Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“I might have partied a little too hard last night.” He yanks the folded sunglasses off his shirt collar and slides them over his nose before slinking back against the sofa.
“What the hell are you doing here? Clean yourself up before you come around my mother with this shit.”
Oliver has always been a life-of-the-party type, but ever since Mom’s condition worsened, he’s been taking it to a whole new level. It’s tough watching someone I’ve always looked up to fall apart at the seams, but the more he falls apart, the more I’m compelled to keep it together. Not for me, but for Mom.
“I would never insult Delia by pretending to be someone I’m not,” he says.
“It’s not about insulting her, it’s about having some respect. For her. And for yourself.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” he splays a hand. “Keep it down, alright?”
“I’m practically whispering.”
Oliver massages his temples. “Can you hand me that Hermes blanket over there. I need a little catnap. Maybe I can sleep this off before dinner.”
I check my watch. It’s 2 PM and Oliver has never been able to nap in his life. If this clown passes out, he won’t wake up until dark.
“Campbell’s here,” I tell him as I yank the blanket off the back of a nearby chair. Folding it in my arms, I make no attempt to hand it to him because this thing is stupid expensive and cashmere deserves more than to be comfort for some thirty-five-year-old man child’s hangover. “You should think about cleaning yourself up and making an appearance.”
“Shit. That’s today?” He makes no attempt to move from his reclined position. “Tell her I’ll raincheck her visit. How long is she in town? Maybe I can take her out on the water later this week?”
“Her schedule is spoken for.”
“Ah. Of course. You’ve probably scheduled every minute of her time here right down to her bathroom breaks.”
He’s giving me shit, but he’s not entirely wrong. I’ve maximized her time here, but only in the name of efficiency. Nothing wrong with that. Besides, I doubt she wants to be here a day longer than necessary.
“Hey, can you turn off the lamp on your way out?” Oliver asks.
I shouldn’t.
But I do.
He’s a sorry bastard sometimes, but he’s my sorry bastard.
If filling his nights with liquor and beautiful women helps him forget what we’re going through, so be it.
If things were different, I’d probably be doing the same.
I return to the living room, where Mom and Campbell are knee-deep in some discussion about some charitable foundation Campbell plans to start after we’re married. From what I can tell, Mom is delighted, doling out advice as Campbell nods and listens intently.
I take a seat next to my bride, though the two of them haven’t so much as acknowledged my return.
“Slade, my love,” Mom finally says after a few minutes. “I was going to see if I could borrow Campbell tomorrow? I thought maybe we could have a girls’ day? Brunch? Spa? Shopping? Girl talk?”
I’ve already moved some meetings around so Campbell and I could tackle a few of the items on our to-do list, but I yield.
“Of course,” I say.
Mom gathers Campbell’s hands in hers, her eyes gleaming as if she’s been given the greatest gift in the world. I try not to take it personally that I’m suddenly chopped liver. There are worse things in the world than your mother wanting to spend quality time with the woman you’re marrying.
“We’re going to have the best time together,” she tells Campbell. “Slade, drop her off first thing in the morning. I’ll have Broderick take her home when we’re done.”
My schedule for tomorrow now has a gaping hole in it that Campbell was supposed to fill.
“Can’t wait,” Campbell tells her. I imagine part of her is relieved to have a respite from me. After dinner last night, she curled up on the veranda reading a book and didn’t come in until almost midnight. She claimed she couldn’t sleep, but I couldn’t help but wonder if she was avoiding having to lie next to me in bed longer than necessary.
We’d been flirting since the second I found her rifling through my bathroom drawers.
The tension between us is ripe.
And while I’ve never been a fan of mind games, the harder she is to catch, the more I find myself in the unexpected position of wanting to catch her.
.
Slade—
Your mom sent us your junior prom photos. You actually clean up nicely. I was shocked. The girl on your arm looked like she didn’t want to be there though. What’s up with that?
Campbell (age 15)
Campbell—
Her name is Claudia Berenson and she actually passed away last week. It was a Make-a-Wish type of thing. She wanted me to take her to prom before she died.
Slade (age 16)
Slade—
You need to work on your dark humor. It’s … I don’t know … off? That wasn’t remotely funny. Why did she look so miserable though? I’m curious.