Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
And now, I was someone new, someone reborn.
A monster.
And I didn’t trust what I’d do next.
Two days later and exactly one week before the wedding, I stood in the bathroom, staring at myself in a bikini and wondering whether I was certifiably insane or just a little crazy.
Tyler had stayed hidden all day again yesterday, going into work even though he said he’d taken this time off for the wedding, and then staying the night at his own place instead of here with the family. It wasn’t that that was odd — not to anyone who didn’t know what had transpired between us. His parents and Morgan believed him when he said work had picked up with things he couldn’t wait to address, and that he wanted a night alone in his own bed.
It was logical. It made sense.
Except I knew it was all bullshit.
He was avoiding me, because I’d pushed him until he’d confessed that he’d missed me. And little did he know what Morgan had told me the next day.
With all the information I had that no one else did, I couldn’t just sit still. I couldn’t let him avoid me and pretend to hate him and ignore him right back — not now that I knew the truth about what happened between us seven years ago.
Like he’d said, I couldn’t not try.
I needed to talk to him.
And so, it was my brilliant idea to take the stressful task off Morgan’s hands of narrowing down the wedding playlist for the band. It overwhelmed her, anyway — she was worried she’d pick the wrong songs and no one would dance. Trusting my taste much more, she happily agreed when I offered to take over.
I also suggested that Tyler help me, since he knew more about her family and what music they would love.
It didn’t take much convincing — mostly because Morgan wanted us to be friends about as much as she wanted to get married next weekend. So, she called Tyler up and asked if he’d work with me on the playlist while she and Oliver took the day to check other items off the list, like sending their list of poses and family portraits to the photographer, finalizing the seating chart, and writing their vows — which they wanted to do together.
A sigh left my chest as I gave myself one last look over in the mirror, feeling a little self-conscious in the strappy bikini. It was a sunshine yellow that made me look more tan than I really was, and brought out the brightness of my long, blonde hair. I braided said hair over one shoulder, threw on a maxi dress that covered my swimsuit entirely, and then grabbed the bag I’d packed the night before that had everything we’d need — sunscreen, towels, water, speaker, and of course, a pair of swim trunks I’d snuck out of Tyler’s old bedroom since he was gone last night.
When I skipped down the two flights of stairs, Oliver was leaning against the banister at the bottom of them, watching his wife-to-be pace back and forth in the foyer on the phone with someone.
I stopped when I was at his side, adjusting the bag on my shoulder and nodding to Morgan. “She okay?”
“Oh, she’s fine,” he said with an amused smirk. “It’s the poor owner of Mackie’s Donut Truck that I feel sorry for right now.”
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
He quirked a brow at me. “They’re already booked for another event next weekend, and Morgan insists it has to be Mackie’s donuts at our wedding. She’s offering everything but a bar of gold to get them to come to the Cape instead of the previous engagement they had booked.”
“Which is?”
“A fundraiser of some sort for the church.”
I groaned, leaning a hip against the staircase railing with my eyes on my best friend. “Oh, Morgan.”
Oliver chuckled, and it was then that I noticed Morgan was pacing back and forth in her wedding heels. They were absolutely stunning — cream white with pearl and lace details and a high, delicate heel that made me shiver at the thought of balancing on them. The front door swung open, letting in a blast of sunlight that silhouetted Tyler, and when he closed it behind him, our eyes met.
He looked more relaxed than he had when he left the day before, his boyish hair unsettled and jutting up this way and that. He wore cream-colored chino shorts and a sea foam green polo that hugged his biceps and stretched across his wide chest. The belt around his shorts accented his narrow waist, and a pair of sunglasses hid his eyes.
His expression was unreadable.
He didn’t frown, but he definitely didn’t smile, either. Instead, he slowly plucked his sunglasses off and watched me for a long, pregnant pause before his eyes fell to his sister’s feet. Then, and only then, did he arch one brow into his hairline.