Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
And there on-screen is a shot of Alistair ushering me into his Aston Martin. Shit. I completely forgot about the paparazzo. My face is in profile but still definitely me. “I was in a bar and, um, he was just being kind and gave me a lift home.”
She just blinks. “Wait a minute. You actually met Alistair Lennox, and he drove you home in his ridiculously sexy sports car?”
“Yes.”
“I thought it was a doppelgänger and we’d laugh about it. But you’re telling me that’s really you in the picture?”
“It is indeed me.”
“Whoa,” she says, the whites of her eyes shining bright. “How the hell did this happen?”
“Yeah. Some things occurred after I left your party...”
I’ve thought about it at great length and the same reasons I have for not telling my family about the predictions and my possible dire fate also apply to friends. Even my best friend. I mean, they may not agree with my assessment of the situation. Which would be fine. But whatever they believe, I don’t want to be watched or worried over for the next week. My goal is to enjoy whatever time I have left.
Prevarication ahoy!
“It’s kind of a long story. First, Josh and I broke up. There was a naked woman hiding in the bathroom when I got home Friday night.”
Her eyes grow wide as can be. “No! Holy shit. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to ruin your birthday.”
“You should have called me,” she insists sympathetically. “Did you throw him out?”
“I did indeed.”
“That duplicitous fuck. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
“I’m actually dealing with it better than I thought I would. Which is telling.” I frown. “Then on Saturday I had a disagreement with my boss.”
“Boo. That woman is the worst.”
“She really is. But it gets better, because then I had a car accident in the parking lot at work and probably killed the Prius. It was Alistair’s car that I swerved to avoid. Totally my fault since I was distracted and in the wrong damn lane.”
“Are you okay?”
“My neck is a bit sore today but otherwise all good.”
“You’ve been busy.” Rebecca’s lips skew to the side, and she gives me a look of commiseration. “That would be a lot for anyone to deal with. I can see why you were in a bar in need of the kindness of hot royal strangers.”
“I went to that restaurant on the corner from work and had a few drinks and felt sorry for myself, and we got to talking.”
“Did you get his number?”
“No.”
She winces and sips her wine. “That’s a shame. Talk about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’m sorry your weekend turned out to be so awful. But what was he like, just out of curiosity?”
“He was nice. Though he could also be cranky. I don’t know. We just chatted for a while. It’s not like we bared our souls to each other or anything.”
She ponders this for a moment. Then she picks up her cell and swipes several times. “Did I mention that you also broke the heart of America’s sweetheart?”
“I did what?”
She turns her screen toward me, showing a tear-stricken woman in designer apparel. Her beautiful face is familiar. As it should be, seeing as she was in the blockbuster movie from last summer. Josh took me to see it on our first date. I flick through a series of photos and articles in amazement. And more than a little horror. The headlines read “Betrayed by Prince Charming” and “Daria Gets Dumped.” Ouch.
“‘Charming Cheats’ is my personal favorite,” says Rebecca, lowering her phone. “Clear. Concise. It says it all.”
“‘Insiders say the king is furious with the illegitimate playboy prince over this latest scandal,’” I read. “Do you think these so-called insiders ever actually exist?”
“I highly doubt it.”
“Me too. I didn’t even realize he was dating Daria Moore. Wasn’t he with that singer?”
“They broke up a while back. She’s engaged to some nepo baby now.”
“Huh.” Guess he’s the one before the one after all. “This is... Yeah. I honestly don’t know what to say. But I definitely didn’t steal anyone’s man. I didn’t even make a pass at him.”
“I believe you.” She sets her empty glass of wine on the kitchen counter and picks up her cell. “I have to go. But we need to schedule time to talk smack about your ex and rehash all of this. Just in case you forgot any important details. And don’t forget, you promised me sashimi. Though, given your run of bad luck, maybe I should be buying.”
“Oh. I also won some money on the lottery last night.”
She just blinks.
“It’s a lot. I know. I’m taking the week off work, so let me know what day suits.”
“Will do.”
I follow her to the front door to relock it after she’s gone. Outside, the night is as quiet and still as it ever gets in LA. March is jeans-and-cardigan weather, and I am dressed accordingly. A cool breeze is making the palm fronds wave in the wind. My elderly neighbor two doors over, Mr. Pérez, is standing on his doorstep talking to someone. Someone who is tall and broad with dark hair. Someone vaguely familiar. No way. It can’t be.