Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
“Be serious,” I breathe out.
“I’m dead serious. Remove the idea of a divorce from your head. The sooner the better.” He reaches for his phone, but I hold it out of reach.
“I’m high maintenance.”
“Just the way I like it.”
“I have extremely expensive tastes.”
“Good thing I come from old money and I’m rich enough to outshine a few countries’ GDP.”
“I’ll drive you crazy.”
“Nothing new there.”
“I don’t like you.”
“That’s because you love me.”
“In your damn dreams. I’m way out of your league.”
“I can rope you back in if I choose to.”
I’m fuming. My fingers tingle with the need to throw the phone at his stupidly gorgeous face and ruin it once and for all.
“Are we done?” he asks in a bored tone.
“No. I still don’t understand why this marriage happened.”
“Because it’s beneficial for both of us. Now quit the pointless dramatics.”
“In…what sense is it beneficial for both of us?”
He releases an exasperated sigh. “I needed a wife for my image and you needed a husband to safely leave your parents' orbit and hide your self-destructive nature, reckless behavior, and alarming mental breakdowns. Does that answer your question?”
He jerks the phone from my slack fingers as I stare at him, speechless.
A hollow, bitter taste sinks to the bottom of my stomach and nausea climbs up my throat.
I knew things didn’t add up, but I hadn’t thought I’d make a deal with the devil to put a stop to the ticking bomb in my head.
My marriage, just like my life, is one big embarrassing sham.
The rest of the drive is spent in tense silence. Eli never looks up from his stupid phone and I look at everything but him.
The familiar yet strange London streets. The driver and the assistant, who I realized belatedly probably heard everything, including my humiliating realization of what went down in my life.
Two years later and it’s still the same mess from my last year at uni.
According to Cecy and Ari, I married Eli the summer of my graduation and haven’t done much since.
It was their way of insinuating that I’m still the fuck-up I remember. I haven’t participated in any competitions since the one I ran offstage from. Haven’t gotten any contracts or invitations to any orchestras or even events. I simply withdrew from the music scene as quietly as a dwindling star.
And just like that, I set my talent on fire and drowned in copious amounts of alcohol as it turned into a huge rubbish can.
Brilliant.
Apparently, I still play sometimes, but what’s the point if I’m my only audience?
I’m on autopilot when the car stops and my door is opened. I step onto the property’s asphalt entrance, and my Jimmy Choo heels release a squeak when I come to an abrupt halt.
The grand Edwardian building sitting in front of me looks imposing with its signature brick structure and massive windows, surrounded by a vast garden and a greenhouse decorated with multiple pink indoor plants.
But that’s not what makes me halt in my tracks. I swear I saw this house in my dreams once. Down to the gorgeous pink greenhouse.
However, I’ve never been here before. I mean, I don’t remember the last two years, so I was here before, but I forgot. Is that why it feels familiar?
“I assume the house gets your stamp of approval.”
I flinch as Eli's rough voice sounds so close to me, my senses short-circuit. I clear my throat as I look up at him. “When did you buy this?”
“My family has always owned it. It was a wedding gift from Grandpa Jonathan to both of us.”
“But I’d never been here before that?”
“No.” He coaxes me forward with a hand on my back. I resist the shiver, but it’s tragically pointless.
I can feel the pads of his fingers nearly burning holes in my soft-pink Ralph Lauren dress.
We stop at the entrance when we’re greeted by well-groomed, impeccably presented staff I’ve never seen in my life.
A short, lean woman with Asian features and thick-framed glasses precedes them.
“Sam!” I exclaim.
Her usually standoffish face breaks into a rare yet small smile. “I’m glad you’re well, Mrs.—”
She hasn’t even finished the sentence when I attack her in a hug. Might have to do with the fact that she’s the only familiar face I’ve seen here or that something finally makes sense.
“There, there.” She pats my back mechanically, her movements stiffer than Eli’s nonexistent morals.
No wonder she’s his nanny. Or ex-nanny or whatever.
“You’re so standoffish.” I push back and pull on her cheek. “Relax a little.”
She steps away from my touch. “I left all the relaxing to you, Mrs. King.”
“It’s Ava. And was that sarcasm?” I tilt my head at the other staff. “Must be so much fun to be around her, am I right?”
None of them moves or even acknowledges me.
“You let Sam handpick her clones, didn’t you?” I give Eli the stink eye.