Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Couldn’t stay on task?”
“Kept sleeping with the staff. All the staff—the maids, my mother’s personal secretary, my grandfather’s butler, Nick’s favorite horse.”
Laughing, she looks up with a mix of amusement and horror. “Oh, no, he didn’t. Tell me he didn’t sleep with the poor horse.”
“He didn’t sleep with the horse,” I say, then amend with a wince, “Probably didn’t sleep with the horse. We did find them curled up together in her stall one morning, but the general consensus was that he was too drunk to make it back to the main house after hitting the clubs and passed out there with no damage done. He was let go not long after, though, and his next book featured a man forced to tutor three spoiled little boys, who falls in love with a magnificent white stallion, so…”
Her jaw drops. “The Bleeding Year? Oh my God, I had no idea it was about you and your brothers.” Her nose wrinkles. “And your brother’s poor horse.”
“According to literary critics, the horse is a symbol of his frustrated masculinity.”
Lizzy’s lips purse. “Sounds to me like he could have afforded to be a little more frustrated.” She shakes her head with another soft laugh. “But honestly, these sorts of stories make me feel better. It’s not just my family that’s insane. Mad people are everywhere.”
“Normal, whatever that is, certainly isn’t as common as I assumed as a child,” I agree, studying her profile for a beat. “So, am I forgiven, then?”
“For blackmailing me into this, you mean?” She keeps her gaze on her needle. “Sure.”
“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
“Well, detail work is easier when you’re sitting by a fire with a cup of tea instead of careening around mountain curves, about to pass out from an overdose of anti-nausea medication.”
I frown. “How many did you take?”
“Three,” she says, hurrying on while I’m still sputtering. “I always take three. It’s fine. Don’t fret, General.”
“It’s not fine! You’re supposed to take one every eight hours, and you’ve been ill and on other medications, you don’t know—”
“I know that you wouldn’t want to spend five minutes in a car with me if I weren’t medicated,” she cuts in. “Trust me. It’s like that scene from The Exorcist.”
A graphic—and repulsive—visual from the movie flickers on my mental screen, and I grimace. “I thought you didn’t like movies.”
“I like some movies. That one was okay, considering Zan made me watch it right after I projectile vomited all over her new car on the way back from a stand-up paddle-boarding trip a few years ago. I only took two pills that time. Zan insisted it was dangerous to take three.” She smiles smugly. “Now she knows better than to question my car-sickness management system.”
“How about when you’re driving?” I ask. “Do you still get sick then?”
“Less so, but I still take one pill about twenty minutes before I leave the house. And I can’t sew while I’m behind the wheel, so…” She executes another perfect line of stitches, bringing a tiny leaf into being. “But yes, I forgive you. Your heart is in the right place, I guess. Though…”
“Though what?” I ask, dividing my attention between her face and the road.
She ties off the thread and reaches for the tiny scissors in the bag beside her. “I don’t understand why you’re so…determined to do this. To help me.”
“You’re in pain,” I say. “And you’re my friend. Why wouldn’t I want to help?”
She looks up, meeting my gaze, questions still swirling in her eyes. “That’s kind, but I’m sure you have friends and family and responsibilities you should be taking care of right now. Your brother’s about to become king. You’ll be second in line. Should anything happen to Andrew, you have to be ready to step in at a moment’s notice, right? I imagine there’s a lot of work and preparation that goes into making that happen.”
“There is. But a friend’s life is more important.”
“But you don’t think the curse is real,” she insists as she wraps the corset in tissue paper and tucks it carefully back into her bag. “Which means, if you’re correct, I’ll be fine. I’m not going to placebo effect myself into falling down a flight of stairs. I’m going to be careful. I promise. So, if you’re certain you’re right and there’s nothing to fear, then this quest is nothing but a waste of precious time.”
“You’re more precious than my time,” I say bluntly, refusing to argue with her about this again.
“Am I really, though? When, if you’re correct, all you have to do is wait until December nineteenth and call me up to say me ‘I told you so?’”
I narrow my eyes her way. “Is it your custom to back out of deals after you’ve given your word?”
“Is it your custom to blackmail women into doing what you want and then get cranky when they’re not as happy about it as you’d like?” she shoots back. “And I’m not backing out. I’m giving you a chance to change your mind before we both waste days hunting someone we’re not going to find. Like I said before, if she were still in Rue, I would have run into her. She’s long gone, maybe even dead for all we know.”