Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Fuck if I know.” I drank again. “One minute things were fine, the next she was packing a bag.”
“I’m sure it was a really hard decision for her to make,” said Blair.
I shrugged.
“Did you guys have a fight or something?” Griffin wondered.
I laughed, but it was a cold, angry sound. “No. We haven’t fought in a while.”
“Trying to get pregnant can be really stressful,” Blair said.
“I know that,” I snapped. Then I shut my eyes. “Sorry. I’m just—in a bad mood. And tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“I understand,” Blair said gently.
Griffin took a bottle of wine from the fridge. “Want a glass?” he asked her.
“Yes. Thanks, honey.”
I watched Griffin pour a glass of wine for his wife and felt a ridiculously sharp pang of envy.
Tonight after dinner, they’d go to bed together. Sleep together. Wake up together. Tomorrow he might do a dozen little things for her—pour her a cup of coffee, kiss her goodbye, put air in her tires, buy her flowers, tell her she was beautiful, compliment the dress she wore or the color of her eyes or the smell of her perfume. And maybe she’d put her arms around him and bury her face in his neck like Bianca sometimes did and inhale deeply, like she wanted to breathe me right into her soul.
“Enzo?”
I looked up and realized they were both staring at me. “What?”
“Would it be okay to tell her she can go to the house?”
I frowned. “It’s fine.”
“Two hours is safe?”
Nodding, I tipped up my glass again. I fucking hated that she didn’t feel safe around me. What the hell was that about? What did she think I was going to do? Restrain her? Pick a fight? Beg her to stay? Fuck that. I was glad she was going. I didn’t need this aggravation. She wanted to move out right away? Fine. The sooner, the better. I hoped she took every scrap of clothing, every item she’d used, every trace of herself out of the house tonight. I never wanted to be reminded of her or this stupid idea we had ever again.
As Blair ducked into the bedroom to call Bianca back, I finished my whiskey and went back to the bottle for more.
Fuck it all.
Early the next morning, I heard a noise. I picked up my head, which ached painfully, and opened my eyes. For a second, I was confused—then I remembered. I’d drunk too much to drive home, and I’d slept on Griffin’s couch.
Sitting all the way up, I winced at the light coming through the blinds and at the thick, sandpapery texture in my mouth. Closing my eyes, I took a moment to let the dizziness subside. Through the dull, throbbing fog, I heard a soft voice.
“Morning.”
I opened my eyes to see Blair set a cup of black coffee on the table in front of me. Then she sat in the chair next to the couch, tucking her legs beneath her, holding her own mug with both hands. She was dressed in sweats, her long hair in a loose braid over one shoulder.
“Morning,” I croaked.
She smiled sympathetically and nodded at the coffee. “That’s for you.”
“Thanks.” I picked it up by the handle. “I need it.”
“Griffin ran to the bakery for donuts. I have a rare Sunday morning off.”
I gulped the coffee, burning my tongue.
“Easy,” she said. “It’s hot.”
I set the cup down and leaned back, closing my eyes to shut out the light again. “I think someone poisoned me.”
She laughed. “His name is Jack Daniels.”
“Bastard.”
“You’ll live.”
After a moment, I picked up my head and looked at her. Details were coming back to me about the previous night. If I recalled correctly, Blair had taken Griffin’s truck and met Bianca at the house. “Did you go help her?”
Blair nodded. “Her brother was there too. We got everything out. She left the key on the kitchen counter.”
“Good,” I said, although nothing about it felt good. She was my wife. She should fucking live with me.
“How do you feel?”
“Hungover.”
“I meant about Bianca leaving.”
I was silent a moment, then decided to lie. “Fine.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I sat up taller and picked up my coffee cup again. “I feel fine about it. It was always the plan, after all.”
“I know, but . . . I don’t think she’s fine about it.”
“What do you mean? She’s the one who left.”
“That doesn’t mean she really wanted to.”
I shook my head, feeling completely lost and exhausted. “I’m worn out, Blair. I can’t do this. I can’t read her mind. Unless she tells me what she’s thinking or feeling, all I have to go on is what she says to me and what she does. And what she said Friday night was that she wanted to go. What she did was leave.”
Blair nodded, dropping her eyes to her coffee. “She told me you found the Clomid box.”