Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Farrow ambled my way, her cool eyes taking me in. “You hate the dress.”
I shrugged. “I just … it seems so redundant, seeing as there won’t be a wedding.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Considering I have to consent to the wedding, I do.” I hopped off the podium, strode to the small kitchenette, and poured myself a glass of water. “I love Oliver. I think he loves me, too. Getting amnesia has been surprisingly healing, considering the circumstances.”
Fae arched a brow. “But …”
“But we will never, ever be able to change the fact that I once gave myself up for a man, and I will never do it again. I have a life in LA. A career, friends, and dreams I still haven’t achieved. I can’t stay here. Not when I like myself better with my spine attached.”
“You know, I was the same.” A sad smile nestled onto her face. “I had the worst freaking start to my life. If you told me five years ago that I would let go of control and trust a man, I’d find you a hotel room to sober up in. But God, the reward is so worth it.”
“Zach has never let you down,” I pointed out.
“No, he hasn’t. But consider this – if you’re not the same person you were fifteen years ago, why would Oliver be? That question will haunt you when you return to Los Angeles and realize it doesn’t shine as bright as it once did. You’re only hurting yourself if you don’t have this conversation with him. Give Oliver a chance to do the right thing. Who knows? He might surprise you.”
He can’t.
But Farrow didn’t know about Sebastian. Oliver would never leave him behind, and I would never want him to. I loved Seb, too. So, Oliver and I avoided the topic altogether, both of us knowing the only possible outcome.
“Yes.” I pasted on the weakest smile known to man. “Maybe.”
Chapter Eighty-Four
Briar
We needed to cancel the fake wedding.
When was the only question. We didn’t have many options: now or later. It almost would be easier to call up the Maury show and let him announce the results for us, considering Ollie and I didn’t want to touch the conversation with a ten-foot, condom-sheathed pole.
Me, because I feared what it meant for us. Him, because I knew, deep down, he wanted to follow me to LA, but he could never abandon his family.
The halo-halo I’d gobbled up at Dallas’ sloshed in my belly as I crept past our gates, trudging the short distance from her home to mine. Mine. Shit, I had it bad. Nothing about this twenty-thousand-foot mansion screamed mine.
Except, the self-destruction voice in my head taunted, the outrageous, frustrating, hotter-than-sin man that owns it.
I loitered by the fountain, drawing out the minutes before I entered. Over the past fifteen years, I’d acquired a sixth sense for calamity. The morbid ability to recognize disasters before they happened. I could’ve used it before Oliver left me in Paris, or before I stumbled upon the Instagram exchange, or even before my parents ditched me.
So, tonight, I did my best to heed its warning, hovering outside until my feet ached and my eyes almost gave out on me, closing without permission. Finally, I inched the front door open, noting the drawn curtains and pitch black.
Utter silence stretched across the cavernous space. The playful vibe that normally clung to the air had disappeared.
I set my purse on the first step of the stairs and turned on my phone flashlight. “Hello?”
No answer.
“Oliver?”
I weaved past the couch and into the kitchen. Empty. Then, I tip-toed upstairs, unsure why I feared breaking the silence. When I got to the top step, I hesitated, glancing at the entrance to the south wing. Dark and empty, as always.
With a quick shake of my head, I forced out that weird inkling churning in my gut. Of an impending catastrophe.
“You’re being ridiculous, Briar.”
With that, I pulled my shoulders back and stormed to the master bedroom, bumping into my first evidence of doom. The shut double doors. Ollie always kept them open. An invitation for me to walk in whenever I pleased.
I hesitated, my fingers latched onto the knob. The erratic thump-thump of my heartbeat ricocheted between my ears.
This is silly. You sleep here. Open the door.
I knocked first. No answer. I pressed my forehead to the wood, closing my eyes.
“Ollie?”
Nothing.
A memory slammed into me. Of Oliver, keeping me out of the gates of this very house, watching me in the pouring rain as I begged for him to let me in.
I couldn’t help it.
I reeled back, rattled and shaking.
Unable to escape our ugly past as it held me hostage.
Chapter Eighty-Five
Briar
Age nineteen.
I made the fatal mistake of checking Oliver’s Instagram page. On the bench, between classes, beneath the blistering Texas heat, with a sandwich clamped between my teeth.