Total pages in book: 165
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
How it wasn’t going to end unless someone changed the game.
And how, for the first time, I realize that the glaring plot hole in this story was never a plot hole at all. Whether Juliet left her parents’ home under her own two feet or in a casket, she still had the same endgame, so why fake her death at all? She just should’ve left when her father gave her the option.
But she didn’t. Because she would’ve rather her parents seen her dead than a Montague. Because she loved them and didn’t want to disappoint them.
And now, maybe, I finally understand Clay’s fear isn’t because she doesn’t love me. It’s because she loves them, too.
I don’t want what happened to Alli to happen to her. I’d rather see her from a distance than never again.
“YOU GIRLS LOOK beautiful,” my mom says, setting down a tray with non-alcoholic cocktails that she made herself. I know, because the rims are splattered with orange juice pulp.
Eh, she tried.
“I’m excited,” Amy squeals, taking a drink as my mom leaves the room again. “Transportation will be here at six. The guys better be dressed correctly when we get to the venue. Makes me nervous, them left to their own devices.”
We sit in the living room, vanities set up and the stylists at work on me and Krisjen’s hair. Amy sneaks a flask out of her bag and adds vodka to her drink.
“Want some?” she asks, pushing the glass in front of me and trying to act like we’re still friends, but we’ve barely said two words to each other since I threatened her. I wish I didn’t know why I don’t tell her to take a hike, but I do, and I can’t look at myself in the mirror in front of me.
I shake my head, my fingers hovering over the keyboard on my phone.
Don’t come, I type but stop my thumb before I hit Send.
“You’re probably right.” Amy pulls the glass away and takes a drink. “Once I get started, I keep going, and since it’s still early, I’ll be passed out by eight.”
But I don’t say anything as she drones on. I stare at my phone, willing myself to hit the goddamn button. To tell Callum Ames that I don’t want him to escort me tonight, because that’s her place. That he means nothing more than a waste of my time.
All of this is a waste of time. I hate my hair. I don’t even have to look to feel every strand pulled off my neck and away from my face, pinned into a tidy, boring little bun at the back of my head. The matte lipstick allows me to feel every dry patch on my lips, and I almost tell Amy to give me the damn drink in order to dull the pain of that dress on the hanger behind me.
“Is everything okay?” Jenny, the stylist, asks.
I squeeze my phone in my lap, not in the mood to lie so I keep my mouth shut. I drop my eyes, staring at my screen and checking the volume again and my texts.
I don’t care about my hair. I’ve called, texted… She doesn’t answer. I go straight to voicemail every time, which means her phone is either off or I’m blocked.
I haven’t had the courage to check social media yet. I want to throw up, because I know she’s cut us off from each other there, too.
Not knowing is better right now.
My chest shakes, and I let out a quiet sob.
“Ladies.” Jenny pats my shoulders. “Let’s go get them some refreshments.”
The stylists leave, and I scroll through TikTok, seeing a video on Ruby’s account of the play last night. Liv stands center stage, Mercutio’s famous monologue hitting my heart like a brick. God, she can make you forget you’re watching a play. I hope she didn’t see me last night. My heart was in my throat the entire time.
Amy peers over my shoulder. “A few people are dragging her for her performance last night.”
“Bullshit.” Krisjen finishes her cocktail and checks herself in the mirror. “Word is, she nailed it. Lizbeth got snippy on Snapchat, some loaded comment about ‘someone’ stealing the show, but everyone knows who she’s talking about.”
I want to ask Krisjen if she’s seen her or talked to her. She’s at their house a lot lately.
“And of course, everyone sticks up for the underdog,” Amy adds, “doing that ‘hey, here’s me and my token lesbian friend to show I’m woke and have the higher moral ground with my self-important opinions about world issues.’”
God, shut up. I squeeze my fists, silently telling her to shut her mouth, but I won’t say it out loud, will I? Because I’m scared. I’m scared of that point of no return, but why? It’s costing me Liv.
It’s costing me everything.