Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“I guess I felt…ungrateful?” she admitted ruefully. “I’m here to be with you, and I run off without you? At your own resort?”
“I want to be with you, too, but not if you’re desperate to have some time to yourself.” The last thing I wanted was for her to leave here and think, glad that’s over.
“I appreciate that,” she said with a decisive nod. “I do. But it’s not you, okay?”
“Did something happen last night?” A chill went through me at the thought. There had never been an assault here, and only a few instances of members acting inappropriately toward other guests. I didn’t want more of those incidents, and certainly nothing that would hurt Charlotte. “Did someone hurt you or—”
“No!” She waved her hands palms down in the universal “no way” sign. “Absolutely not. At all. Last night was wonderful. The whole place is wonderful. I…” She stopped herself.
“Go on,” I urged her gently.
She rolled her eyes. I could tell it was meant for herself, not directed at me. She brushed her hair back from her forehead, the strands falling lazily down her shoulders again. “It sounds like a cliché, but I have a hard time getting close to people. I think that after last night, and then this morning… You started to feel a little too good to be true.”
My eyebrows shot up. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had someone say that about me, to me before. “And that’s a problem.”
“It is,” she confirmed grimly. “Because then I feel like I don’t deserve you. You know, in the friendship sense.”
I noted how quickly she’d made that addendum. It did something awful to the inside of my chest. “You don’t have to deserve me.”
She said nothing, but two little questioning lines appeared between her brows.
“I get to decide whether or not you’re deserving. And I’ve decided that you don’t have to. There’s nothing to prove here, Charlotte. I like you.” Careful… “I’m honored and flattered and extremely grateful that you seem to like me too.”
She considered for a moment, then smiled. And right away, I recognized what the smile was: a mask. A people-pleasing mask, a change-the-subject deflection that was supposed to convey how okay she was. “You can say that you think you’re uncool and I’m very cool and you’re thankful such a cool person like me would be your friend.”
I chuckled and nodded and let her get away with it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
(Charlotte)
After our moment of honesty, it was so easy to be with Matt. I almost found myself forgetting that we weren’t in the real world. We got up, we ate breakfast, we made flirty little double entendres while we lazed around in the sun. We went to one of the pools with a swim up bar and I tried a drink that was way too strong. We ate lunch at the enormous buffet—although, I probably wouldn’t have put a buffet in a sex resort. At least, sex wasn’t allowed in the dining establishments. Still, I couldn’t help but think of where everybody’s hands had been as they picked up ladles and tongs.
The sun was going down when Matthew suggested we use the massive soaking tub on the bedroom balcony.
“I think when it’s this size, it’s an aboveground pool,” I said, dipping my toes into the cool water. It was way too hot out for anything warmer than “tepid.”
“I think you’d find something to complain about if I took you to Buckingham Palace,” he quipped.
“Jokes on you, I can complain about Buckingham Palace without having to go there.” I held up one dripping hand and started listing things off. “First, waste of taxpayer money. Second, it’s ugly. It looks like the world’s most boring wedding cake. Just this big gray box sitting there—”
He held up his hands. “I surrender.”
“Have you ever been there?” I wondered if all rich people knew each other.
“I was there for a wedding reception,” he confirmed.
“Charles and Di?” I guessed.
He made an outraged noise, followed by a splash of water directed at me that was so big, I was surprised it didn’t empty the tub. While I sputtered and laughed, he informed me, “I wasn’t even born yet! How dare you!”
“I don’t know when they got married,” I said in my defense, blinking water from my eyelashes. “Gosh, so touchy.”
“My fortieth birthday is tomorrow,” he reminded me. “I am in no mood.”
“Please, like turning forty ever stopped a man from doing anything. Meanwhile, I’m one birthday away from never having a chance with Leonardo DiCaprio.” It was deeply unfair. Not the DiCaprio thing. The entire concept of aging as a woman, versus aging as a man.
He looked a little uncomfortable. I’d crossed a line that I hadn’t been aware of. So, I waited with a questioning expression until he admitted, “I’m weird about my age because my dad died young. Like…young, young.”