The worry in her voice was a truck's horn that faded but still hooked me to the same spot.
Why didn't it occur to me, I could be caught red-handed?
Some imaginary rope wound around my throat and squeezed my neck.
Oh!Shit!
My eyes bulged out of their sockets.
Threatened like an escaped moose, stupefied by the headlights of town cars, chills wheeled down my back.
Head trapped in space, my grip on the tray loosened.
The coffee cups crashed onto the floor, shattered, and spilled their content over the sleek carpet.
My desperate trick to snoop on Dwain's discussion flunked.
Disarmed of any licit excuse, I sniffed trouble raging from a distance.
How horrid would it be?
It wasn't till a sting, throbbing like a wasps bite fired up my thigh that a moan escaped my hazy lips.
"Awh!"
My left leg kicked through the air with a violent protest, straight up into my hands, and with the utmost care, I clutched my toes.
Sharp wails escalated the halls of my gut as I jogged around the estate, on one foot, and hugged my burnt toes.
"I'm so sorry Mrs. Horton. I didn't mean to scare you. Is the burn that bad? Let me help."
Camilla hurried across the rug and crouched to the floor.
She thrust a sucked cloth to my toe and rubbed the burn. "It's all my fault, I shouldn't have meddled in your. . ."
Jeez!
What nonsense?
She wasn't at fault.
I bit my bottom lip, closed my heavy eyes, and stiffened myself to the pain.
Oh, what's with eavesdropping?
I swallowed the moan in my throat.
Camilla undid the straps of my sandals and breathe out warm air on my toes.
It tickled, fondled, and swept the sting far away into an unknown distance.
Gosh, the relief brought a lot of ecstasy upon me, it was stunning.
Flickering my eyes open, I pulled my leg from Camilla's hold and steadied my foot on the tiles.
Overhearing facts taught me a lesson the hard way.
"Am I still alive?"
I braced my chest, and the harsh rhythm of my heart ceased.
"Mrs. Horton, you are still breathing and all the same, in one piece. Just a handful of painkillers and you are good to go."
Camilla chuckled and shifted out of my way to reveal a worried Liam whom I took note of.
His eyes stared at the red and pink bruises on my toe. "Cami, did auntie die?"
He lifted his concerned eyes to Camilla and fisted her white apron.
The urge to take back my sarcasm overpowered me but too bad, Liam found satisfaction in tugging Camilla's apron.
YOU ARE READING
A Perfect Stitch
RomanceKidnapped, towed to a church, and wedded to a stranger; Ellis, an eighteen-year-old high school graduate has to find her lost voice and decide between hot-billionaire romance or complete freedom before it's too late to escape the unexpected. ...
