Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I slipped off my remaining heel then stilled when I let the words sink in.
“I know your window is closing, so let’s do it.”
It took me a moment to find the words, because we’d been fighting and ignoring each other for the last few days, and then he said this. “This came out of nowhere.”
“You’ve been wanting to discuss it for a while.”
“I know, but this is the moment you choose to pursue it?”
“What’s wrong with this moment?”
“I—I don’t know. We haven’t been happy lately.”
He looked away for a moment. “That’s how marriage is. It has its highs and its lows. It’ll come back.”
I kept myself busy with work, but I’d rather keep myself busy with my children, growing a family and building a legacy. But once it was placed on a pedestal before me, I didn’t want it. “I-I don’t know.”
His eyes found mine, a hint of surprise there. “What don’t you know?”
“Are you going to leave the business?”
He answered without hesitation. “No.”
“Well, I don’t see how that will work.”
“I disagree.”
“You could be killed—”
“I’ve been doing this a long time, Astrid. No one is a match for me.”
“What if someone comes after us—”
“We’ve been together for three years. Has anyone come after you?”
I blinked several times. “No.”
“Because no one is dumb enough to fuck with me.” Now, his voice deepened, growing angry at my provocation. “I would never let anything happen to you or our children. You can leave the gallery and raise them.”
“And where are you in all of this?”
“I’ll be around…when I’m around.”
“Do you actually want to have a family, or do you just want me to raise your children?”
He stared at me without blinking, without taking a breath. “I want to have a family. But let’s be honest here. I provide—and you nurture. I want to spend time with my children, but you’re going to be the primary caregiver. I won’t insult you by promising to be there all the time when I know I won’t be.”
It angered me, but I couldn’t feel angry when he was honest with me. As far as I could tell, he’d never lied to me. And even though he was harsh sometimes, I treasured that honesty. “I always imagined we would do this after you retired.”
“I’m too young to retire. And I don’t want to be an old dad.”
“I don’t know if I could bring a child into our lives in good conscience, knowing what you do.”
“How would you feel if I said I didn’t want to have a child with you because you’re a whore or a stripper?” he snapped. “No one should be ashamed of how they earn a living—and I won’t be.”
“Being a hit man and an erotic dancer are not comparable.”
“I’m not going to change my stance on this. If you want to have children, this is how we’re having them.” He grabbed the glass and finished it off before he stood up. “I need to do a few things in my office before bed.” He walked up the stairs, and then his steps disappeared when he reached the next landing.
I sat there alone…like I always did.
I sat down at my desk and opened my emails.
I read the message from George. Mr. Bianchi will be there at three this afternoon. This will be a private viewing, so make sure your gallery is vacant for his arrival. Take care, George.
It was a bit presumptuous and arrogant, but I was used to these types of clients. But to assume I would clear my schedule for a man I’d never met—that was over-the-top. He was probably an old, insufferable man who had turned into a jackass in old age because he had no one to keep him in check anymore. His wife had left him, taking half his money when she couldn’t stand him anymore.
Thankfully, all my appointments were in the morning and my schedule was clear in the afternoon, so it was easy to accommodate the diva-like request. I made sure there was champagne and a plate of appetizers so I could greet him like the queen that he was.
I sat behind my desk and realized it was fifteen minutes after three and the guy hadn’t shown up yet.
Typical.
My eyes were on the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of our gallery, and that was when I saw a man in a gray t-shirt that fit snugly around his thick arms step into my view. He wore black jeans and boots, and he spoke on the phone, stopping in front of me to finish the conversation.
My eyes moved to his tight ass in those jeans.
The sex with my husband used to be good, but it’d become irregular and obligatory in the last six months. It never scratched the itch that I had. It seemed like he didn’t care whether I came or not, like his mind was so preoccupied that he just wanted to get the deed done so he could go to sleep or finish up something in his office.