Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Only two,” Ryan says. “A master and a guest bedroom.”
“Only?” She huffs a laugh before saying on her way down the spiral staircase, “That’s more than enough for most people, let alone for a student.”
“She’s right.” I face my brother. “This place is way too expensive.”
“Hey.” He grips my shoulder. “You’re an Edwards, right? We have standards to uphold.”
I wince at the attempted humor. Sometimes, I wish I could forget that I’m an Edwards.
He sobers. “Letting you live alone isn’t ideal.” Dropping his hand to his side, he says with meaning, “Not now.”
I brush the statement away. “I’m almost nineteen years old. It’s about time I stand on my own two feet.”
His eyes crinkle in the corners. “That’s not what I meant. I wish there was another way, but I have to take over the business in George.”
Concern tightens my stomach. “How does Celeste feel about moving into the big house with Mom? You know they don’t get on.”
“Celeste is looking forward to having Doris and Mom there to help take care of Brad. That way, she can go back to doing more voluntary work.” He drags a hand over his head. “To be honest, I’m not sure about leaving Mom on her own after everything that’s happened. With Mattie in Stellenbosch, she can do with family close by.”
“You’re right.” I smile. “Moving back is very noble. I just don’t want the relationship between you and Celeste to suffer. We both love Mom, but you know how she can be.” I lower my voice. “Especially with Celeste.”
“Don’t worry,” he says with a wink. “Celeste can take care of herself. She knows how to handle Mom.”
Ryan looks so much like Dad when he winks that I have to swallow and look away.
I hide the sudden onslaught of emotions by pretending to study the interior. The furniture is sparse but comfortable. A couple of cream leather sofas frame a glass coffee table. The focal point of the room is a freestanding fire pit with a black metal extractor chimney leading to the ceiling. A desk and a built-in bookshelf in the corner make a cozy spot for studying. The kitchen and bar sport stainless steel countertops and cable lights hanging from the ceiling. The decoration favors natural colors with light wood fittings. It’s stylish and tranquil.
The noise of the waves rushes in, expelling the quiet. I turn toward the view. Ryan opened the sliding doors. The glass must be double-pane for the silence inside to be so complete.
“It’s going to be a bitch to keep these glass walls clean,” Celeste says as she comes back upstairs.
Ryan shoves a hand in his pocket. “The rent includes a cleaning service.”
“Of course it does.” Her heels clack over the kitchen floor. “Does it include a chef too?”
“Maybe it should, smart mouth,” he says, his lips quirking.
“Hey.” I look between them. “I know how to cook.”
My feeble protest is lost on them. They’re sharing one of their private moments when Ryan ushers his wife outside with his hand on the small of her back.
I follow them onto the veranda.
Staring at the flat surface of the sea, he says, “It’s something, isn’t it?”
I glance at him sideways. “Like I said, it’s too much.”
His signature smile is intact when he tears his gaze from the view and fixes it on me. “Don’t you like it?”
“Of course I do, but I don’t need so much space.” Not to mention that Camps Bay is one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Cape Town. The rent must be extortionately high.
“This is really way too much,” Celeste says, pulling her mouth into a frown. “We never had anything like this, not even after we got married. We had to be content with the house in Bloubergstrand.”
“Celeste,” he says in a stern tone.
“No, she’s right.” I walk to the edge of the pool. “I’ll be more than happy with a room in the student dorm.”
“It’s not up for discussion.” Ryan drops his hand from Celeste’s back to intertwine their fingers. “If you’d like to redecorate or get different furniture—”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say quickly. “The place is perfect as it is. I just think—”
His mouth pulls up in one corner. “Good. Then that’s settled. I’ll arrange for your clothes to be moved tomorrow.”
I don’t have the energy to argue. I simply accept that from now on I’m living here alone.
Alone.
It’s a lie. Since the day Angelo Russo walked into my life, I’ve never been alone. It’s not going to change now. The thought sends a shiver through me.
“The breeze is cold,” Ryan says. “Let’s go back inside.”
His phone rings as he slides the doors closed. Taking it from his pocket, he presses it against his ear. Whatever the person on the other end of the line says darkens his expression. He clenches the phone in a white-knuckled grip.