Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Once we get to the parking lot, it’s as bare as the dance floor.
“Where’s the party bus?” I ask the obvious.
“Good question.” He rakes his palm across his sharp, shadowed jawline.
That repurposed school bus was painted neon green and lit from within by flickering LED lights and a disco ball—there’s no way it’s hiding in plain sight.
“Did they . . . did they leave without us?” I stand on the sidewalk in disbelief, my dirty feet shoved into uncomfortable heels and my ears still ringing from the dance music. When I look at Dorian, he’s already on his phone.
“No signal.” He exhales, shoving the useless device into his pocket. “Did they say where they were going next?”
“Nope.” I check my phone as well.
No bars.
Even if we knew where they were going, we wouldn’t be able to order a cab to meet them there.
“Guess it’s us against the world tonight,” I say. “Not to use a line from a Phantom Symphony song . . .”
Raking his hand against his angled jaw, he looks me up and down.
I’d give a million pennies for his thoughts.
CHAPTER FOUR
DORIAN
Present Day
“Maybe you should slow down on those.” Dashiell points to the row of empty Stella Artois bottles lined up in front of me.
“Nicola tell you to say that?” I fire back before uncapping another one. The more my lips are glued to the rim of a glass bottle, the less likely I am to say something I might regret, and my mind is teeming with all kinds of opinions.
“Of course not,” Dashiell lies. Nicola clipped his balls and hid them somewhere the day they got married. It’s been ten years, and legend says he still hasn’t found them. “It’s just the first night. Got to pace yourself. We’ve got an entire summer ahead of us.”
I take a generous drink.
“I’m training for a marathon if you want to jog with me in the mornings?” he asks. “I get up around six, drink my peptide electrolytes, and—”
“Pass.” I take another sip. It’s not that I don’t like running, but it’s just that in all the time I’ve known Dashiell, he’s never once run an actual marathon, despite constantly “training” for one, and there’s nothing I loathe more than wasted time, weddings, and liars.
After a dinner of freshly caught seafood and suffocating small talk, my father insisted we come outside for after-dinner drinks.
The second the sun went down, the groundskeeper lit a bonfire, and the kids managed to talk my sister into making s’mores.
Nic didn’t appreciate it when I told her, “It’s okay to be fun sometimes.” But someone’s got to make her lighten up, or it’ll be another never-ending summer on this godforsaken island.
Briar and Burke stroll hand in hand in the distance, barefoot in the sand.
It’s like a car crash—I don’t want to watch, but I can’t stop looking.
I down a gluttonous swig of Stella.
“What do you think of her so far?” Dashiell asks, motioning toward the “happy” couple.
“Who?” I play dumb, pretending like she isn’t the one and only thing plaguing my every waking thought since the moment I laid eyes on her all over again.
Then again, I’ve never stopped thinking about her since last year.
Not for one minute.
“Briar . . .”
“She’s all right, I guess.” I shrug and take another gulp.
Two hours ago at dinner, she shook my hand and told me it was nice to meet me—never mind that a year ago, I was inside her.
And don’t get me started on the fact that the night we met, she swore up, down, and sideways that she was antimarriage, that she didn’t need a piece of paper or someone’s last name in order to be with them.
Funny how all that changed when she met my wealthy asshole brother.
Next thing you know, she’s going to be some Upper West Side housewife with a robust social schedule, a face full of filler, and a couple of nanny-raised children.
“She seems nice,” Dash says. “Almost too nice for Burke.”
I sniff an amused laugh.
In our younger days, I called my brother Burke the Jerk. It wasn’t exactly an inventive nickname, but it was fitting. As we grew older, the moniker suited him even more.
There isn’t a nice bone in his body.
Never has been.
Never will be.
He’s the second coming of our father in every way possible. The only difference is our father has become nice-ish in his old age—but that tends to happen when a man wakes up one day and discovers time is no longer on his side and health is a luxury he can no longer afford even with his overflowing bank accounts.
“I think she’s going to be good for him,” Dashiell says as he watches the lovebirds dip their feet in the water.
Briar laughs, trotting away from the cold ocean spray. Burke chases after her.
I look away so I don’t throw up in my mouth.