Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
‘Sure!’ Not that there’s much to tell so far. All I know is Remy’s keen to get married sooner rather than later, and I’m all for that. We’ve even talked about the idea of honeymooning in Australia so I can introduce him Amber and her little tribe and, of course, Aussie wines.
‘Urgh,’ I find myself complaining as my phone buzzes with a text. ‘I have to schlep out to Monaco One.’
‘Why?’ Charles looks up and pulls a face. ‘It is too ’ot outside today for shopping. Go to a mall not outdoors.’
‘I can’t. I’ve got a pickup at Max Mara for a client.’
‘Too bad. You will get big hair, but you can bring me back a bubble tea? Kiwi, please.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ I reply, grabbing my purse from my desk drawer.
As I’m on my way out of the office, my cell rings with a withheld number.
‘Hello, Rose speaking.’
‘Rose, this is Benoît. Congratulations! Remy just told me the good news.’
‘Thank you.’ My smile spills from my words as I glance down at my ring again. I’m just so happy! Maybe I should get engaged every day. ‘What can I do for you, Ben?’
‘I wondered if you’d have time to meet me for a coffee this afternoon.’
Really? Pourquoi? Or in other words, why?
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ And I hope that sounded sincere. ‘But I’m at work until five and we have dinner reservations for seven.’
‘Maybe I could visit before you leave?’
I feel my expression twist. Remy has been pretty clear about his feelings about Ben. I think he’s still smarting a little he took it upon himself to explain Remy’s involvement with Amélie, even if his cousin was trying to do him a favour, I’m sure.
‘I’m not sure that would be a good idea,’ I hedge. ‘By the time I get home, the turnaround time isn’t great. You know, with us living outside of the city these days.’
‘Ah, yes. I forgot. Why don’t I meet you at the restaurant, then? It would save me the drive. It really is quite important.’
Not so important that he’d try to save himself the inconvenience of a little drive out of the city.
‘Look, I’m on my way to Monaco One now. Can you meet me there?’
‘Perfect. The café near the apartments? Say, thirty minutes?’
‘Sure.’
I hang up and make my way to the mall, reaching it in plenty of time to visit Max Mara first. When I get to the café, Ben is already sitting at a table in the far corner. He stands as I approach and, his hands resting on my shoulders, he presses his lips to my cheek. Once, twice.
‘I ordered,’ he says, pushing a tiny espresso cup and saucer across the table towards me. ‘Café crème. That’s right, yes?’
I nod even though it isn’t my go-to order. As I bring it to my lips, I repress a shiver at the bitter taste. ‘What was it you wanted to see me about?’ I ask, bringing the large Max Mara bag under the table and placing my purse on the floor next to it.
‘This is quite difficult for me to say.’ He sits straight in his chair, his lips firm. ‘But I feel I must. You see, I came across some information recently and I didn’t really know what to do with it.’ His expression is troubled as he glances up. Is that . . . sympathy? ‘I was going to ignore it, but then Remy told me this morning that he had proposed, and you had accepted.’
‘You’ve kind of lost me.’ I bring the bitter beverage to my lips again, Ben’s next words taking some time to comprehend.
‘Remy hasn’t told you the truth, Rose. About how he came to find you. About why you are here. About everything. Your relationship is built on a lie—a mountain of them. You deserve better than that.’
The coffee turns sour on my tongue as I watch him angle his head, his eyes filled with pity. I don’t have a reply. Just a sickness washing though me.
‘Of course, you should see the truth of it,’ he says, reaching for a dark document wallet behind him. He begins to unpack the contents, the items dropping to the table in a blur. Some I understand. Some I can’t make sense of at all. What I do know is, the document and photographs and emails are about me.
Paperwork detailing my name. My old address. My hours at The Pussy Cat.
An email trail between Rhett and someone who works for a company called BDT Security Solutions.
Photographs—dozens of them. One a close up of my face. I’d painted freckles against my cheeks with an eyeliner. I’m wearing my blonde wig with the braids over my own dark hair. As I flip the image over, there’s a name in an unfamiliar hand scrawled on the back.