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)
Somewhere, in a parallel universe, I carried her to the bed, sampled every sinful curve of her body, and greedily succumbed to the invitation her sultry blues provided.
Somewhere, in a parallel universe, she is my refuge from the storm and I am her safe place.
Somewhere, in a parallel universe, I am recklessly, dangerously in love with this woman and we can’t wait to start our lives together.
25
Campbell
“Thank you, Aunt Beth,” I say Sunday morning, holding up the crystal vase she and my uncle gifted us. We’re at my parents’ house for brunch, opening our wedding gifts in front of a couple dozen of our closest friends and family.
“Your uncle bought me flowers every Saturday the entire first year of our marriage in that very same vase,” she gushes. “I thought maybe the two of you could start your own tradition.”
“That’s a great idea.” Slade’s dark eyes dip to me and he wears the same loving smile he painted on his face all day yesterday.
This morning, he woke at six, went for his run, swallowed down all of his supplements, and took a twenty-minute shower—all before saying a single word to me. Meanwhile, I keep thinking about Delia’s letter, wondering if her advice had any root in reality or if it was simply a dying mother’s last request.
“Here, open this one next.” My mother hands me a square box wrapped in white paper and a tulle ribbon. For the ninety minutes that follow, we rinse and repeat. It isn’t until brunch is announced that we’re afforded a break.
“Campbell, remind me where the two of you are honeymooning again?” My mother’s longtime best friend, Gail, asks from the other side of the dining table.
“Bali,” I say.
“Yes, but where specifically?” She blinks, sipping her almond mocha cappuccino. “My husband and I have traveled there quite a few times. We love the Alila Villas and those gorgeous overwater bungalows with the breathtaking views of the island, but nothing compares to Villa Puri Nirwana. When I tell you we were treated like royalty …”
I turn to Slade, silently willing him to answer. We both agreed to tell everyone we were honeymooning in Bali—his idea—but we never discussed any hypothetical details.
“We’ve booked private property, actually,” he tells her.
She lifts a knowing brow, as if she’s painting a picture in her head of two lovebirds who need all the privacy they can get.
“I’m sure a respite from all this crazy wedding planning is just what the two of you need,” my mother interjects. Never mind that she planned this entire thing and all we had to do was show up and smile for the audience.
By the afternoon, all three hundred gifts and cards have been opened and documented for thank you note purposes, and we’ve bid our final guests adieu.
“When do you fly home?” my father asks.
For some reason, it only hits me now that “home” will no longer refer to the roof we’re standing under right now, the roof I’ve lived my whole life under.
Slade checks his watch. “Jet should be fueling up now. We’re scheduled to take off in two hours.”
“So soon, eh?” Dad chuckles, blinking away the threat of wistful tears. He’s been like this all weekend, and I’ve yet to find the right words to say because of the uniqueness of our situation.
Half of me wants to throw my arms around him, promise him I’m going to be okay, that I’ll be happy and I’m going to have the best life (even if I’m not sure about any of those things).
The other half of me wants to remind him that he coerced his only daughter into marrying a man who can never love her—and for that, he should be sad.
I swallow it all down and turn to my husband.
“We’ve got a lot to do back in Florida,” I say, feigning excitement. “And we still need to pack for Bali.”
“Don’t you have someone to do that for you?” my mother asks. “What’s your house manager’s name again, Slade? Phoebe?”
“Her name is Fiona,” I remind her. “And Fiona does enough for us as it is. I can pack for myself.”
My mother’s blank expression suggests she doesn’t understand. And she wouldn’t. She’s been waited on hand and foot since she was in diapers. While my upbringing wasn’t much different, I could never bring myself to fully enjoy something so many people in this world didn’t have.
I once overheard my father boasting to a friend that the Delacorte family had so much money that our children’s children’s children wouldn’t be able to spend it in their lifetimes. I took that as a challenge. Why should one family get everything when so many others have nothing?
“When do you leave for Bali?” Mom asks.
“Wednesday,” Slade says without pause. Slipping his hand around the small of my back, he pulls me against him. Knowing it’s not real makes every show of affection and soulful gaze a cruel slap in the face. Still, I smile through it, same as him.