Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“You can walk away from each other at any time as you are.” He has a small sip. “You have not turned your relationship into something more solid. Harder to break. Yes, divorce is obviously a possibility, but it requires more than an impromptu decision to move your shit out of your condo.”
Apartment.
We have an apartment.
One that’s going up again in rent next month.
“You have to file legally. Go through paperwork. Make appointments and collect documents and statements. You have to understand that you may lose your favorite assets. You have to decide what you can and cannot live without unexpectedly, especially if you chose not to go with a prenup. Marriage – in a sense – also shows your ability to take a risk for what you care about.”
His fucked-up speech not only sends a pain straight to the center of my head, it revs up the need for one of the cucumber and Swiss rye bites that keeps crossing my view.
“Marriage,” Xander says with a slow nod. “Noted.”
No.
It is not noted.
It is not even something we have discussed.
And quite frankly, I kind of…sort of…never…thought we would.
I mean why would I when we’re like roommates who occasionally see one another naked?
Fairly certain an hour has passed – or close enough to call it –, I politely dismiss myself from this stomach-churning cocktail occasion. “I am sorry to do this, but it’s actually time for me to go. I have a prior arrangement that I must get to.”
“Keeping prior engagements,” Paul states firmly, an impressed expression appearing on his face. “I like that. I respect that. It shows your ability to commit. That your word is trustworthy. That you are trustworthy.”
“That’s how I feel as well,” Xander cheerfully concurs.
Good to know Pinocchio over there, still wants to be a real boy.
“I hope you don’t mind if grab one of those rye bread pieces to go since I won’t be staying for dinner.”
“Help yourself,” my boyfriend’s boss loudly insists from behind his whiskey glass. “Take as many as you want with you.”
He probably doesn’t mean the whole tray…
And I want the whole fucking tray after this bullshit.
“Would you like me to walk to you to your car, Presley?”
I would like you to offer that because you’re worried about my safety, not trying to impress your boss.
More importantly, I’d like you to call me babe or sweetie or even something slightly inappropriate but cute like sweet cheeks.
Something that lets me know you care.
Something that tells me I’m valued as more than just a box that got checked.
“No, it’s totally fine,” I fake with a loving smile. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. Stay here. Keep winning your boss over. I’ll see you when I get home later.”
They all chortle over the nonjoke.
“You are winning me over, aren’t you Xander?”
“Always the hope, sir,” my boyfriend teases back at the same time I saunter away to grab a goodbye snack.
The intent truly is to only grab one yet one ends up being one handful and eating them transposes into just swallowing them whole hopes of mollifying the misery that’s effortlessly wading throughout my entire system.
This isn’t healthy.
And neither is staying with Xander.
I’m beginning to see that very little in my own life is actually healthy for me.
The real question is…am I gonna do anything to change it or simply just do what I’ve been doing and let it be?
**
Katherine offers me a hot chai tea latte that I don’t hesitate to deny with a wave of my hand.
Plopping down onto the white, vintage couch in her home office is a poor choice.
It’s stiff.
Uncomfortable.
Most likely only meant for show.
Guess me and this piece of furniture have some shit in common.
My best friend keeps the drink for herself and opts to sit by the nearby table that’s housing a vase full of beautiful, fresh orchids. “Wait a minute, darling, what?” Bewilderment remains on her face. “How did we go from late because of a cocktail party to early because you don’t wanna marry Xander?”
“I didn’t say I don’t wanna marry Xander.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“There. Now you’ve said it.”
There’s no stopping my eyes from hitting the New York inspired mural on the ceiling. “I didn’t mean that.”
Her hum is clearly an argument.
“I just meant…,” my words jumble together, the taste of bread far gone, “I…I…I don’t want my relationship being used as a pawn for him to climb the corporate ladder. I mean if he wants to get married because he loves me and wants me to be with him forever and wants me to have his last name and wants everyone to know that I’m the most important thing in his life-”
“Clearly an alien clone of Xander.”
“-that would be different. His interest in marriage is none of those things, though.”
“What’s yours?”
My mouth instantly lowers to answer the question only to realize I don’t have one.