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)
“It must be my lucky day,” I announce, walking into my home office a few minutes later. “Unless there’s something I’ve missed on my calendar, like Whittington clan visitation day.”
Brin Whittington turns from the window overlooking the darkening garden. “Meaning?” he demands, his tone surly.
“First, your mom.” I make my way over to my walnut desk and lean back against it. “Now you. And, of course, there’s also Lavender, though she doesn’t visit so much as… come.”
“You fucker—” He glances at the floor and shakes his head. “I deserved that,” he says, glancing up again. “But she doesn’t. She doesn’t deserve any of this.”
“And that’s my problem, how?” I fold my arms and cross my feet at the ankle, the picture of apathy. It’s not that I don’t care about what he did. I just don’t care as much about it as much I probably should have. I care that his actions fucked up my plans, which brings us here. To this moment. A moment of recognition for him.
Brin’s restless steps echo to the other side of the room, wheeling around to face me. “Why her?”
“Process of elimination. Heather is already married, and Primrose is a little too young.”
“Does she know that? Does she know why?”
“You’re still breathing. I’m sure you can answer that.”
“Exactly,” he says with an unhappy-sounding laugh. He wheels away, retracing his footsteps. “I don’t know how the fuck you’ve gotten her into this, but I know you’ll regret it.”
“Is that a threat?” Ice cuts through my tone.
“No. It’s the truth.”
“You think telling your sister why this has happened will get either of you out of this shit?” No need to explain how Lavender will get out of this marriage or what she’ll receive for being part of it. What Brin gets out of it is discomfort. Maybe fear. Definitely regret of knowing
“No, but it would get your balls severed from the rest of your body, I reckon.” Despite his bravado, he slices his hand through his hair in an agitated motion.
“Your sister is far too fond of my balls to slice them off.”
“She’d just put them in a jar and stick them on a shelf.”
“Why are we having this conversation, Brin? We both know you won’t tell your sister, so my balls will remain exactly where they are.”
“You have majorly fucked up.” He gives a slow shake of his head.
This is not what I was expecting.
“Totally got your wires crossed,” he continues.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I say icily. “I saw what I saw. You were there that day too, so you also remember.” My chest tightens as I recall the expression on his face again. He’d gone pale, panicked, but ultimately, the expression he wore was one of shame.
Is it strange that I feel so unattached to the memories?
“That’s not what I meant, but yeah. I was there, and I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” Curling my fingers inward, I begin to examine my fingernails. “Pity for you, I don’t give a flying fuck about your regrets.”
“All the same, I should’ve apologized before now.”
I make a noise. It sounds almost like an agreement.
“I screwed up. I could tell you I was drunk because I was, but that’s not a good enough excuse. But honestly, Ali said you and her had an arrangement.”
I frown because we did. But fucking other people wasn’t part of it.
“Like an open relationship.”
I sigh and rub my thumb across my fingernails as though expecting it to catch. I raise my eyes but not my head. “Frankly, I don’t give a fuck. In my eyes, you’re still at fault.”
“So why take it out on my little sister?”
Rolling my stiff shoulders, I reach for the small fruit bowl on the corner of my desk. I pick up an apple and rotate it slowly between my thumb and fingers.
“You have no idea what I have planned for her.” I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply. In the periphery of my vision, Brin’s body jerks, though he ultimately aborts that instinct.
I glance menacingly his way. “That’s right. I’d stay right where you are if I were you.”
“You’re a bastard,” he grates out, his hands balled by his side. “But you know what? I console myself with the thought that you don’t understand how badly you’ve fucked up. You’ve got the wrong girl.”
“No, I have the right girl… just for the wrong reason,” I concede.
“Lavender isn’t… Jesus.” He laughs. It isn’t a happy sound. “You must’ve realized by now Lavender can start an argument in an empty room.”
I almost smile because he’s right, but I’m not here to make him feel better. I’m enjoying his sister in more ways than I expected. More ways than he’d be able to understand.
Besides, the whole point of this was to make him feel like shit. To punish him.
So it’s strange to find I feel shitty right now.