. “I’m going to say hello to my friend.” I make a point of stopping, cocking my head at him in false concern. “Do you need me to define what a friend is?”
He looks around the busy café, glancing at Dex standing at the door like some goon. He then finds his brother who I notice is watching him over Angelique’s head. “I’ll come with you.”
“What do you think I’m going to do exactly? I will literally be five feet from you. I promise not to make a break for it.”
“It’s not that, Isabelle. I have enemies.”
“Well, that doesn’t surprise me to be honest—”
“You have enemies too.”
That makes me stop. Makes something inside me go cold. I think about the night of the break in. About Christian surprising the intruder, dragging him off me. About Christian getting himself killed when he told me to run.
The anniversary is coming. It’s just around the corner. I hate this time of year.
But I shake my head. Clear the thought. That man is in prison. He was caught and tried and convicted. He can’t hurt me or anyone else.
I open my mouth to tell him he’s wrong, but he leans toward me. “Now that you’re pregnant, you’re even more of a threat to your brother and cousin than you were before.”
“I’m not a threat to them. They’re my family. It’s not—”
“I don’t want you hurt, Isabelle.”
I don’t want you hurt.
I blink, confused by those words. The tenderness in them.
But no, I need to keep a clear head. Jericho St. James has one goal in mind. Bring my brother down no matter the cost. He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t want me hurt because I am growing something of his inside me. That’s it. I shouldn’t be fooled. Shouldn’t let myself think up a false reality.
“I’m not a threat. A baby isn’t a threat.”
“Not to someone like you maybe but—”
“Someone like me? What does that mean?”
“You’re not devious, Isabelle. But you’re the exception.”
I am taken aback. Is that some sort of compliment? But then I look at his hand around my arm, feel his grip. It’s not tight but it’s clear I’m not going anywhere without his permission.
“You’re not afraid of something happening to me, just the baby.”
“Like I said, I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”
“No, because that would compromise the baby. Please don’t pretend to care about me. Just say it like it is, Jericho.” A moment of silence passes and there’s a part of me that wants him to tell me I’m wrong. That he does care about me, too. But he doesn’t. He just stands there silent and hard as a brick wall. “Look, I just want to say hi to my friend whom I haven’t seen since you took me. Please just let me say hello.” That last part is said through gritted teeth.