Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“About a week.”
“We tried to call,” her mom interjected. “We bought the tickets to come see you when you didn’t answer. The engagement was just … a happy coincidence.” Her smile widened at the words, but Whitley’s didn’t.
They were asking her to process a lot right now. Even if our engagement hadn’t been fake, this would have been a whole lot to ask of anyone.
Finally, she got to her feet and stumbled toward her dad. “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”
“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” she said through her tears. “It’s not okay.”
“I know.” He patted her back. “I’ve had a good life.”
“But … but treatment,” she said, immediately going into doctor mode. “There’s so much cancer treatment. A few months is … that’s absurd.”
“He’s still going to do immune treatments,” her mom supplied. “But it’s at such an advanced stage that they don’t think chemo or radiation is going to help.”
Whitley had this look in her eye, like she thought she could solve this. I would have smiled at that look under other circumstances. But right now, there wasn’t a whole lot that she could do.
When that realization hit Whitley too, tears came to her eyes again. She closed her eyes and tried to fight them from falling down her cheeks. I hated this. I hated every minute of it. There was nothing I could do to make this easier for her … for any of them. And watching her in this much pain was terrible.
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” her dad said, looking at me now. “Moving the wedding up would mean so much to me, but if you can’t, we understand too.” He came to his feet and offered me his hand. I shook it immediately. “I don’t expect you to know if it’s possible right now.”
Whitley’s eyes finally met mine, wide with fear. Our engagement was fake. Her dad wanted us to get married in a matter of months. What the fuck could we even say?
“Daddy,” Whitley said with a hiccup in her voice, “I … we …”
She was about to tell them that it was fake. I saw it cross her expression, but she couldn’t do that. Not right now. Not with everything else.
“We’ll have to discuss it,” I told them quickly. “Can we talk about it more tomorrow? It’s been a long night.”
Her mom sighed with relief, as if she had just been waiting for a reason to leave and escape all of this. “Tomorrow would be lovely. We could always talk more on the phone once we’re home too. Nothing has to be decided yet.”
“Of course,” I said amicably as I bustled her parents out of the apartment.
It wasn’t until the door closed behind them that silence finally settled over the place. Whitley had her arms crossed over her stomach, as if trying to hold her intestines in from spilling out of the split that had just opened in her gut.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered.
“First, you should take a seat,” I told her. She did that promptly. I stalked to the liquor bar and poured her a hefty portion of whiskey. “Drink this.” She took it gratefully and took a long sip.
“I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe …” She trailed off as her eyes went glassy again.
I took the seat next to her, gently wrapping an arm across her shoulders again. She leaned her head onto my shoulder.
“We can figure this out.”
“How? My dad is dying. He wants to walk me down the aisle. But Gavin, we were going to tell them we had broken up in two days. We’re not really engaged.”
“I know,” I said slowly. I let the silence linger longer before adding, “But I’d still do it.”
“Do what?”
“Marry you.”
Her head tilted up to look into my emerald-green eyes. She blinked twice, as if she hadn’t heard me right. “What?”
“I’d do it. I’d let your father walk you down the aisle.”
“You would fake marry me?”
“Yes,” I said, brushing a stray pink strand out of her face. “And … it would be a real wedding, Whitley. You’d be my real wife.”
“But it wouldn’t be … real. It would be wrong. We’re not … we’re not together like that.”
“No,” I agreed easily. “It’s not like I planned to get married, but that doesn’t mean we have to say no to your father’s request.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t want to think about this.”
“I know.” I ran my fingers back through her cotton-candy hair. “I can’t imagine you’d want to discuss this. I can’t believe they dropped this in your lap. It’s not fair, and it’s awful, but, Whit … it doesn’t change the reality.”
“I know,” she croaked. Tears clustered in her long, dark lashes. She blinked them away, curling further into me. “What are we going to do?”