Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
I play the game even though I’ve not been given the rules. “I mentioned his name because he’s transparent with what he wants.”
“What does he want?”
I smile. “Me.”
“What do you want?”
“Revenge.”
“Bullshit.”
I bristle at his sharp response.
“If you really wanted revenge, you’d show that letter to everyone in this town and Rhodale. You’d plaster it all over social media. It would go viral, and you know it. But you’re afraid that might cause her to end her life. Is her life worth more than your nephew’s? If the answer is no, then what are you waiting for? Do you really think fucking her dad and exposing her mom will fill the void left by losing your brother’s family?”
“What do you know about revenge?”
“Everything.” Jack sucks all the oxygen from the room with his one-word reply.
I step into my dirty shorts and pull on my shirt. “I’m taking Eloise to the carnival.”
He grabs my arm when I pass him. “He’s playing with you.”
“Maybe I’m playing with him.”
“If he wants you, he’ll have you.”
I jerk my arm from his grip. “He’ll get nothing more than I willingly give him.”
He releases my arm. “I need you to do me a favor.”
I stop at the door.
“Don’t blame me.”
“For what?” I ask.
“For being right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FRANCESCA
“It’s Betty’s Between the Lines.” Eloise points to her friend's stand with a palm sign.
“Got it. I will look for some junk food and check in with you before I leave.” I scuff my flip-flops toward the food trucks and stands—the distant screams from the roller coaster echo. I stop for ride tickets on my way to the food trucks. The bells ring amongst the thudding of balls and pinging targets. Uplifting laughter and squealing children buzz past me with their parents, trying to catch them. Popcorn, grease, mini donuts, and cotton candy saturate the thick summer air.
Occasionally, a welcome breeze catches the skirt of my light blue sundress, offering several seconds of reprieve from the suffocating humidity.
“I’d like a pretzel with cheese and a bottle of water, please.” I pull a folded twenty out of my purse.
“Make it two pretzels.”
I stiffen when a hand presses to the bare skin on my lower back.
Archer tosses a fifty on the counter before I get my twenty laid down. “No raincheck needed after all. It’s fate. And you look stunning in this shade of blue. And here I thought red was your best color.”
Pinning a believable smile to my face, I turn.
He eyes me while trapping his lower lip between his teeth. “Fate is a beautiful thing. Don’t you think?”
“Where’s your wife?” I take my pretzel and water. The white paper crinkles in my shaky hand while my other hand grips the icy cold water.
“Where’s your boyfriend? Did you already introduce him to my wife? Maybe he can join her and my accountant at their favorite hotel.”
“Your wife’s screwing your accountant? That doesn’t sound good.” I escape his possessive hand while he gets his pretzel and change.
“On the contrary.” He catches up to me with his not-so-discreet bodyguards. “My accountant can remind her just how much she stands to lose if she fucks around on me and asks for a divorce.”
I swallow a bite of the salty pretzel, finding it hard to push it past the lump in my throat because Jack’s words keep repeating. They’re robbing me of my confidence. He’s making me feel weak. And the last thing I can afford to feel around Archer Sanford is weak.
“And what happens if you ask for a divorce after fucking around?”
“I told you I won’t ever ask for a divorce. She’s my wife and the mother of my child.”
I constantly have to remind myself that Archer has a degree in psychology. Somewhere in the corners of his complicated mind, he’s constructed his idea of family.
Wife.
Child.
Mistress. Mistresses?
And each role holds importance and balance in his world.
“How do you eat this shit?” He tosses his pretzel into the trash.
“It’s a carnival. It’s part of the experience, like the Ferris wheel and the House of Mirrors. Trekking through dirt mixed with peanut shells and tumbling wrappers. Music so loud you feel like you’re in a fog. Chugging machinery. Air brakes whooshing. Sticky metal handles and cracked padding shoved into your gut to keep you from flying out of a ride. And yes … stale pretzels with fake cheese sauce. It’s all quite nostalgic.” I grin, taking another bite of my pretzel.
“Not to sound like a broken record, but you’re a dental assistant. I’m not surprised that a carnival triggers nostalgia for you.”
“Annnd … I’m done.” I shove my pretzel and cheese into his white collared shirt.
He holds up his hands. “What the fuck?”
“On behalf of all dental assistants, I hope all your teeth rot out of your mouth and you choke on your dentures.” My flip flops pound toward the rides, and I hand over a ticket for the Ferris wheel. I’m not really mad. He’s an asshole; that’s nothing new. I want to see if he grovels. I need to know what kind of hold I have on him.