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)
And it worked.
“You know …” She pouted. “He never truly got over the fact that you two didn’t have a relationship. He tried looking for you. Sending letters. Calling. I blocked him every single time. Got rid of the letters. Changed numbers so he couldn’t find us. The party at the chateau was the last straw. I put you in boarding school, where he couldn’t find you. And it worked.”
My entire body shook. I clenched the edge of the counter. If I let go, I’d lunge across the table and hurt her. My self-control dwindled by the second.
I could’ve had a father.
I could’ve had a father.
I could’ve felt unconditional love. I could’ve had a father who asked me how my day was, who walked me down the aisle, who taught me how to break generational curses before I started my own.
She robbed me of that.
I stood up, only for my knees to buckle. The backpack tumbled toward the tiles. A hand shot out to catch it, followed by another looping around my waist.
Oliver.
Only he could blanket me with peace in a moment like this. I let him hold me up, lost for words for the first time. After all, no words could possibly describe the misery she’d inflected on me.
Oliver’s eyes sharpened into two pointy daggers, drilling holes into my mother and pinning her into place. “You’re done.”
She tried and failed to close her gaping mouth. “But—”
“And I don’t mean with this conversation. I mean with life. This is the last time you will ever speak to my wife. I will eviscerate whatever scraps of a life you’ve managed to salvage. Being poor will be the least of your problems.”
“You don’t even know what I said,” she protested.
“And I don’t fucking care. The second you made the woman I love cry was the second you signed your death warrant. Hope you’re a fan of orange, Philomena, because it’s about to be the only color you’ll wear for the rest of your miserable life.”
Philomena’s eyes stared back at him like two giant saucers.
“Oh.” He hiked the backpack stuffed with money over his shoulder. “And you don’t deserve this.”
That sprang her into action. “Hey. You can’t take that back.”
“I can, and I am. No contract, no fucking money. Hound me with lawyers, baby. Let’s see who wins.”
He collected my hand with more gentleness than needed, as if it were something precious, holding it in his sweater pocket like he wanted to tuck me inside with it and shield me from the world.
“Don’t worry, Philomena, I’ll be sure to send you a video of me burning all that cash in a bonfire, just to throw some salt into the open wound. Have a shitty life.”
She chased us to the exit, latching onto the JanSport by its flimsy straps. “That’s illegal.”
“So are fraud, theft, and Ponzi schemes. I’m sure the authorities would love to see all the evidence I’ve gathered.” Ollie jerked the backpack away from her frail fingers as the waitress chased us down with the bill. “Better cash in that AARP discount, Philomena. You’re gonna need it.”
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Briar
You can hide Trio in your JanSport and Geezer under your oversized Baylor sweatshirt.
The half-baked scheme flickered through my mind like a lifeline. Surely, airport security wouldn’t check too hard if I faked a pregnancy. But alas, it would be cruel to kidnap Oliver’s dogs on top of dumping him.
And I would end things.
Nothing had changed. My work on set began in two weeks, and Sebastian’s condition anchored Oliver here. Our lives didn’t fit. They never had. Turns out, love is a demanding bitch. It waits for no one but has the audacity to be worth the wait.
“We can’t be together,” I announced at the breakfast table over eggs and vegan sausage.
Oliver slapped the Financial Times onto his plate, glaring at me as if I’d ruined the perfect breakfast combo forever. Not that he took me seriously.
I could read the defiance sizzling in his eyes. In fact, he’d spent the past twenty-four hours hovering over me, watching for signs of a pending breakdown over the news of Cooper’s death. He probably considered my words to be the tipping point.
“Yes, we can.” He closed the paper, wiped a hollandaise stain off the front page with the napkin on his lap, and casually resumed his meal. “But go ahead and tell me what you think is standing in our way.”
I buttered a slice of sourdough toast, imagining what he’d say to me if I hadn’t ruined breakfast with my announcement.
Probably something along the lines of – I love you. I truly do, but I don’t understand why you toasted bread that’s already hard. Are you not fond of your teeth?
“Ollie.” I sighed, sinking my teeth into bread that did, indeed, hurt to bite. “This fake engagement hoax was fun, but there are other people involved now that expect it to actually happen.”