Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
She won't. That won't happen. It's out of the question.
"It's better if she hears it from you. Otherwise… it's another way he can control you."
"I appreciate the advice."
He shakes his head we both know that's bullshit, but he still offers his hand. "Shall we?"
I shake my head. "I need a minute."
He nods, looks to the table, making sure the drinks are empty.
Asshole.
I don't even bother to curse him as he leaves. I just pick up a glass and hurl it at the fucking wall.
It shatters into pieces on the ground. Tiny bits of glass that will cut anyone who tries to help.
Tiny bits of glass that can never be put back together again.
Fuck Nick. Fuck him more for being right.
I won't tell her. I won't let her find out.
I can't protect her from much, but I can protect her from this. And I will.
Whatever I do, I'm protecting her from the ugly truth.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jasmine
Lizzy bounces around the room, holding her older sister's hand, nodding yes, of course, listen to her as Kat helps the caterers set up.
Years working at a restaurant. Then more years as a rich man's wife.
I suppose I shouldn't be so cynical. I spent years working at a restaurant. I'm about to do time as a rich man's wife.
Really, I should ask her for tips. How do you deal with suddenly having enough? How do you swallow the resentment you have toward your husband, when he has everything and you have nothing?
What's it like, knowing he still has the power to destroy you?
Do you really trust him not to?
"Ms. Lee." Lock pulls me from my thoughts. He's like me. The old me. Good at being invisible. I don't realize he's here until his British accent flows into my ears. "Your aunts are about to arrive."
Oh.
"They're at the coat check." He motions to the entrance. "I thought I'd warn you before I let them in. In case you need a moment. Or a drink?"
"Can I ask you a stupid question about England?" I ask.
He nods yes. "As they say, there are no stupid questions."
"Wait until you hear it."
He just smiles. That same smile he always has. Like he finds my company charming. I think he does… but maybe it's a put on. Since he's paid to find my company charming.
"Does everyone there know a good gin and tonic? Or is that some way Shep is making fun of Ian?"
Lock's laugh is easy. "Mr. Marlowe and Mr. Hunt have a certain repartee."
"Is it?"
"Our standards are higher, yes. But it's the same as here. Students drink vodka that costs four pounds a bottle. Others only sip Belvedere. Your fiancé—"
"Right." I'm not sure what he's going to say about Shep—that he's always had expensive tastes, that he would drink whatever he got his hands on, that he no longer drinks—but I don't want to hear it. For an hour, I want to pretend this isn't so complicated.
"Would you like one?"
"Yes. I'd like the best you've got. If you know what that is. Or… is Ian around? I can ask him."
Lock shakes his head. "Leave it to me." He nods a thank you then moves to the bar.
He's thanking me for asking him to bring me a drink.
Being rich is weird.
I sneak a quiet minute in the bathroom. Check my reflection for signs of our tryst.
A few stray hairs, but the jeweled clip pulling it back looks intentional. Another coat of lipstick and a few dots of concealer and I look…
Well, like a rich man's fiancée.
Thankfully, Lock is waiting at the wall. He hands me a short cocktail glass, nods his goodbye, leads my aunts into the room.
It's still mid-setup. A dozen caterers. Lizzy and her sister. A few people from Shep's company.
And now Mai and Quyen.
"Honey, you look beautiful." Mai holds her arms out for a hug. She doesn't wait for a response. She jumps in. Holds me.
"Too skinny though," Quyen says.
I take a long sip of my drink. The flavors shine. Quinine, lime, gin. Not just sugar.
Mai waves her away. "You think everyone is too skinny." She motions to her sister's boxy yellow dress. "If you care so much, why don't you show off your curves?"
Quyen responds in Vietnamese. The same argument about fashion they always have. Mai is practical to a fault. She'd rather spend money on family, food, education. To her, fashion is a waste.
Quyen is an art teacher. She loves everything visual. Considers fashion another extension of her personality.
They make arguments about their kids. Which is smarter, with a better future ahead of them. They've each got two, but their kids are younger. Barely teenagers now.
I ask about Van and they're off, talking about an expensive summer camp, and how Van wants to take a film class and whether or not that's a good use of time. Film making is an expensive hobby. Not a practical skill. Van isn't like Allison (who now goes by her English name), the smart, responsible teenager who's ready to study optometry.