Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“That’s it?” Bonnie’s voice jerks me from my unsettling thoughts. “Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. I require more details.”
I shrug awkwardly. “There’s not much else to say. It just sort of happened.”
“Is it going to just sort of happen again?” Her expression tells me she’s hoping the answer might be yes.
“No. Definitely not. I feel terrible. Preston—”
“Doesn’t need to know,” Bonnie finishes for me. “Nothin’ good will come of telling him. If it was a mistake, and even if it wasn’t—a girl has a right to her secrets. Trust me.”
I know she means well, but I’ve already kept too much from him. This whole thing with Cooper has gone too far. I’m not a liar, and I never, ever thought myself capable of kissing someone other than my boyfriend. It’s a humbling experience, discovering you’re not as morally virtuous as you once thought.
Bonnie’s wrong. Preston needs to know what I’ve done to us.
The right thing to do now is tell the truth and accept the consequences.
Later that afternoon, Pres picks me up from class for lunch. All day, I practiced what I would say. How I would tell him. But when he kisses my cheek and wraps his arm around my waist, I lose my nerve and keep my mouth shut.
“You look great,” he says, nodding in approval.
Relief flutters through me. Thank God. I went through three outfits before I decided on a silk blouse and navy pixie chinos. My own mother doesn’t give me this much anxiety.
“Freddy is preparing lamb shank,” Preston adds. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Famished,” I lie.
He steers his Porsche into the parking lot of Garnet’s football facility and pulls into a spot. Like the gentleman he is, he hops out of the convertible and runs over to open my door. Then he extends a hand, I take it, and we walk toward Preston’s helicopter.
Yup. His helicopter.
Most days, it’s how he commutes to school. His family had the helipad installed behind the football stadium his freshman year. It’s a bit ridiculous, even for our circle of society, and the sight of the gleaming, white aircraft makes me wonder what Cooper would say if he saw—
No. Nope. Not going there. Today, I come clean.
It isn’t long before we’re flying in over the Kincaid estate, a massive piece of gated property on the coast. Endless lawns and oak trees stretch out for acres, the property divided from the ocean by an expansive white mansion. There’s a pool, tennis courts, basketball court, and flower garden. All maintained by at least a dozen employees at any given time.
On the back patio, his mother greets us. As always, she’s impeccably dressed. Head-to-toe Prada. I’m not sure why she bothers, seeing as how most days she has little reason to leave the house. Like my mom, Coraline doesn’t work and employs a personal staff that handles every aspect of the home and her affairs.
“Hey, Mom.” Preston leans in to kiss his mother’s cheek.
“Hi, darling.” Smiling, she shifts her gaze to me. “Mackenzie, honey.” She hugs me, but with the light touch of someone who might shatter if you squeezed too hard. She’s a slight woman. Fragile, not frail. Just don’t make her angry. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kincaid. Your new roses around the gazebo are gorgeous.”
I learned long ago that the easiest way to keep her happy is to find something new on the estate to compliment on every visit. Otherwise, she spends the entire time commenting on my split ends or the size of my pores.
“Oh, thank you, honey. Raúl planted them just this week. He really is an artist.”
“Are you joining us for lunch?” I inquire. Please say no, please say no—
“I’m afraid not. I’m meeting with my architect soon. He’ll be here any minute. Did Preston tell you we’re building a new pool house?”
“No, he didn’t. How exciting.” Really, the only exciting thing about any of this is that she’s not having lunch with us.
And it’s a good thing she doesn’t, because lunch ends up being hella awkward. Not that Preston notices. In the formal dining room among the lamb shank and fine china, he goes on about some professor he insists has it out for him, while I pick at my food and work up the nerve to confess my sins.
“Of course, I could go to the dean and have the whole matter sorted out. He’d be out of a job. Then I thought, well, where’s the fun in that, right? I’ll come up with something more creative. That’s the thing with those people. You give them a little respect, and suddenly they forget their place. It’s our job to remind them. Another refill, Martha,” he says to the maid. “Thank you.”
Finally, I can’t stand the pit in my stomach any longer.
“I have something to tell you,” I blurt out.