Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“Willow, it’s not real,” Fletcher said so gently I might have thought he was sincere if we were on a phone call and I couldn’t see how tight the anger was around his eyes. The desire to hurt radiating out in furrowed lines.
“You don’t know anything about it,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster.
Fletcher’s laugh was too big for the room. “You think I don’t know a thing or two about messing around with the staff?” he asked.
“Julian’s nothing like you,” I shot back. “He isn’t married, for one thing.”
“And you think he’s going to marry you?” Fletcher shook his head. “I blame myself,” he repeated, not sounding like he blamed anyone for anything. He sounded like this was all one big joke. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be playing the role of the protective father and rearranged his face. “Kid, Julian is engaged to Shelly Monroe. They’re planning the wedding as soon as she gets back from Europe.”
I shook my head. “No. That’s not true. They’ve been over for years. They’re just friends now.”
“Yeah, and it was over between me and Lydia when I met your mom,” Fletcher said sarcastically. “We were just waiting on the paperwork.” He held up his left hand so I could see the gold band still tenaciously wrapped around his ring finger. The skin puffing out on either side, like it had gotten stuck there.
I felt sick looking at it. “It’s not true,” I repeated, my resolve weakening. “He wanted to introduce me to his family.”
Fletcher sighed and dug his phone out. “Oh, I’m sure that was the line he fed you to keep you around while his lady was away. Listen, I hate to feed these scum sucking paparazzi nazis, but here. Pictures don’t lie.”
He pulled up an article from a gossip website. The kind that outed people before they were ready and speculated on who had gotten work done. I didn’t read the article; I didn’t need to. My eyes went straight to the picture above it. Julian, Shelly Monroe, Dana, and his parents, all out to dinner. Shelly holding out her hand—a brilliant diamond sparkling on her ring finger.
Fletcher hadn’t touched me, but he might as well have sunk his fist into my solar plexus. I sat down hard on the nearest chair, no longer caring that it meant Fletcher was looming over me. My empty stomach was churning, bile frothing up my esophagus.
“It’s not true,” I repeated, but there was no air left. I don’t even know if the words were audible. Fletcher didn’t react to them. He was looking at his phone now, scrolling his thumb up. Was he checking his messages? Now? After he’d just detonated a bomb that was blowing up my entire life?
I was pregnant with Julian’s baby, and he was engaged to someone else.
28
JULIAN
I told myself not to go to her place. My friends told me not to go. Dana said she’d slash my tires if I tried. The thing was, none of it mattered. I had to go to her place. I had to see Willow James for myself. Maybe I needed to prove to myself that she was a different person than Willow Laurier. I didn’t know. I found myself on the freeway heading to her place before Dana could pull out her switchblade and stop me.
I half expected her not to answer when I knocked. Maybe I expected her to have been a mirage all along. I’d get to her apartment and a person I’d never seen before would answer the door. Quizzically ask hello? Then explain that no one by the name of Willow lived here.
But life wasn’t a movie. The door opened slowly, and Willow appeared in the crack, inch by inch. She didn’t look like her old self. Her hair was disheveled, her skin two shades paler than normal, the whites of her eyes crackled with red lines, and there was a thick bandage over the left side of her forehead. Old blood had seeped through the center, and I could see the shadow of the dark stain beneath the gauze.
Habit made my heart slam faster. “What the hell happened?” I asked, my hand reaching forward of its own accord. But before my fingers could brush over her forehead, Willow pulled back sharply. Her eyes narrowed with hate.
“Like you care.” The sentence began on a snarl and ended on a whimper.
“I shouldn’t fucking care,” I said grimly, wishing the sight of her red-rimmed eyes didn’t go right to my heart.
“You sure as hell shouldn’t,” she agreed. She tried to shut the door in my face, but I caught it with the side of my fist and forced it open. Something was wrong here. I was missing something.
“I’m not going anywhere until we’ve talked,” I said as calmly as I could. I let myself in, crowding her back down the small hallway. I shut the door behind myself and turned to see her glaring at me, arms crossed over her chest.