Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
The way I’d felt for Alice, or even Marist, was a fraction of what I’d once been capable of.
“Does it get easier?” Evangeline’s ache was palpable, and the noise of the people dining around us faded.
She looked to me to have answers, and for once in my life, I didn’t want to be the expert. Since the conversation was no longer under my control, I gave in. “Part of you is gone. Over time, you’ll adjust. You’ll learn to live with this”—I struggled to say the word—“hurt that exists in its place. So, to answer you question, yes. It may get easier, but you know it will not be easy.”
Even now, seventeen years later, there were days that were challenging. Particularly when I saw her reflection in my sons.
The way Evangeline peered into me suggested I was entirely too vulnerable. I straightened in my chair. “That was my experience. Yours may be different.”
“All of my friends are pushing me to get out there, and I . . . can’t. I know it’s been a year now and I’m still young, but John was it for me. He was the love of my life. How am I supposed to move on?”
I grew angry on her behalf. “They’re not pressuring you because they’re concerned about your happiness. They do it because seeing you in grief makes them uncomfortable, and they’d prefer you stop doing it. Ignore them. Don’t think about moving on—only think about moving forward.”
Her head angled, and she looked at me like I’d just torn away a mask and revealed a different person beneath.
Perhaps I had.
“You’re not at all what I expected,” she said. “The way people talk about you, Macalister, I wasn’t sure I’d make it past the first course.”
Three years ago, I would have been pleased with her statement. Often, it was practical to be intimidating, and, in fact, I enjoyed it. But it served no purpose tonight, and I certainly couldn’t use intimidation to make friends, which Sophia had said was a vital step in her plan.
“Yes, well, much has changed for me in the last few years. I appreciate the opportunity to change your opinion of me.” Hopefully, she could help set the record straight with her friends and explain how Macalister Hale was on the road to redeeming his evil ways.
“If you wanted to do this again sometime,” she said, “I’d be okay with it. It helps both of us, right?”
“It does.”
Two dates would be required for people to believe we were dating. Plus, getting a woman to go out with me once could be chalked up as luck—twice would prove skill.
I paid for the bill and was pleased when she didn’t attempt to argue with me about it. I was traditional and had always held the opinion that women were the fairer sex. If she were willing to spend time with a man, the least he could do was pay for the evening.
As we made our way out of the dining room, every pair of eyes watched us go. Did it make Evangeline nervous? When we reached the atrium, she was pale and her eyes were wide.
“Is everything all right?” I asked. She had texted her driver from the table that she was preparing to leave, so it was unlikely the issue lay there.
“I’m just thinking about what happens next,” she whispered as she retrieved her long black coat from the coat check. I took it from the staff member and held the coat out to help her put it on. It forced me to recall last night and how Sophia had ripped her coat from my hands, her anger denying me the opportunity to touch her again.
But Evangeline was distracted, too nervous about our impending kiss to notice or care. She turned away from me, slipped her arms into the sleeves, and held still as I brought the neck of the coat up onto her shoulders. I didn’t let my hands linger there, but that brief touch was enough to reveal she was trembling.
“Thank you,” she said.
She didn’t wait for me to respond. Her feet carried her briskly across the marble floor and out the revolving door, leaving me no choice but to chase after her to say our goodbyes.
It was cool outside tonight, and the cars in the street were dotted with rain, gleaming in the streetlamps. We were protected under the lit awning of the restaurant as a black town car pulled up to the curb, which was obviously hers, but she felt compelled to say it anyway.
“That’s me.”
I lowered my voice so only she’d hear it over the sound of cars passing by on rainy asphalt. “We don’t have to.”
It would be better for me if we did, but I had no desire to kiss a woman who looked like she was about to be physically ill.