Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
A warmth spreads through my insides. That’s ridiculous, right?
“I obviously didn’t think that one through,” I murmur primly.
“Is it a good book?” Daisy angles her head my way.
I shrug. “When you’re older, you can read it yourself and decide.”
“Rebecca isn’t a love story.” Raif’s fingers tighten on mine. “But this is. We’re living our happy ending.” His eyes shine bright as he adds, “All in, princess.”
42
LAVENDER
Love is wonderful.
Love is painful.
Love is… such a head fuck.
I remember thinking back in my flat after Sunday lunch the day we’d arrived back from Gibraltar that I wasn’t sure what love was. It was the first time I’d seen Tod after… well, after he sold me out. Or did me a favor. I’m not sure what to call it now. Anyway, I remember thinking I loved him before the weekend and wondered where those feelings had gone. But I was wrong. There really is no mistaking love. If you have to ask yourself if you felt it, you haven’t.
It’s a bit like an orgasm in that respect.
Seeing Celine yesterday, watching her hands cling to Raif, provoked a very different reaction in me. It was so hard to process the wave of feelings that rushed at me. I think I tried to deny them at first—like I was watching it happen to someone else. I’d been out with Tod countless times and watched him flirt, and it never bothered me. It’s weird how that only now strikes me as odd.
Watching Celine touch Raif made me see red. It made me feel sick to my stomach and want to lash out even though I was acting all cool about it. When she left, I tried so hard to maintain a too-cool-for-school exterior, but it had all come crashing down.
A love story. A happy ending. All in.
His words. It was all it took.
As he’d reached across the table and taken my hand, I’d caved, showering him and the pink table in garbled words.
“You’re mine. Not hers. And I love you.”
His hand tightened. His eyes glossed. But he was beaten to the punchline by Daisy.
“Of course you do. That’s why you two are married.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “That’s exactly why we’re married. Love.”
He tugged on my hand. I stood, and he twisted away from the table, pulling me onto his knee.
“People will stare,” I whispered.
“Let them. Let them stare for a lifetime. I love you, Lavender. I love you so hard it hurts.”
“I know.” It was my admission as much as his. We’d found our person—our human.
One squeeze, so tight, our arms entwined and our hearts beating together, before he widened his hold, pulling Daisy into our embrace.
I had never felt so whole.
“Daisy’s here.” Primrose’s head appears around my office door just as I end a call with a courier booked to pick up Wednesday’s deliveries.
“Thanks. I’ll be out in two ticks.”
“Just to let you know, the lovely Leo says she came out of class very unhappy.”
My nose scrunches. “The lovely Leo?”
“Yeah.” She smiles softly. “I think he’s really sweet.”
“No, Prim. Don’t even think about it,” I say, flipping the diary closed.
“I wasn’t asking for permission.” She sighs. “But then, neither is he.”
“What?”
“He hasn’t asked me out or anything.”
“Good.” Because that would be awkward. I’d probably turn into Raif. Minus the jealous, of course.
“Daiz really doesn’t look herself. She didn’t even want to get ice cream.”
“Oof. Serious grumps, then.” Pulling open my desk drawer, I drop the diary inside. “I’m coming.”
“Hey, Daisy-do.” I flop onto the reception sofa next to her. On the other side of the sofa is her red blazer and straw boater hat. Her black shoes shine as though they’d just been taken out of the box, her white ankle socks still pristine. Polly used to say that when I came back from a day at school, I looked like a crow that had been stuck in a chimney. “Bad day at school, lovely?”
“It was okay,” she says in a tiny voice.
“You don’t look very happy for someone who had an okay day. Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head, refusing to look at me.
“Sometimes things seem much worse when they’re all bottled up inside. It can help to share a problem, to let all the icky stuff out.”
Another headshake, this one a little more adamant. “I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to go back to school.”
“Oh, I hear you on that,” I say, sliding wisps of her blond hair away. “School was not my favorite place. But you like school, don’t you? You have nice friends and a nice teacher.”
“I just don’t want to go back.” Her whisper sounds harsh, her feet frantically bouncing over the edge of the sofa.
“Well, I suppose if you don’t want to go anymore, you’re going to need to give a reason.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, looking up.