Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Whoa. Dick danger.
I paced toward a Parisian landscape, hoping to get my cock under control. “I’m not sure how you fit in, but coincidences are tricky business.”
“You watch too much TV,” Lorenzo retorted. “Shall we? Mr. G is waiting for you. I have to warn you, he’s not as spry today. Ask your questions—I’m sure that’s why you’re here—but do not, under any circumstance, upset him.”
“Hang on.” I grabbed his elbow. “Is he okay?”
“For now…yes.” He turned away before I could prod.
I followed Lorenzo into the formal dining room dominated by a crystal chandelier the size of a small iceberg over a massive table. French doors were framed by elegant silk drapery that complemented the Pacific Island landscapes hung on wallpaper emblazoned with gold and forest green palm trees. The space was grand and imposing—designed to impress.
Mr. Gowan rose on shaky legs from a high-backed chair at the head of the table with his hand outstretched and greeted me warmly. He was in good spirits and seemingly very pleased I’d reached out to him. Enid’s greeting was more fangirl manic, but I was used to that. We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes; then Enid declared it was time to eat.
She served the lunch Janet had catered—soup and sandwiches from a bougie bistro in WeHo—and left us alone to chat.
Well…not quite alone. Lorenzo slipped into the room to deliver a glass of water to Mr. Gowan and, at the older man’s insistence, sat at his right-hand side.
I cast a curious glance between them, battling a rogue wave of jealousy I didn’t fully understand. Envy was a weird emotion for me. I didn’t envy other people’s belongings or accomplishments. And I certainly didn’t envy their relationships. Every time the media decided I had a significant other, it turned into a shit show…which was literally how I’d ended up here.
I didn’t get lover vibes from Gowan and Lorenzo, but that could have been denial on my part. Don’t ask me why I cared. I couldn’t figure it out.
Honestly, my fixation on Lorenzo bothered me more than the cousin story. I watched them like a hawk while trying to decipher my own motives. Why the fuck was I here? Why should I care if some old dude claimed to be related to me? It was as if I’d manufactured a role for myself to solve a mystery that no one else cared about.
The mysterious cousin and his sexy friend—who was currently giving me a wicked sideways glare.
“Everything okay, Lorenzo?” I asked when the old man paused to enjoy his soup with a slow, shaky hand.
“Fabulous. You?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
I raised my glass of water in a toast. He shot a mistrustful glance my way before turning his attention to Mr. Gowan. Was his soup too warm? Did he want something else to drink? They were obviously good friends who’d developed a silent language spoken with eye contact or the tilt of a chin. It was kind of sweet.
Lorenzo had a calming effect on Mr. Gowan. The old man’s hands didn’t shake as much, his speech seemed more fluid, and he didn’t cough quite so often. Conversation was easier too—but not exactly fruitful.
Gowan repeated a story he’d told me last week about biannual potluck barbecues at his grandparents’ farm, describing relatives I’d never heard of in a faraway voice while he skimmed his spoon over his soup. When I guided him back to my mother, he squinted as if looking through a porthole and launched into a rambling tale about a precocious little girl with pigtails who loved to play dress-up.
He said he remembered my mom going through a tomboy phase, too, which was highly unlikely.
“I’m sure there’s a politically correct term nowadays, but you know what I mean. She loved dressing up in cowboy gear.”
“Really?”
Nope. No way. My mom had worn pink cardigans, full makeup, and her best pearls to go to the market.
“Oh, yes. She liked horses too.” No chance. “She read Black Beauty till the spine broke and pages fell out.”
“I didn’t know she was into horses. She was afraid of big animals when I was a kid. Our neighbors had a huge Irish Wolfhound named Sal…sweet dog, but Mom wouldn’t go near it.”
Mr. Gowan shrugged. The effort brought his shoulders around his ears and made them cling for a moment until slowly lowering.
“It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? We’re so brave when we’re young. The biggest monsters are the ones we imagine hiding under our beds. We grow up and slowly let fear leak into our lives. And eventually, we learn that we’re the monsters we should fear most.”
That was…bleak. And it was a strange non sequitur. Maybe he sensed I was on to him.
I dabbed at the corner of my mouth with my napkin and sat back in my chair. “That’s probably true.”