Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
She’s quiet, gaze fixed on me as she worries the inside of her lip.
“I mean it when I say he was like a brother to me,” I continue. “Growing up, we always had each other’s backs. We were inseparable. Nothing—and I mean nothing—could come between us.”
Brie takes a step closer. Silent. Reluctant. Attentive.
“He used to be a good person,” I say. “But somewhere along the line, he became toxic. Self-serving. A bold-faced liar.”
She takes a seat on the edge of the sofa, head in her hands.
“He lied to you, Brie. He deceived you in the worst kinds of ways,” I continue. “But he lied to me too. I was too blinded by my decades-long loyalty to see it. We never want to think the people we care about are capable of using us.”
She huffs, nodding. “What did he lie to you about?”
“Amongst other things … his feelings for you,” I say without pause.
Her dark brows knit. “I don’t understand how that’s a friendship deal breaker.”
“Because from the moment I met you in my dream, I knew you were real. And I knew you were meant for me. I looked for you everywhere. I thought about you constantly,” I say. “But then I found you. And you were his. And as much as it killed me inside, I had to respect that.” I press my lips into a hard line, exhaling. “He’d go on and on about how much he loved you, how amazing you were. And all it did was solidify—for me—the fact that I could never have you. When I found out you were moving here, Grant asked me to keep an eye on you. He also asked me to pretend to date you so you wouldn’t be able to date anyone else.”
Her jaw hangs and her emerald eyes widen. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised given everything that’s transpired recently.”
“He offered me money, Brie.” I don’t hide the incredulousness in my voice. “I told him to fuck off, that I would never do that to you. I’d never do that to anyone, for that matter.” Exhaling, I go on, “Anyway, you and I started spending time together. And out of loyalty to Grant—and despite the fact that I couldn’t take my eyes off you for two seconds anytime you were around—I kept my hands to myself even when all I wanted to do was kiss you … pull you into my arms as we strolled the sidewalks … spend the fucking night with you. But I always said goodbye at the end of the day. Even if it killed me.”
She tugs on her bottom lip, staring blankly ahead, quiet as a fucking mouse.
“Why’d you let me come over anyway?” I ask, realizing she’s been eerily calm these last several minutes. “Last weekend you accused me of being Grant’s henchman and told me never to talk to you again. Now you’re hearing me out. What changed?”
Her sour-apple gaze rests on mine. I can’t tell if she’s about to get teary-eyed or if she’s overwhelmed with sheer exhaustion.
“It was what you said on the phone earlier,” she finally speaks.
“Elay-fay-por-twah?” I’m probably butchering it.
She blinks, eyes glassy. “Yeah. Where did you hear that?”
I draw in a long breath, praying to God she keeps an open mind this time. “When Grant knocked me out the other night, I passed out. When I started to come to, I heard this voice whispering in my ear. Elay-fay-por-twah, elay-fay-por-twah over and over. At least that’s what it sounded like.”
Maybe I misheard it. I was drunk and I blacked out the second Grant decked me. Because of my accident and previous head injury, the paramedics took me to the hospital to get checked out. If it wasn’t for that, I’d have been home a day ago, but I had to spend hours in the imaging department, hours waiting for a doctor to read the results, and hours in observation before they’d clear me.
Fucking Grant …
Without saying a word, Brie smooths her palms along her leggings, rises from the sofa, and retrieves a small notebook and pen from the kitchen. When she comes back, she scribbles a sentence into the paper and hands it to me.
“Il est fait pour toi,” she reads it to me. “It means he is made for you in French.”
I stare at the words. And then at her. My heart hammers with every passing second.
Brie’s quivering pink lips can’t decide if they want to smile or frown.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s just … this is the strangest thing. My sister. The one who died. We studied abroad in Paris our senior year of high school. When we got back, any time we wanted to have a secret conversation, we’d speak in French because no one else in our family spoke the language. When we went off to college, we’d use it any time we saw a cute guy or whatever and wanted to point it out to each other. It was this silly little thing we did, I guess. But it was our thing.”