Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Chapter Nine
Sydney
“This is bullshit!”
Romeo barked and climbed onto the couch next to me. My eyes veered off the contract on the MacBook Air I’d been staring at for the last half hour, and onto my furry friend.
“You agree, right?” I asked my bud, yanking the thick wool beanie down over my ears. The cabin was freezing again even though the furnace was supposedly working. I begged to differ. I even tried to build a fire in the fireplace. Yeah, that hadn’t gone so well. I almost killed us by asphyxiation.
“Wanna watch Poldark?”
Juliet barked and climbed up next to me, jammed her big butt against my hip. “I know we’ve seen it a thousand times, but there’s nothing else to watch.” Juliet’s ears perked. “Don’t look at me like that. Demelza got a hall pass because he cheated first. Fathered a child, no less. Cuz men are dogs––no offense.” Another bark–like sound, this one from the only male in the room. “What? You know I don’t speak Spanish, Romeo.”
This was what my life had come to. For the next three years, this was going to be a typical Saturday night for me. And I’d done it to myself.
My so-called husband had, once again, deserted me and taken the pickup truck with him. My mind kept drifting to Scott––as it often did. He’d apologized for Misty. In a manner of speaking. And he’d particularly said “past tense.” I surmised that meant he was no longer sleeping with her, but what about the rest?
With the rare exception of our wedding night, he’d been out every single night since we’d returned from Vegas. Exactly twenty days. Within that time frame, I’d read ten books. Which was not a good ratio and said a lot about the state of my marriage. It was a pretty good bet we wouldn’t make it to the end of the year, let alone three. Not to mention, neither would my e-reader. It was ready to spontaneously combust from overuse. Inevitably, it would catch fire and burn me alive.
Woman Killed by E-Reader! the headlines would say. And Loneliness. But they’d leave that part out because nobody wanted to be reminded that everybody was at least a little bit lonely.
I was flying back to Manhattan tomorrow for my two-week stint at the office, the glossy onyx-colored Blackstone jet already waiting for me at the airport. And sadly, it was a relief. I’d gotten married, had uprooted my life, put up with cold showers and lack of heat, endured the unpredictable mood swings of a cranky millionaire playboy-turned-cowboy, and yet nothing had changed. I was as alone as I’d ever been, with the exception of his two hairy beasts who I was going to miss desperately while I was away. Their master––not so much.
Romeo planted his big head on my lap while Juliet kicked me. “Girl, stop kicking me with your cheesy feet.” I stroked Romeo’s wiry fur and inhaled the scent of baby powder. “Dry shampoo, a modern age miracle.”
Yeah, this was bad. Except I had a nagging suspicion that returning to Manhattan, to the life I had before Frank had talked me into this crazy scheme, was going to be worse. Because what was I was going back to? A sterile apartment and some bottles of condiments. Not exactly a warm welcome home. Still, this wasn’t much better. Cabin fever is a real thing.
An image of the four-wheeler in the shed flashed before my eyes.
“Ask and ye shall receive, Sydney.” It had been on the tip of my tongue to tell my grandmother that the few times I’d asked God to grant me some mercy and spare the rod, he hadn’t listened. I never did though, couldn’t risk another rap of the wooden spoon on my knuckles.
I wasn’t going to let Scott shut me out anymore. He was angry. Got it. Message received. It wasn’t like I was imposing rules on him. I’d made allowances for him. Tried to sympathize. I’d even given him the green light to pursue his…hobbies. Or whatever it was that he did at night when he hightailed it out of the cabin. He didn’t want this. Fine! I was done being painted the villain. My motives may have been unclear––he thought I was doing it for the job, which was only partly true. His motivations, meanwhile, were purely mercenary. Who was the real bad guy? And why should I stay cooped up while he was out gallivanting?
I jumped off the couch. Twenty minutes later, dressed in black skinny jeans, a tight black cashmere sweater with a down quilted vest over it, and my motorcycle boots, I stomped out to the shed, a woman on a mission. I mean, really, I’d graduated valedictorian of my Yale law class. I’d driven a Vespa that summer I backpacked through Europe. How hard could riding an ATV quad be?