Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I’m not sure what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that.
I nurse the remaining ounce of wine in my glass and ponder his words—and our future.
“What if it doesn’t have to be hard?” I ask. “What if we can find a way to make it easier?”
Slade’s full lips curl up at the side as he rakes his hand through his thick dark hair, and I can’t help but notice the veins popping from his forearms. In the corner of my mind, I picture those hands in my hair and those muscled arms holding me tight.
“What?” I ask. “What’s so funny?”
“Your optimism,” he says. “Goodnight, Campbell.”
.
Slade—
Sorry to hear about your cat. Next time maybe don’t let it wander outside and then no one will steal it?
Campbell (age 9)
Campbell—
You’re dumb and you have no idea what you’re talking about.
Slade (age 10)
Slade—Maybe it was trying to run away on purpose? That’s what I would do if I was your cat.
Campbell (age 9)
Campbell—
If you were my cat, I’d let you go on purpose.
Slade (age 10)
PS—My cat came back … not that you care.
Slade—
It must have been hungry.
Or stupid.
Campbell (age 9)
5
Slade
“Oh, Slade, there you are.” Blythe stops me in the hall, placing her hand on my sweaty shoulder as I return from my 5:30 AM jog. Running in this weather is brutal and my lungs feel like blocks of ice, but I’m invigorated, got my morning dose of sunlight, and now I’m ready to take on the day, and that’s all that matters. “We’re having breakfast in an hour in the dining room. I know you do the whole intermittent fasting thing, but will you at least join us for coffee? I was hoping we could discuss the itinerary for the rest of your stay?”
“Of course.” It’s not like I have anything else to do.
“Wonderful.” Blythe’s smiling gaze lingers on me a moment longer before she lets me go. “See you soon.”
Continuing down the hall, I pass Campbell’s bedroom. The door is half-open for once, so I steal a glimpse inside for the first time ever. The busy floral wallpaper and walnut-stained Americana furnishings makes the space look like it was ripped out of a Ralph Lauren ad campaign circa 1996. A desk in the corner is littered with framed photos, notebooks, and various ribbons—all serving as reminders that while I’ve known this woman almost my entire life, I still hardly know anything about her.
A glass curio cabinet in the far corner houses an expensive-looking doll collection—a strange thing for a twenty-four-year-old woman to fall asleep next to every night, but I have a feeling Blythe designed every square inch of this space, so I don’t hold it against Campbell.
If anything, I feel sorry for her.
Every day of her existence has been micromanaged and orchestrated and dictated.
It’s the one thing we have in common.
The only thing, truly.
“See something you like?” Campbell’s voice sends a start to my heart. Between all the busy-ness going on in her room, I hadn’t noticed her standing amongst it all.
“Yeah,” I quip back. “Was just admiring your porcelain doll collection.”
She fights a smirk, though her cheeks flush a pale shade of rose, as if she’s both humored and embarrassed. I take a moment to drink her in. Even with her glossy blonde hair piled into a mess on top of her head and crumbs of sleep in her eyes, she’s still a work of art—prettier than any doll on any shelf could ever be.
“Will your collection be joining us in Palm Beach?” I ask.
“That’s up to your future mother-in-law. I have a feeling she’ll say the humidity will be bad for their curls, though she really likes you, so maybe if you ask nicely, she’ll concede?”
I’m leaning against her doorway, which I hadn’t realized I was doing until now. Crossing the threshold feels like an unnatural move, so I don’t take another step. Six months from now we’ll be sharing a bed—and our bodies. The irony of this moment isn’t lost on me, but I don’t have time to stand around and give it another thought.
Without a word, I head to my suite to take a shower and prepare for breakfast—and a day chock full of dreaded wedding planning activities.
I’ve never understood the antiquated concept of marriage or why people continually keep this ridiculous tradition alive when more than half of all marriages fail catastrophically anyway.
If I were a betting man, I’d bet against marriage every time.
Unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury with our union. I meant what I said last night when I told her this was going to be the hardest thing either of us would ever do. Fortunately for me, I can do hard things. I can’t speak for Campbell, though her optimism is admirable.
Foolish.
But admirable.
.
Campbell—
I’m only sending you this birthday card because my mom said I had to. I hope you have an awful birthday. I hope your cake is salty and the ice cream melts into a big puddle of sludge. If I got you a gift, it would be a bag of smelly trash wrapped with a puke green bow.