Page 105 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad

I pick up the book and begin.

Alice sighed wearily. “I think you might do something better with the time,” she said, “than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.”

The earthy scent of clay mixed with the sweetness of vanilla reaches me. I stiffen, but continue to read out loud.

“If you knew Time as well as I do,” said the Hatter, “you wouldn’t talk about wastingit. It’shim.”

I hear the soft sound of her sneakers hit the floor as she takes a step into the room.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Alice.

The floorboards creak as she walks toward me. I don’t stop. I glance down at the book, the words swirl in front of my eyes, and I continue reciting from memory.

“Of course you don’t!” the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. “I dare say you never even spoke to Time!”

She draws abreast, pauses, then glances at the bed. "Damian," she gasps, "What’s…what’s happening?"

A tear runs down my cheek, falls onto the page of the book.

“Perhaps not,” Alice cautiously replied: “but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.”

"Damian?" She turns to me, "What is this?"

I place the bookmark in the right place, then close the book. "What do you think it is?"

"You…you’re scaring me, Damian."

"Am I?" I rise to my feet, place the book back on the sideboard. "Why are you here, Julia?"

"I… I heard the noise of something crashing and ran back in. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

I turn to face her, fold my arms over my chest, "I am perfect."

She glances at the bed, then back at me. "You…you’re not."

"What makes you think so?"

"Because." She swallows, angles her head in the direction of the bed, then back at me, "You know why."

"No, I don’t."

"Don’t make me say it, Damian, please," she begs.

"Say what?" I twist my lips, "What is it you want to say to me, Julia?"

"Damian," she shakes her head, "don’t do this."

"Don’t do what?" I roll my shoulders. "Don’t do what, Julia?"

"Make me point out that…"

"That?"

"There’s no one other than us in the room, Damian."

"Isn’t there?" I walk toward the bed, glance down at the shape of the figure under the covers. "You mean this, don’t you?" I rip the sheet off and Julia screams.

I snatch up the bolster and fling it aside, then grab the cushion from where it’s placed on the pillow, and rip the cloth from it. Goose feathers dot the air like snowflakes. They float down over me, stick to my cheeks, cover the fabric of my T-shirt. I see her stuffed kitty on the floor and kick it aside.