Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,51

life of my own.

I only hoped he’d help me get there.

The Duke and the Jester

Tommy

The box of books in my hands probably weighed more than Amelia.

I set it on top of a stack in her room. Stack was probably an understatement—almost all the spare space around her bed was occupied by boxes on boxes of books.

When I turned around, pressing my hand to the small of my back, Amelia was in the doorframe, heels together, cat crate in her hands and a smile on her face.

“I’m not sure where you’ll put anything else, but there’s all your books.”

“What else do I need?” she said cheerfully, her little smile rising on one side.

“Thirty-two boxes of books. Thirty. Two.” I glanced at the wall of bookshelves, then at the boxes, and back to the shelves again. “No way are those all gonna fit. I’ll order you some more for the other wall,” I decided.

Her cheeks flushed prettily. “My hero.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many books in one place outside of a library or bookstore in my life. Did you really need to bring all of them with you?”

Her face scrunched up like she was angry, but it was too adorable to be menacing. “I take it back. You’re a villain after all.”

I held my hands up in surrender, smile on my face and heart tha-dumming against my ribs. “I only meant that it’s just a year. You didn’t have to bring every book you own.”

She made a face. “Please, these are only my favorites.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, then at the boxes, doing some quick and dirty math. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. My office at home is still mostly full. And that’s not even counting my library in my parents’ basement.”

“And here I thought I liked books.”

She chuckled, stepping into the room to set the crate on the bed. “They’re my best friends,” she said simply. “I can’t leave them.”

I leaned against one of the sturdier stacks, hitching a leg on the top. “I get that. I just had no idea you’ve read that many books.”

She busied herself with the crate, unlatching it and reaching inside as she spoke. “Oh, I’ve been a reader ever since I could read. I…I didn’t have many friends before college. I didn’t play outside, and I barely spoke at school. I ate lunches in the library with a book, usually a new one every day. It’s all I did really. Eat, sleep, and read.”

For a moment, she clutched her orange tabby cat in her arms, peering into his face. I saw her ten years younger, sitting silently in a library, eating a sandwich. I imagined her with her nose in a book, walking the halls of a nondescript high school, bracketed by rows of lockers and a cacophony of sound and motion, mostly caused by beefcakes in letterman jackets and cheerleaders. I imagined that she’d never been seen and very seriously doubted she’d ever been heard.

“Why didn’t you speak much?” I asked, too curious to be polite.

She was my wife after all.

She seemed to concentrate a little harder on a thorough scratching of Claudius’s neck. His eyes were almost closed, his face the very picture of ecstasy. “When I was little, I had a speech impediment. I couldn’t pronounce Rs or Ls for that matter. The kids…well, they made fun of me. My second grade teacher even teased me, called me in front of the class to read for what she called practice. It only made things worse—they snickered their way through every reading. That was the year I quit speaking unless absolutely necessary.”

A flash of anger shot through me like wildfire. “Did your parents have that miserable cow fired?”

She offered a small smile. “Oh, no. My parents are…eccentric at best. They are passive, submissive, kindhearted saints with a deep love of math, physics, and imagination. But they would never confront anyone. They did move me to a private school after that though.”

“Was that better? Easier?”

She laughed. “I take it you’ve never been to private school.”

“Not in a million years. I didn’t even go to college.”

Her smile faded, but her face was wondrous. “Really?”

“Really. If I’d gotten suspended once more in high school, I wouldn’t have even graduated. My mom worked her fingers to the bone to keep the lights on, so there was no college fund. My grades were terrible—all those suspensions didn’t help—so there was no option for a scholarship. No one to cosign a student loan. I probably could have gotten