Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Since them.
Lorna’s hand slipped into mine. “Thank you,” she said softly.
I swallowed and nodded, not trusting my voice. We walked over to the limo. Paige and Miles were already inside, sheltering from the rain.
“You sure you won’t come to the wake?” Lorna asked.
I shook my head. I was glad I’d been there to support her at the funeral but I’d only just made it through, and at the wake I’d just be in the way. “I’ll head back to the airport.”
Lorna looked towards the church’s small parking lot. “You got a rental car somewhere?”
“I’ll call a cab.”
“And stand here waiting in the rain?!” I could hear the hint of Scottish in her accent on the r of rain and it was so beautiful it hurt.
I shrugged and looked down at myself. “Can’t get any wetter.”
“Don’t be silly. Ride with us, the limo can drop us off and then take you to the airport.”
I looked away and frowned at the horizon. I knew what this was: she wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I knew because I felt the exact same way. I turned back to Lorna and frowned at her…but found her staring up at me, defiant, ignoring the raindrops running down her face. Jillian used to get the same way when I was stubborn.
And just like with Jillian, I couldn’t refuse that face a damn thing.
I sighed and nodded, and we climbed in. I wound up sitting next to Lorna on the back seat. Both of us were soaked and shivering but, as soon as my leg pressed against hers, I could feel the heat of her body throbbing through the layers of wet fabric. The door closed with an expensive wump, sealing us off from the outside world, and suddenly, it was very still and quiet.
As we started to move, I glanced at her and couldn’t look away. God, she was beautiful. Those gray eyes, glittering in the semi-dark of the car, her lips soft and perfect, her hair all pulled back and pinned up, leaving her neck bare and exposed: an animal part of me just wanted to twist in my seat and kiss all the way down her throat, never mind that this wasn’t the time or place, or that Cody was sitting right next to her. What’s wrong with me?
Then she glanced around and found me looking at her. I froze guiltily.
A cell phone rang, shattering the silence. Both of us jumped and looked away. Miles answered the call and muttered to someone for a moment, then frowned, confused. “That was Dad’s lawyer,” he told us. “He needs to see us now.”
12
LORNA
Twenty minutes later, Miles, Paige, Cody, JD and I walked into a book-lined office. George Parsons has been our family lawyer for as long as I can remember: when I was a child, I thought of him as Humpty Dumpty because he’s short and squat, with a bald, polished head. He’s normally cheerful and jokey but today he was flexing a pencil nervously between his hands.
Miles marched over to his desk. “George, what couldn’t wait until tomorrow? We’ve got a roomful of people waiting for us.”
George nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. But there’s something you need to know. I’ve been trying to figure out when to tell you. I didn’t want to do it before the funeral but I thought you’d better know before you talk to everybody at the wake.”
“What?” I asked. “What do we need to know?”
George swallowed. “Your father came to me a few weeks before his death.” He looked guiltily at Miles. “He changed his will. Miles won’t take over the company.” He looked at me. “You will.”
We all just stared at him. “No, George, that’s…” I choked. “No, come on, that’s insane!”
George just looked back at me sadly. My stomach flipped over. “It’s a mistake, it’s got to be a mistake. I can’t—I don’t know anything about running a company!” I could feel the fear rising in my chest, now. I pointed to my brother. “It’s Miles, it’s always been Miles, my dad’s been getting him ready for years!”
George gave a tiny shake of his head. My heart stopped beating. Oh Jesus, it’s real. I groped blindly, found JD’s hand and squeezed.
Miles leaned on George’s desk, hands braced on the edge, breathing hard. His shoulders tensed under his jacket and his lungs filled once, twice. I winced, thinking he was about to start yelling, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. His head slumped forward and his shoulders dropped. “Why?” he grated at last.
George’s voice was tender. “I’m sorry, Miles, he wouldn’t say.”
Miles gave a quick nod. A moment later, he drew in a long, shuddering breath, straightened up and adjusted his tie. He was doing that whole British stiff upper lip thing he learned in boarding school: in fact, I figured that was the only thing holding him together, right now. But then he turned and locked eyes with me and no amount of manners could help. He’d already been fragile from losing his father. Now someone had stuck a knife in him and he just looked betrayed. He looked at me imploringly: why?