Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Deb shakes her head, covering her mouth with one hand. “Auntie, why? None of this makes sense—”
“It doesn’t need to, sweetheart.” Clara smiles sadly. “One day you’ll understand.”
“Make me understand right now,” August bites off. Forceful. Deadly. “Make me understand why you would go behind my back, just like everyone else.”
Oh God.
That’s what it’s about, isn’t it?
Charisma went behind his back, trying to take everything he had for her crazy cult. It’s no wonder he’s been so standoffish with women—prickly with me.
And then Rick, his right hand, the closest thing I think August had to a friend . . .
Tears sting my eyes.
But I’m not going to cry. There’s no time for selfish tears.
I can’t sit by and let this happen. It’s breaking my heart.
I step closer and touch August’s arm.
“August. Not here,” I whisper. Not in front of Marissa. Not over enemy territory. “We should go somewhere more neutral to talk—”
“We? There is no ‘we’!” he thunders, whipping around to face me. His eyes blaze as he flings my hand off him. “You aren’t a part of this. You don’t need to intrude, inserting yourself into goddamned everything. This isn’t your family, Elle, and it’s not your damn business.”
He might as well have struck me across the face.
Punched me in the chest.
Ripped my heart out and punted it.
I stumble back like I’ve been shot, pain clogging my throat, my vision blurring.
I can’t even speak.
Not when he’s just torn the veil from my eyes. Forced me to stop pretending we could ever be anything more than a lie—or that I have any place in his life that isn’t bought and paid for as a matter of convenience.
Because he’s right.
I’m not a part of this world.
It’s not my business.
I don’t belong here.
I don’t belong with him.
My chest feels like it’s caving in.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t be here.
Shaking my head, I falter back a step.
Deb steps forward, reaching for me. “Elle, Elle, he didn’t mean it—”
“No,” I sob out, shaking my head again and twisting away from her touch.
I can’t stand it right now.
Worse, I can’t stand to look at August because she’s the one saying he doesn’t mean it. Not him.
“H-he . . . he does,” I stammer until I can’t.
God, I can’t do this.
I trip, my loose slippers tumbling off, leaving me barefoot against the concrete.
And I am the worst broken Cinderella imitation ever as I spin away from this soul-killing mess and run like I’m being chased by the cutting fragments of my own broken heart.
There’s probably something more humiliating than standing barefoot on a street corner in an oversized shirt from a man you hate, waiting for an Uber with tears running down my face, but right now I can’t think of it.
I haven’t run far.
Just far enough to get out of sight before a little common sense took over. I realized if I kept up like this, I was going to step on a nail or a little glass, and then it’d be just my luck to get tetanus on top of everything else going straight to hell.
So I took a side street where they wouldn’t see me and dug my phone out of the breast pocket of the shirt to summon a ride.
At least I don’t have to wait long, standing here like some kind of messed-up Victorian orphan child on the street corner.
When the dark-grey sedan pulls up, the driver leans out the window. “Elle?”
“Y-yeah. Sahib, right?”
He nods with a friendly smile and unlocks the doors. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
I must look like the ugliest mess to get this much sympathy from a total stranger.
But I do want home.
I want Gran. My childhood bedroom. Lena’s shit-talk. Everything that comforts me.
So with a miserable nod and a sniffle, I climb in the back seat, dusting my feet off before getting in fully and curling up in the corner to wait.
Sahib watches me in the mirror as he pulls into traffic. “Walk of shame, or too much partying last night?”
“Neither,” I answer, huddling the shirt around me and hating that it still smells so much like August. “I think I just got dumped.”
“Oh, ma’am.” He clucks his tongue with sympathy. “You’re young. You’ll find the one who deserves you. He obviously didn’t.”
I smile gratefully. It’s sweet of him, but it rings hollow.
Because now all I can think of is what an intrusion I’ve been on August’s life.
Always poking my nose everywhere.
Yeah. I guess I really am that pushy and obnoxious.
I remain silent on the drive home, and the Uber driver is nice enough to let me curl up and lick my wounds quietly. But I’ve never seen anything more welcoming than Gran’s pretty blue cottage, and it’s a relief when I get out of the Uber and thank the driver.
He leans out the window and flashes a peace sign.