Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Wait. “There’s no turn of events. Polson Falls is Polson Falls. Different world and circumstances.”
A wry smile touches his lips before he smooths it off. “Kitty, you must be excited about the upcoming wedding.” His question is for my mom, but his focus lingers on me before shifting.
“Oh, we are thrilled. Sara is a dream come true. I’ve never seen Joe so smitten.”
His features soften. “My cousin is the best of the lot.”
“I can wholeheartedly concur.” I tap my empty glass against his.
“That’s bad luck.” He slides it from my grasp, his fingers slipping over mine a second time, and trades it with a fresh one from the nearby penguin. When he hands it back, his grip lingers an extra beat before releasing.
“Trying to get me drunk?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to do that all on your own.”
“I will not take that bet. But don’t get your hopes up. I have my lay for the night lined up.”
“Justine,” Mom hisses.
“What? I didn’t say ‘bang.’”
“I’m going to check on your father.” She ducks away.
“It’s a good thing I don’t have abandonment issues.” I suck back half the glass in one gulp.
Garrett shakes his head. “It’s refreshing to see that you’re like this with everyone.”
“What, charming?”
“Obnoxious.”
“Charmingly obnoxious, though.”
“If you say so.”
We stare each other down as if waiting for the other to speak. When I stormed away from Morgan yesterday, I was certain that the next time I saw Garrett, I would struggle to not choke him. But here we are, and I find myself falling back into this inevitable push and pull of attraction and distrust.
Those lips that so deftly spin lies. They’re like … pillows.
Kissable pillows.
A familiar laugh catches my attention. I follow its sound, and my breath hitches.
Bill just slithered in from the terrace. He’s wearing his mink-brown hair longer than usual and combed back. His suit is new, customized to fit his lanky frame. I’d always bugged him to invest in tailoring, but he was too cheap.
Isabelle is in tow, his arm roped around her willowy frame.
I hadn’t realized how tall she was. The top of her head reaches his cheekbone, her long legs peeking out from beneath a calf-length, one-shouldered black cocktail dress. I envy women who can wear that precise length—my legs always look stubby.
They’re talking to another couple, people I’ve never met, but who Bill seems to know well based on his casual stance. Whatever Bill says makes the other man roar. I’m not surprised; he has always been good at drawing laughter, his wit razor-sharp and never missing a beat. Isabelle sees it, too, the way she gazes adoringly at him, her hand settled on his trim waist.
This is the woman Bill left me for.
And that day that I discovered what was happening, when I stood in our apartment, tears streaming down my face, demanding to know how he could throw away such a great thing, he looked at me with pity—with pity!—and asked what, besides our hyperactive sex life, was such a great thing? He wanted more than just a good time. He wanted a wife, and he didn’t see me filling those shoes. Joe was right, though. They do fit together, at least by appearance. And he’s well on his way to building a life with her now, one that doesn’t include me.
Do they know I’ve arrived? Does Bill even care that I might be standing back and watching this? That he’s hurting me?
A sharp, painful ball swells in my throat.
“Justine?” Garrett’s voice pulls me back. He’s frowning. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” My voice is suddenly hoarse.
He follows where my line of sight hovered a moment ago.
“Look, this has been a slice, but I should go make my presence known. I have places to be tonight.” Quiet places, where I can scream in private. Turning back, I scurry in the opposite direction that my mom went, as fast as my five-inch heels can carry me, snatching another glass of champagne on the way.
“Took you long enough.” I dive with both hands for the Negroni in Dean’s grip. The three flutes of bubbly have gone to my head but have done nothing to numb the dread in my stomach.
“You didn’t make it easy.” He surveys the high walls of floor-to-ceiling bookcases and the spiral staircase that leads to the second floor, all constructed in that exotic lacquered wood used elsewhere in the penthouse. The dim lighting and rich wood tones cast a mood. “Are we supposed to be in here?”
“Didn’t you know? Rich or poor, everyone’s welcome in a library.” I veered down a narrow hallway, thinking I’d find a powder room to hide my impending implosion. I found one, but it was occupied, so I kept wandering until I landed here.
“Did you see your brother?”
“Not yet. I needed to take a detour.”
“You ran into your ex?”