Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Then why did she marry me?”
“If I had to guess, I’d blame it on the vodka.”
“Still, even drunk, something had to spur her on. What’s the saying? There’s always some truth to what you say and do when drunk.”
“Maybe,” King conceded but looked unconvinced. “But maybe you need to take a step back and be objective about it all—not take it so personally.”
“How can I not take it personally when it’s marriage.”
“People get divorced all the time.”
“I didn’t want to be one of them.”
He gave me a sad smile. King was one of the few people who knew my past and how it affected me. “I know.”
My phone vibrated again, becoming an ominous tremor across the table. When I looked at the screen, it opened the message automatically.
Rae: Listen, I know I shouldn’t ask, but I need your help.
Rae: Can you just talk to me?
Rae: Please.
“The bottom line is that you need to go talk to her,” King said, reading the message with me. “No matter the outcome, you can’t do shit until you’ve at least talked.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, already dreading it.
“And you need to distance yourself from this idea of fate and stop taking Rae’s choices so personally. It’s not like she’s fantasizing about her wedding day and just not wanting it with you. This has something to do with her. And for what it’s worth, you’ve told me enough about the shit she does for you that I have no doubt your friendship matters to her. Try not to take it all down because you can’t separate what you feel from the facts of what happened. There’s not an easy answer, but you can at least direct the outcome.”
“Jesus, when did you get so insightful?”
“It’s my superpower—one that only works with other people and not myself.”
“That explains your dating life.”
“Ha. He’s got jokes,” King laughed. “Now, stop being a big fucking baby and text her back.”
With a glare and dread rolling through my stomach like a tidal wave, I did as he ordered.
Me: Yeah.
Me: Meet me at our spot.
King gave me a slap on the back and a promise that it would all work out when we parted ways, but my nerves clung to me the rest of the afternoon. For the first time ever, I’d rather have stayed at work than go meet Rae, but not knowing what I’d walk into weighed on me.
What did she need help with? It had to be something important for her to keep reaching out. Or was it an excuse to meet up and talk? Or was it…?
I ran through all the options, each one not quite sitting right, making me want to avoid it altogether. But King’s words about controlling the outcome pushed me to make my way to the ice cream shop we both loved. I’d never move forward past all the what-ifs unless I dealt with the reality.
Walking up, her beauty hit me so hard I almost stumbled. The shop window backlit her simple ponytail, jeans, and T-shirt that looked anything but simple. She stared off in the distance as she leaned against the window, licking the sides of her Black Sabbath ice cream.
The cup with an upside-down cone in her other hand let me know that maybe we weren’t so far off track, that maybe King was right, and we could recover from this.
“Hey,” I greeted.
Her eyes jerked to mine and froze. I waited for the smile she always had for me, but it never came. In its place was wariness tinged with sadness. The seconds stretched, and I took in the dark circles under her eyes that she tried to cover with makeup, but I knew her too well to not see them.
“Hey,” she finally said, offering me my ice cream. Cardamom and black pepper—my favorite.
We’d stumbled upon this place one drunken night when I’d come to New York City with her on break. They were known for their odd flavors, and with the flair only alcohol could induce, we dubbed it our spot.
“I’ll cut right to the chase,” she started. “Our Vegas marriage has caused a lot of issues for my dad’s campaign. We have this upcoming trip to the Hamptons with some investors, and he wants us to put on a show.”
I blinked more than a few times, wincing as I tried to arrange all the too big pieces that statement entailed. Just that one sentence created approximately a million other obstacles.
“A show?” I asked. That seemed the easiest place to start.
“He wants you to come to the Hamptons and act like the wedding was planned. That we’re in love, and we’re a happy little family.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to let her know we didn’t have to pretend when my phone vibrated with an incoming call—probably saving me from making a bigger mistake.