Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
“And the eldest Tulley?”
“There’s speculation that Robert’s disappearance was him running off to Ireland under an assumed name. Whether that was to hide his new bride or to escape the loss of his love to his own brother, who knows? Or maybe,” I say and offer a wry smile, “I’ve concocted this entire story in my head and none of it has anything to do with anything.”
“I see” is his enigmatic response.
“If I had a shrink, they’d tell me I’m projecting, right? Two elusive men fighting over the same woman. A little art imitating life?”
Mr. Baxley responds with a questioning look.
“Okay, so there’s these guys. And they both say they’re into me. But they don’t want to be with me. Or can’t. Depending on what you believe.”
I have no earthly right unloading on this poor man. Except that I have few other people to unleash my thoughts on, and once I get going, the release is so satisfying I can’t stop midstream.
“But then how much can they really like me, right? I mean, if you want something bad enough, you give up the family titles and fortune to move to Ireland and change your name. You cross an ocean with nothing but the clothes on your back. You definitely don’t kiss her and then say, ‘Let’s just be friends.’ That’s a dick move.”
Mr. Baxley stares at me. He all but shrinks behind his glasses, his chin receding into his neck. A man inexplicably pinned to his chair despite every fiber of his being screaming to run from this oversharing girl.
“I didn’t get off the plane looking to date my way through London, you know? A love interest wasn’t anywhere on my list of priorities. And now I have two. And they’re both so wishy-washy my head is spinning.” I heave a dramatic sigh, not unlike one Lee would bestow on someone. “But this is my fate now, I guess. To be desired but not enough. An ornament on a shelf they want to pull down and play with when it’s convenient. These men. What did a girl ever do to deserve them, Mr. Baxley?”
My phone buzzes on the table.
Nate: We need to talk.
“See?” I flash the phone at Mr. Baxley, who sits flustered and unmoving across the table. I’m not sure he’s breathing. “This shit. Sorry. But seriously, what do we have to talk about? You have a girlfriend, bro.”
I tap out a quick response.
Me: No we don’t.
Mr. Baxley clears his throat and hastily rises to his feet. “Yes, well. Good luck with your research.”
Men.
Nate: Please?
Me: You still have a girlfriend, and that’s a deal-breaker for me.
I might be attracted to Nate, but my self-esteem isn’t so battered that I’m going to be that girl. Especially not for the bass player with the soulful eyes. I’m no one’s cliché.
The phone buzzes again.
I’m about to chuck it across the room when I realize this text is from Ben Tulley. It’s the first time he’s made contact since the ball, although he did mention business abroad. I figured he’d be in touch if or when he had news. It seems now he does.
Ben: Abbey, darling. I brought some homework along while I’ve been in Ibiza and found a few things that should prove useful. I’ve taken the liberty of having them shipped ahead of me. Sophie will be reaching out xx
Within seconds, a second message pops up from an unfamiliar number.
Unknown: This is Sophie Brown, Lord Tulley’s assistant. Expect a package this evening by courier. Should be delivered in the next hour or so. Please contact me if you’ve not received it by 8 p.m.
The news fills me with a jolt of renewed vigor. Without Josephine to keep my mind occupied, I’ve been left to wallow in my own dissatisfaction.
I wasn’t aware how much I needed to solve the puzzle of Josephine until now, and not only for a grade. So I rush to pack up my things and run out of the library to catch the Tube home. Standing in the train car, jittery for a fix, I know I’m addicted. Right when I think I’ve cleansed the mystery from my system, the itch rears its head. Despite the numerous disappointments, Josephine is still the most satisfying part of my life these days.
When I get home, I’m met with the warm smell of tikka masala and what sounds like a live stadium inside our house. I drop my stuff in the foyer and follow the uproar to find Lee at the stove with most of Jack’s rugby team crammed in our kitchen. The last time they were all here, they nearly tore the place down to the studs.
“Hey!” they shout as I walk in.
A chant like a garbled English drinking song I can’t decipher goes around the room. After these boys have had a few drinks in them, I can’t understand a word they say.