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Shutting my phone off, I grab my keys and wallet and head downstairs. On the street, I turn left instead of right, because I know if I do, I’ll end up outside her door. As much as I’d love to see her in person, face-to-face, and allow her to look at me, to see me, I can’t.
Not yet.
Not until she’s replies and tells me to come to her.
The town is pretty enough, with shops, cafés, and even a small bookstore, where I duck in and get out of the cool breeze and rain that’s suddenly started pelting down. The lady behind the desk smiles, and I offer her a nod. Most people in such a small, far-off town won’t recognize me, and I’m thankful that my beauty doesn’t live in a city where my father’s influence can be felt for miles.
Being the son of an influential family in this country had its perks, but I walked out of that life. I don’t ever want to go back. Since the moment I stepped foot out of the mansion, my father’s blood money built; I’m no longer considered his son.
Herbert Phillip Oakridge—otherwise known as King of Chicago by running his own import and export business and playing the stock market; he’s built an empire. Years have gone by, and my father has embezzled millions, yet the police turn a blind eye.
Thankfully, Daddy’s influence has allowed me perks and being able to seek out this beautiful stranger, this princess, has been one of the more positive things I’ve done using his contacts.
My father may share my name, or I share his, but deep down, he would pull the trigger himself if he knew I was doing this shit again. He’s allowed me certain freedoms, but I have a feeling if he were to find me, I wouldn’t survive walking away from him. Which means I need to be more secretive about my actions.
I close my eyes and think back to only a few hours ago, reminded of her beauty. Even though it’s not visible in her profile photo on the website, I can now recall her lithe, slightly curvy figure as she ran through the woods. It’s been a long while since I’ve felt this connection. And I know I can’t let it pass.
I will make her mine.
One way or another.
I’ll ensure she’s in my arms, in my bed, and I won’t let her go. I pick up a book from the shelf and scan the back of it, but my mind is not focused when the bell above the door chimes.
It’s been a long while since I’ve been around so many people at once. My cabin is quiet. And I enjoy the silence, more so than the ramblings of strangers.
“Hi, how are you?” The soft, melodic voice stills me. My heart hammers against my rib cage, and I hold my breath, waiting for more of her voice. I know it’s her. Somehow, I can feel her.
“I’m doing all right, darling. What can I do for you today?” the older lady asks her with a smile, hinting in her tone.
“I’m looking for anything dark and foreboding. Like crime thrillers?”
“Ah, I have a few that came in today. Follow me.” They move through the store, and I cast a glance over my shoulder to see her long, dark hair hanging to the middle of her back. She looks like she’s just had a shower, possibly after her run. My gaze trails down her body, and that’s when I see it — the bracelet.
Surely, she must know that if I’m in town, and perhaps walking around the streets, I could bump into her and see it. Is it a sign that she wants this as well? I haven’t checked my messages, and I left my phone at the hotel. I can’t even log in to see if she’s replied to what I asked of her.
The women are hidden by a bookshelf, and I make my escape, racing through the wet streets back to my room. My chest is tight with anxiety. I wonder if she is considering being mine. Would she? If she knew who I was. Or would that change her mind about me completely? Without both our fathers getting involved again, perhaps there’s hope. But I can’t show her who I am yet.
Not yet.
When I laid my eyes on her, I was livid my father expected me to be happy about his choice. At the time, she was nothing more than a child. I think back to the day I first saw her.
“This is Vera Rose,” my father tells me. My disgust is evident on my face as I regard my father. The girl before me is not even a teen yet. We’ve just bombarded her tenth birthday. She smiles up at me, unsure why we’re looking at her.
