Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“You didn’t give me a chance, greedy minx. You had it in your mouth before I could warn you.”
“It’s not funny, Greyson. I burned my tongue.” She stuck it out and pointed to the scalded bit.
His face immediately went contrite. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he murmured sympathetically, reaching out to gently cup her chin with his hand and adjust her head so that he could have a closer look. They both immediately froze at the contact, and his hand withdrew as they retreated back to their respective shells.
The interaction had been so familiar. So right.
And it had unnerved her completely.
She took a sip of wine in an effort to cool her tongue and calm her nerves while Greyson took a thirsty drink from his tall glass of water.
The water made her remember the strange question Harris had asked so many weeks ago.
She tilted her head and watched him assessingly as he took another sip of water. He caught her gaze and raised his brows. “What?”
“You never minded a glass of wine with lunch before.”
“I’m driving,” he reminded her.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you having so much as a sip of alcohol since arriving in Riversend.”
“Why is that weird? We haven’t exactly been in party mode since I got here.”
“What’s weird is that you seem to be consciously avoiding it. Why?”
“It’s not a pretty story,” he warned on a heavy sigh, and she laughed grimly.
“None of our stories lately have been pretty.”
“When you left . . . after I understood what I’d lost by driving you away . . . I kind of went off the deep end for a bit. I gave the staff time off, tore the penthouse apart, and fell into a vat of whiskey and didn’t come up for air again for three weeks.
“I don’t remember too much about it. I was a wreck. The apartment was trashed; the only room I didn’t touch was Clara’s.” He shook his head. His eyes had a suspicious sheen to them before he looked away. “I hated myself so fucking much. I hated what I’d done to you, to Harris, to Clara . . . I mourned everything I had missed out on and lost. I tried to stop myself from feeling all of that pain and . . . thought the alcohol would numb it. It didn’t. Everything just seemed sharper. I was trapped in a world of memories with only you for company, and you hated me. It was . . .” He shook his head. “Indescribably painful. But I knew I deserved it. When I finally surfaced, it was to discover that the staff had returned, that they had set most of the place to rights . . . but I heard them talking. About how Harris had kept our parents and the rest of the world at bay. He had done damage control at the company, saying I was on a leave of absence and all decisions went through him. He had protected me while simultaneously worrying about my mental, physical, and emotional well-being. It was humbling. I had treated him unforgivably badly, and he had still gone out of his way to take care of me. He doesn’t know that I know what he did for me. And I have no way of ever repaying him. Except to make sure that I never allow something like that to happen again.
“My dependence, my weakness . . . it shook me. I don’t ever want to go back to that place. That dark, desolate place. It took me a long time to come to terms with how far off the rails I’d gone. I still can’t fully believe the magnitude of that meltdown. In the immediate aftermath, after I’d sobered up, I had a hard time coping with my new reality. With your loss and Harris’s silent animosity. The world I woke up to was completely alien to me. I was horrified that I could be so weak and cruel and stupid. I told myself you were better off without me, but every picture Harris sent, every update from the investigator . . . they were like lifelines to a drowning man. In the end, the thought of never seeing you again, never knowing Clara, became unbearable, and I had to come to you. I had to at least try to fix things.”
Libby didn’t know how it had happened, but she found herself clinging to his hand, needing the contact and desperate to offer some degree of comfort in return. The soft, rushed words tumbling from his lips, offered to her with a stoicism she could only marvel at, seemed unimaginable. Yet the starkness in his eyes testified to the brutal truth behind his horrifying words.
She had continued on after his awful betrayal. She’d had the support of her family and friends. Her new baby to love and cherish. She had been in pain but never alone . . . never allowed to wallow in total despair. She had emerged stronger, more independent, secure in the love of those nearest and dearest to her.