Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Samesies,” I reply, then close my eyes, trying to wish away the past five seconds. Samesies? Am I eleven?
He lets out that half-laugh again at my clumsy response, and I open my eyes. Once again, Worth has surprised me. I half expected him to be offended. But I get the feeling Worth isn’t telling me anything to get a specific response. He’s saying it because it’s true and he doesn’t want me not to know. His shoulders are broad in more ways than one.
I feel his fingers curled around mine. The heat of them. The strength of them. The way they feel so protective. They feel like truth. Right about now, that’s exactly what I need.
We stay watching the fountains for a few more minutes. The spray occasionally mists my face, the cooling sensation of the water a balm against my heated skin.
“We should get this water,” he says.
I agree, but I don’t know how. There’s a barrier between us and the pool where the fountains are.
“You stay here,” he says. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Worth!” I say. “Don’t—”
But before I can finish, he’s off. He slips effortlessly through the crowd to the other side, where the balustrading ends. Then he jumps over a barrier like he’s some kind of Olympic athlete, and extends his arm, plunging the empty water bottle into the pool.
I scan the crowds, looking for security closing in on him. There’s a security guard coming up behind him, but Worth has got what he needs. He screws the lid on the now-full bottle before making his way back across the barrier. The security guard meets him on the other side. The two of them have an exchange of words that ends in a handshake.
Worth looks up and meets my eyes as he stalks back to me.
“You got caught,” I say.
He shrugs. “What are they going to do, arrest me for stealing water?”
“Borrowing,” I correct him.
“Exactly. We can bring it back the day after the wedding.”
When we get back in the car, he hands me the bottle and I tuck it into the pocket in the back of the front seat. It’s not a great option for borrowed, but at least we have something.
“Let’s do the Vegas sign now,” he says to the driver. “We need to up our game.”
When we reach the sign, we hop out of the car.
“I’ll take your picture,” he says, pulling out his phone. I adjust the collar of my shirt, hoping it’s straight, then hold my arms outstretched. He pushes his Wayfarers to the top of his head and holds up his phone.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he says as he takes the pictures.
My stomach rises and falls and I don’t know what to say. But again, he’s not looking for a response.
“Now your turn,” I say as he lowers his sunglasses.
He shakes his head, slings his arm around my shoulders, turns us, and holds out the phone for a selfie.
I stare at the still image he’s just captured.
We both look so happy. He looks so gorgeous, anyone would think he was a movie star or a model or something.
“Come on,” he says, scooping up my hand and pulling me into the car. “Next stop.”
“Do you think we need to get someone to loan us something?” I ask as we pull back out onto the street. “Or do we buy something and loan it to Leo and Jules?”
“Either would qualify. What could we buy for a hundred dollars?” he asks.
“What about the necklace you gave us,” I suggest. “I could loan her that. It’s the most expensive thing I own. But she does already have one exactly the same.”
A smile curls around his lips at my lame suggestion, and I have the urge to press my fingers against his mouth, feeling the way it moves under my touch.
“Is she looking for expensive or thoughtful?” he asks. “Meaningful?”
“I don’t have anything with me.” I have a trinket box at home with things inside that might have qualified: a shell I found by the lake the first summer we went to the cabin, a small ceramic duck I took into all my exams in college, and the silver dollar coin my dad gave me on my sixth birthday. He told me it was magic. For years, when Dad went away, I’d take the silver dollar everywhere I went. I’d turn it over and over in my hand, thinking of my father working hard for us, sacrificing his time with us so we could have the life he wanted for us.
But it was all a lie.
That dollar has the Statue of Liberty on one side, her hand thrust in the air. On the other side is etched a boat with the words, “The Love of Liberty Brought us Here.”
That coin wasn’t magic—it was an excuse. It was a symbol of his worship of liberty and freedom. But he didn’t want freedom from governmental tyranny. He wanted to live free from responsibility and loyalty. He twisted what should be great to fit his selfishness and cowardice.