Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“I think I do,” I say softly. Then, even though something hurts inside my chest, I push past that tangled knot to say, “It’s just…it’s hard for me.”
Stefan’s expression is gentle as he asks, “Because of Xander?”
I shake my head, flashing back to years ago. To the things I heard in my own house. There are knives in my throat when I think of how my father treated my mom. “And my dad.”
I haven’t told them much about him. I don’t like to talk about him. But they need to know why I hold back. “He hurt my mom so much.”
Hayes sits up straighter, his brow knitting, protective instincts kicking in. “Physically?” He sounds ready to kill.
“Verbally. He was a drunk. He put her down, insulted her, cheated on her.” I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them as the reel of my childhood flashes by, too familiar, too painful. “I used to go to my room with my little sister and turn up the music so we wouldn’t hear. We did fashion shows for each other. That’s how I protected her from him. I tried on all my clothes, dressing up to entertain her,” I say with a hard lump in my throat and tears pricking my eyes.
“That was courageous of you to take that on,” Stefan says, his tone warm, his hand even warmer as he reaches across the table to squeeze my knee.
“I was just trying to entertain her so she wouldn’t hear. She’s five years younger. So maybe it worked—she seems happy enough.”
“What’s she up to now?” Hayes asks. “You’ve mentioned her a few times. She’s in New Zealand for school?”
I smile, thinking of Katie. Of the ways Ryker and I have looked out for her. Of how upbeat and buoyant she is. “She’s studying marine biology, and every time we text, she’s having a blast. She’s like Roxy.” I gesture to the dog, who’s flat on her side, sound asleep. “Sucking the sweetness out of life.”
“So you helped,” Stefan says.
“Maybe I did. I learned it from my brother, who did that for me.” Then I close my eyes and breathe deep, my fears nipping at my heels.
I try to push past them. Truly I do, but they’re still swirling around me.
When I open my eyes, I look to both men, listening attentively, trying to become the center of my world. I want to let go of my past, but I can still feel the pain of those childhood moments. It’s taken me years to learn new ways of living. “I want to trust all this,” I say, gesturing from them to me, speaking from the heart of my hurt. “I want to believe it all. I don’t want to be wrong.”
Stefan takes my hand, presses a kiss to it. “Take your time.”
Hayes reaches for my calf, rubs it. “There’s no rush, baby. We’re going to be here for you. In a week, in a month, longer.”
The awards are in a month. The reason we said we’d do this—be a throuple of convenience.
But it hardly feels like a romance of convenience.
It feels like it’s becoming the real thing, and that scares me even more.
50
KARMA IS TWO BOYFRIENDS
Ivy
A week later, I duck behind the front counter of Better With Pockets, where Beatrix studies me intensely as I gather my planner and my purse, ready to take off for the evening. I’ve been in her shop for a few hours, snapping pictures of outfits for her social, some that she wears, some that I wear.
But she’s still staring at me when I sling my purse over my shoulder.
“Is everything okay?” I ask with mild concern.
She taps her chin, then points to my Zoe Slade pants, which she knows are secondhand. “Hear me out. What if we have a thrifting section of the store. A consignment section. But we take in clothes for consignment that I once sold?”
“Don’t get me excited, Beatrix,” I say.
“I thought you might like that idea. I’ll look into it, and we can add it to our marketing and promos.”
“Love it. I’m your girl, whatever you need.”
That’s who I’ve been for her for the last few weeks. She’s become a regular client of mine, right along with Birdie at Your Runway and a couple other publications that I’ve started writing for again. But I’m still doing my own thing online for Your Scrappy Little Fashionista, posting fashion rules and suggestions for outfits of the day, as well as tips on recycling clothes. Somehow, along with my side gig as a fox, I’ve cobbled together enough work from enough places to cover my bills. The hustle takes up a lot of energy and focus, though, and I don’t want to backslide into relying on only one person, like I did with Simone. I want to make sure, too, that I can trust my own instincts as I work on my passion.