Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Picking up the glass, I felt all of those years of abuse claw at me, threatening to get out, and then I ignored them and downed my drink, enjoying the hard, bitter burn as it slid down my throat.
Chapter Twenty-One
Peter
At first, I thought Ivan was joking. Niamh didn’t drink. She never touched a drop because of her parents, more importantly her mother. Only, Ivan wasn’t joking. My wife had been drinking through lunch, and when I arrived at my penthouse, it was to find Ivan sitting on the sofa, while Niamh held my bottle of expensive whiskey and danced on the wooden coffee table in the living room.
“Peter!” She let out a slurred squeal. “Peter is home. Peter is home!”
I’d never seen her like this and as Ivan got to his feet, I glared at him. “What did you do?”
“That, I don’t know. My suggestion is, the next time you want to get Niamh close to the other wives, take her out to dinner, and make it a date with the other men. Something triggered her.”
Ivan went to leave and I grabbed his arm. He looked down at where I held him. I wanted to ask him so many questions, but I also couldn’t leave Niamh alone.
“We need to talk.”
“You’re right. I’ve got a few jobs that need dealing with. I’ll call you tomorrow. Although, I think you’re going to be taking care of your wife.” Ivan smiled at Niamh, who waved back at him.
“Love you, Ivan,” she said. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
I could still understand her, even if her words were slurred as she spoke.
“I’ll let myself out,” Ivan said. He took a step away, but then stopped and turned toward me. “You know, if you don’t want her to leave at the end of all this, maybe be honest with her, and while you’re at it, be honest with yourself.”
And those were Ivan’s parting words, before he let himself out of my penthouse.
Niamh was dancing and she got close to the edge, causing me to suddenly rush toward her. She stumbled, about to take a fall, but I caught her, stopping her from hitting the table, and capturing her in my arms.
“Peter, you caught me. You are my hero.” She rested her head against my shoulder. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Yes.”
“I think I like beer.”
“Beer, or my whiskey?” I asked.
She took a sip of my whiskey and then groaned. “It’s so strong, but it makes me feel so good.”
“You’re not going to feel good in the morning.”
“Then, I better keep drinking. It’s what my mom did whenever Dad came around, or didn’t come around. She always had a reason for drinking or doing drugs. I was always the reason. I disappointed her.”
She swayed and I grabbed hold of her hips to keep her steady.
Niamh giggled, and tilted her head to the side. “I can now see why she drank as much as she did.”
“Why?”
“Because it made life easier.”
“Drinking doesn’t make life easier, Niamh. All it does is push the problems down the road.”
“But what if I want all my problems down the road? So far. So away.” She swatted her hands to the side and her face was scrunched up.
“What problems do you want down the road?” I asked, knowing there was a possibility I wasn’t going to like the answer.
She stopped swatting at the air and then placed her hands on my chest. For several seconds, she didn’t say a word. Just kept her hands on my chest, waiting.
I’d always been a patient man, but when it came to Niamh and her drunk, I had lost my patience, and now I just wanted answers.
“You,” she said. “Choices. They do suck, don’t they?” She sighed and then pulled away from me.
I had no choice but to let her go. While I’d grabbed hold of her, I’d also taken my bottle of whiskey from her, which she snagged again, and took a long drink.
She swallowed and then coughed. “So hot!” She wiped at her face. “I mean, this is all your fault.”
And here we go—the blaming game. I was used to this. I folded my arms and knew I was going to be the villain in her story. Where she’d point the finger of blame at everything I’d ever done. That I shouldn’t exist.
“Why did I have to fall in love with you?”
I wasn’t expecting that. No one had ever blamed me for being in love. I didn’t believe in love. I stared at her, a little taken aback. I’d expected all manner of insults, and instead she just told me she loved me.
“You see, if I was like my mom, this would be so much easier. That money would be totally spent, and she’d probably rub it in my father’s face as well. It would be such an easy decision for her. She’d even sell her only daughter for that kind of wealth, at least if Ivan’s to be believed, and I have no reason to assume otherwise. Like you said, he always keeps his word.” She stopped and took another drink. “My life was going to be simple. Stay on the run, at least until my father died.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know if there is a hole in that plan, though, because from what I’ve been told, my brother is as big a monster as he is.” She started to pace, albeit not in a straight line. “But then you came to town, and I had this horrible feeling, but I figured my instincts were just failing me. But they weren’t failing me. What I felt was real, but by then it was too late, and you…” She stormed up to me. “You had to be so kind and so sweet, and yes, I know you don’t do love. So I know you can never love me back, so while I want to be pissed at you for lying, I know I can’t. I was just as big a liar as you.”